› summary: after realizing that your hookup, intended as a rebound after your long term relationship, is actually your coworker, you deal with it the best way you know how: avoidance. that is, until you're forced to talk to ryland grace.
› tags/warnings: no use of y/n, TW: trivia night mention, explicit mentions of smut but no actual smut (yet), drinking, mentions of reader's past toxic relationship, strong language
› wc: 5.5k
› part one | direct address series masterlist
ᯓ★
On Tuesday, you show up to the school earlier than everyone else, likely one of the only times you've been more than an hour early to anything in your life. The hall is still dim when you arrive, the custodians’ floor wax gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. You lock yourself in your classroom to decorate in peace.
You make a point of putting your earbuds in, tuning out the noise in the hallway as other staff begin to trickle in and stop by to chat to Grace. Everyone is charmed by him, this stupidly overqualified molecular biologist that somehow ended up teaching eighth grade science. But not you. No, not you. You know better.
You know a lot of things about Grace, like the low sound he made in the back of his throat when you tugged on his hair. The concentrated pinch between his brows when he was between your thighs, mouth latched onto your clit. The pleased little smile he got when he had you writhing and moaning underneath him, heaving from your second (and certainly not last) orgasm of the night.
It's fine. Really, it's fine. You're a professional. You can be professional.
Your phone buzzes in your back pocket. You take out your earbuds. Even without looking, you know that it's Hallie and Reagan. Ever since you told them about Grace last night they've been treating your life like a spectacularly interesting romcom.
Halls: And have you talked to your good karma yet?? ;)
You: Don't call him that! I don't need you manifesting shit for me
Halls: Ok sorry I'll rephrase
Halls: Have you talked to professor sexy yet?
Reg: That's objectively worse
Halls: It's objectively funnier but thanks
You: Omg stop it with the nicknames
You: It's Grace. Just Grace
You: And no I haven't talked to him
Reg: You probably should
Halls: I second this
You: You guys are the worst
A knock sounds at your classroom door. For one wild second, you think it's him. You curse and shove your phone back in your pocket in a panic. When you sneak a look at the door, relief washes over you so strongly that you feel a bit woozy. Marisol is peering into your room through the vision panel with an impatient expression. She spots you, decides you're not moving fast enough for her liking, and knocks again, harder this time.
You exhale and cross the room.
Marisol has been teaching sixth-grade English at Grover Cleveland for ten years. Eleven, maybe. You're never certain, because every time you ask, she says something unhelpful like longer than anyone should or wouldn't you like to know? The latter is especially frustrating because yes, you would like to know.
But she'd been there for you, when you were starting out. The kids, being able to smell fear, walked all over you that first semester. It was awful. You remember being thirteen, but you don't remember being so mean. Maybe it was a new generation kind of thing. Ugh, even thinking that makes you feel old.
Marisol had helped, giving you pointers and making you feel better about being more strict with your students. A lot of detentions were doled out after that, but the behavior in your classroom improved by miles.
When you open the door, you catch a glimpse of Grace across the hall, pinning some poster up to the wall behind his desk. He's dressed more casually today, a plain navy t-shirt stretching over the broad slope of his shoulders, short sleeves squeezing around his biceps as he reaches up to smooth tape against the wall.
Your brain unhelpfully supplies the image of those same arms braced on either side of your head, muscles flexing under his skin.
You're such an idiot. It's the same every time you see him—that awful feeling of your stomach swooping and body tensing. Humans have been evolving for hundreds of thousands of years and here you are, your survival instincts kicking in at the mere sight of Ryland fucking Grace.
"Are you going to let me in or are we just going to stand here?" Marisol snipes. She speaks loud enough to catch Grace's attention, and he glances over, his eyes landing on you, glinting behind his glasses. You flush, your whole body feeling as though you've been doused in molten lava. You pivot away and usher her in, closing the door behind you.
She gives you approximately five minutes of peace before questioning you.
This is generous by Marisol’s standards. Practically saintly. She busies herself unpacking a box of new copies of Lois Lowry's The Giver while you work on your bulletin board, smoothing a border of blue paper around the edges and trying not to listen for movement across the hall.
"What's the deal with you and Mr. Sunshine?" she says. You look behind you. Her back faces you as she sets books neatly in the cabinet at the back of the classroom.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb." She slides another stack of paperbacks into place. "You're not any good at it."
Your mouth clamps shut. You're not sure if you should be offended.
She continues before you can respond, "I've never seen you act the way you did yesterday morning. And then the second the meeting was over you ran away like a bat out of hell."
You look back to the bulletin board, stapling the blue construction paper border and wishing you could be anywhere else. "It's nothing."
"Mhm."
"Seriously."
She scoffs. "It didn't feel like nothing when you were trying to hide in my shirt. Did you date him?"
"No."
"Does Anthony know him?"
"No."
"Come on. You said you'd tell me later. Guess what? It's later."
Your shoulders droop. Your hands fall to your sides, giving up on the border for now. The construction paper peels, curling in on itself in a pitiful spiral that you can't help but relate to.
Marisol won't quit until you tell her what's going on. You may as well rip the band-aid off.
"We slept together," you mumble at your shoes. Jesus Christ. You don't think admitting that is going to get any easier.
Silence greets you on the other end of the room. You glance up to see Marisol has stopped stocking the books. She's gawking at you, openly, and you feel like a bug under a microscope, completely at the mercy of one very judgemental coworker.
"I'm sorry," she says, slowly as if she's still trying to process what you said. "When you say we…"
You close your eyes. "Grace and I."
"Ryland Grace."
"Yes."
"The new science teacher."
"Yes," you grit out, starting to get a bit irritated. How many times are you going to have to say it?
"Mr. Sunshine? Right across the hall?"
"Please stop saying Mr. Sunshine," you say. Your face is getting hot again now, palms clammy.
Marisol's expression is unreadable. To you, this is worse than laughter. Right now, you would even welcome laughter. At least then there'd be something concrete to be annoyed about. Instead you stare at each other, her eyes wide and disbelieving.
Finally, she seems to pull herself out of her state of shock. She nods once, then again.
"Tell me everything," she says, and so you do.
You perch on the edge of your desk and explain how Hallie and Reagan wanted to drag you out to a new club that just opened a few weeks ago. You tell her about making eyes at Grace from across the bar when he was talking to another girl, and before you know it you're rambling. It spills out of you with such force that you don't think you can stop if you tried.
ᯓ★
"I need another drink," Hallie grouses, waving the bartender over. Reagan had disappeared into the crowd, tugging along a man in his early-twenties wearing a confused and somewhat fearful expression, leaving the both of you behind.
You're decently buzzed, having already gone through two Long Islands and a shot of tequila. Hallie drinks like she's still in college, and you always find it hard to keep up, but you try.
You prefer wine nights, splurging on a nice charcuterie board and huddling together to watch shitty reality television, but you had been moping around the last few weeks and Hallie and Reagan insisted going out would make you feel better.
Mourning your relationship comes and goes in waves. Some days you wake up and thank any deity that might be listening that you're done. You're truly, finally done. No further contact, no pathetic texts begging to get back together, no actually getting back together.
Other mornings you find it hard to get out of bed, crushed by the fact that you're alone. It's not the end of the world. You know that. But sometimes it feels that way. You had plans with Anthony, you were talking about getting married, for fuck's sake, and now he's just… gone.
So you finally gave in, and now you find yourself surrounded by pulsing lights and sweaty bodies crushing together on the dance floor. This is a thing normal people do, isn't it? Who cares. If it will take your mind off of the breakup for at least a few hours, then you're willing to take your chances.
Hallie slides a glass towards you, something blue and fruity that tastes more like juice than alcohol. It's a dangerous gamble, drinking like this, but you find it hard to care. You're here, with your two closest friends, and you're not letting the night go to waste.
"Oh," Hallie murmurs, teasing her straw between her teeth. "Look at that guy, over there."
You follow her line of sight. There's a lot of people at the bar, a group of girls a little younger than you, a guy that definitely looks underage hassling the bartender, and a couple that's being far too touchy to be appropriate in a public space. At the very end, you see who she's talking about.
You've always had a thing for nerds. Well, you say thing, but really it's a weakness. And this dude fits your type to a T so much that it's almost painful. His glasses are teetering precariously on the edge of his nose. You're certain if he moves his head with too much force they'll slip right off. He's leaning against the edge of the bar, an amused smile on his face. You can only see his side profile, and… the woman in front of him.
He's taken. Of course he is, how could someone like that be single? What you don't understand is the flash of disappointment that zings through you. You don't even know the guy, why do you feel let down?
"I wonder if that's his girlfriend," you say, trying to come off as politely curious but ending up sounding more envious than anything.
Hallie makes a dismissive noise. "That is not his girlfriend."
"You don't know that." You turn away, taking a long swallow of whatever the hell Hallie had ordered for the both of you.
"I absolutely do know that," she says, indignant. She reaches forward, the tips of her fingers nudging at your jaw, forcing you to look back at the man. "See? That's not girlfriend body language."
"She's touching his arm."
"It's not a flirty touch. Just look. Please."
You sigh and devote a little more attention to the scene before you. The woman is saying something to him, her smile bright and wicked beneath the bar lights. He tips his head back slightly, laughing, one hand lifting as if in surrender. There's something wonderfully awkward about him, you think. Not clumsy, exactly. Just a little too sincere for the room. Like he wandered into the club by mistake and decided to be a good sport about it.
He ducks his head down in order to speak directly into her ear, and that should not be as attractive as it is, but what can you do about it? The heart wants what it wants. She laughs in response, and he rolls his eyes, but his half-cocked smile doesn't leave. Her mouth moves and you squint, trying but unable to read her lips. His expression shifts into theatrical offense, and she pats his arm once more before disappearing into the crowd. Gone, just like that.
Hallie jabs her elbow into your arm. "Well?"
"Well, what?" you ask. The man remains at the bar alone. His posture slumps, a little defeated, and he brings his beer up to his mouth, a large hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle.
"You know what. Go talk to him."
You whip your head towards her. "What? No!"
"Yes!" Hallie hisses. "Do it. You're hot, you'd have him wrapped around your finger before you even opened your mouth."
"You're just saying that," you say, shooting a glare at her.
She shakes her head, lips pressing into a thin line. "No, I'm not. I don't care. Either you go and talk to him or I'll buy him a drink and have the bartender say it's from you."
"Why do you hate me?"
"I don't and you know it. Quit being dramatic. Finish your drink and fucking go."
You stare at her.
Hallie stares back, unwavering.
You consider arguing. It would be nice, to dig your heels in and refuse to put yourself out there. That's what you would normally do. You've never seen the appeal of chatting people up at the club. You mostly go just to have a good time with your friends, to dance and drink and enjoy yourself.
But then… when was the last time you actually went out? Beyond trivia night with your coworkers and nights in with Hallie and Reagan or dates (however rare the occurrence) with Anthony. You can't remember.
You'd tried, a few times, but there'd always been Anthony, wheedling about how you should stay because he'd miss you and are you sure you should wear that out?
You inhale deeply, lifting your chin.
"Okay," you say, and you drain the last of your drink before you can lose your nerve.
Hallie's face lights up, victorious and encouraging all at once.
"Actually?" she chirps. At your unimpressed expression she manages to rein in some of her excitement. "Fuck, sorry. You got this. What's the worst that can happen? If he's a dick we'll just go dance and forget about it."
"Right." You nod to yourself, adjusting your halter top and thrusting a hand through your hair before sliding off of your stool. "Wish me luck."
"Luck!" Hallie calls after you as you start to walk away, reaching out to land a light slap to your ass. You flinch, barely biting down on a yelp, and glower at her over your shoulder. She grins, not looking apologetic in the slightest. You turn back around before she can make obscene hand gestures, aching to borrow some of the easy confidence her and Reagan always seem to possess.
Maybe you're in over your head.
No, not maybe. You're definitely in over your head.
The closer you get, the more handsome he becomes. At this point it's cruel, and you have no idea if you even know how to flirt anymore, that's how long it's been. What are you even meant to say? You come here often? Oh, barf.
But you're committed now. You'd look like an even bigger moron if you turned around mid-stride and retreated back to Hallie, who would never let you hear the end of it. She'd be bringing it up at your funeral.
The walk is agonizingly short. Before you know it you're sidling up to him. He doesn't notice you at first, but the brush of your arm against his has him blinking down at you in surprise. His pretty blue eyes widen behind his glasses, and for half a second he reminds you of a startled animal. Then his gaze moves over you before you can stop it.
He takes in your face first, then your hair, before dipping down to your neck, your top that complements your cleavage, and to your skirt that suddenly feels way too short. He seems to realize what he's doing and his eyes snap up to your face, the tips of his ears pinking.
Well. That certainly makes things easier.
"Tough crowd?" you ask, and have to make a physical effort not to wince. Sometimes you wish it was socially appropriate to punch yourself in the face. Only in times of great need, of course; you think this is one such situation.
"What?" he says. Your heart is beating so fast you think it might burst out of your chest and flop on the floor.
Fuck it, you think.
You let out a small huff of amusement and nod toward the direction the brunette had disappeared to. "That girl you were talking to. She your girlfriend?"
"Marissa? Oh, uh… no." He laughs, sounding a bit nervous. His free hand lifts to rub the back of his neck. "She's a friend."
You arch a disbelieving brow, and he smiles as if he knows what you're thinking.
"Really," he assures you. "She's very much not my girlfriend. Not that there's anything wrong with her. She's great."
"But?" you press.
"I'm here with her and her girlfriend," he says. His grin widens as your mouth forms a small 'o' of understanding, his cheeks dimpling.
"Third wheeling, huh?"
"Exactly. I've gotten pretty good at it."
"Can't say I relate." Hallie and Reagan are chronically single beyond the occasional fling.
"Are you here with someone, then?" He makes a sweeping motion with the hand holding his beer, gesturing to the swell of the crowd.
"Just some friends."
"Did they abandon you, too?"
You smile. "Yeah. One of them's already vanished with a guy who looked like he was about to cry."
"Good for him," he says. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, "Or sorry."
"We'll know by morning."
He laughs, his head tilting back a bit, and a warm feeling seeps into your chest, so strong it steals your breath. This back-and-forth, this banter, comes so easy to you now that the ice is broken that it's almost natural. You think you could do it forever.
"Should I be worried?" he asks, taking a sip of his beer.
"About her? Probably." You look out over the dance floor, wondering if you could catch a glimpse of Reagan somewhere in the crowd, but you don't.
"And you?"
The question is playful, but there's something beneath it, a flicker of interest that makes the space between you feel suffocatingly close and vast all at once.
"Me?" you say. Your face is starting to hurt from all the smiling you're doing. "I'm harmless."
He watches you for a beat too long. "I doubt that."
Your stomach dips. It's ridiculous, how much one sentence can do, and heat spreads over your face. You know what's happening, or at least, you think you do, and the realization sends a reckless thrill through you.
He seems to notice it, too, because his eyes drop to your mouth, and he licks his lips subconsciously. "Can I buy you a drink?"
You have no other answer to give him besides yes.
Later you remember, a few drinks later and several inches of space subtracted between you, his hand a steady, guiding pressure on the small of your back as he escorts you out of the club to the Uber he ordered. He opens the door for you and leans down, breath warm against the shell of your ear, murmuring something stupidly witty that you're not even sure he does on purpose, and you laugh, slipping inside.
He pauses before closing the door, taking a moment to watch you. His glasses had started slipping down his nose again. There's a pleased look in his eyes as he looks at you over the rim, as if he knows you're going to be trouble, and you look back at him, drunk enough to want to prove him right.
ᯓ★
You become a master at evasive maneuvers.
It shouldn't be this easy to avoid Ryland Grace like he's the plague, but it is.
The week after you explain what happened with him to Marisol finds you busy enough that you end up relaxing into the routine. By the time school starts, Grace is going through the humiliation ritual that is teaching middle schoolers for the first time, so you hardly see him beyond glimpses into his classroom and catching each other on the way to the teacher's lounge. You made the mistake of going at your usual time on the first day, only to find him already there, laughing with Doug (6th grade history) over his lunch, so now you go at the very last minute.
By the time you're nearing the end of September, you think you can finally put the whole thing behind you.
The only interactions you've had with Grace are stiff and awkward, far from how you spoke at the club. A quick introduction, a little small talk about the morning weather one morning when you were running late and couldn't time your arrival in order to dodge him. He stopped by your room, once to ask if you could point him in the direction of the nurse's office, and again a few days later to borrow a stapler.
Every single time, he looked as if he wanted to say more, and eventually decided not to. It doesn't help that you were usually interrupted by a coworker or a student, but to you it was always a much appreciated respite.
The latest was about two weeks ago, when he found you at the printer in the library just after lunch.
Hey.
Hey— oh. Uhm, hi.
Are you… He motioned toward the machine. His lanyard reflected the fluorescent ceiling lights, glaring up at you harshly.
Sorry? You tittered nervously.
I was just wondering when you'd be done.
Oh! You glanced back at the printer, where copies of your Getting to Know You! assignment were lying, forgotten. I'm done now, sorry.
You scooped up your papers, clutching them to your chest and shuffling away to allow him to access whatever he needed. He stepped forward, close enough for you to catch the scent of coffee, deodorant, and the darker, more insistent smell of his cologne. Your stomach clenched involuntarily, and you took a step back.
He glanced up at the motion, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Actually, I've been meaning to talk to—
I have to get back, you blurted suddenly, before offering a fake, apologetic smile. Can't leave them unsupervised for too long, you know?
He had opened his mouth to respond, but you were already rushing away.
Arguably not your best moment.
After that day, though, he had gotten the message.
Grace stopped trying to catch you in the hallway. He stopped lingering by his doorway when the final bell rang. He stopped looking as though he might say your name every time you passed room 214 with your arms full and your eyes fixed firmly on anything that was not him.
Now, when your paths cross during passing period, he nods, professional and restrained, before turning back to whatever student has his attention. When you both reach the staff lounge at the same time, he steps aside to let you pass, offering a quiet greeting that gives you absolutely nothing to work with. No bitterness. No accusation. No smirk. No wounded male pride for you to despise.
It's… whatever. More than you could have hoped for. But if you're honest, you feel a bit left out. Everyone appears to have fallen in love with him. Janitors, secretaries, paras, your fellow teachers. It's annoying, but you wish you could see what all the fuss is about without being a total creep. Even Marisol is besotted, singing his praises to you when you're both alone in your classroom, insisting that you should give him a chance.
"I think you'd really like him," she says without preamble, setting a stack of papers down on your desk. No hi, hello, how are you? At this point, you don't expect much else from her.
"Everyone keeps telling me that," you grumble, before glancing up. "Shut the door, please."
She sighs but does as you ask. You rotate the papers to face you, reading the permission slips for October's Outdoor Education excursion. It's a three day camping trip for the eighth graders, one that you always dread chaperoning.
"Well, maybe everyone is right." Marisol grabs a chair from a student's desk and pulls it up to sit across from you, pulling out her phone. "It doesn't matter, anyway."
You hum, stowing the papers away in your desk drawer, and return your attention back to your laptop where you've been putting in grades for the latest quiz. "Really? Why's that?"
She puffs up her chest, smug. "Lee and I decided to invite him to trivia tomorrow."
"What?"
"Don't give me that look, you're not the supreme leader of trivia night. We can invite who we want."
"I never said you couldn't."
She waves her hand vaguely. "It's all over your face right now. Whatever. The way that I see it, you have three choices."
You scrub a hand over your face and turn your computer off. You're never going to get any grading done like this. "Okay."
"You can talk to him, figure your shit out, and have a nice night with us at the bar." She holds out three fingers, ticking them off as she speaks. "Or you can not talk to him, don't figure your shit out, and make it awkward for everyone."
"And my last choice?"
"You can just not come." She crosses her arms. "Make up some bullshit excuse and skip out."
You glance away with a semblance of shame. That was exactly what your knee-jerk reaction was, to cancel and say you weren't feeling well or that you already had plans.
"See?" She points at you. "Do I know you or do I know you?"
"This isn't fair," you whine.
"Shit's tough. Ryland is coming, and you're coming, too."
You can't help a small smile at her determination. Trivia is a sacred ritual, attended by yours and Marisol's group of work friends. It had been going on for a while before you joined, and held strong through the last few years. Grace being invited is a pretty big deal. At least, it is to Marisol, who has always been very passionate about the whole affair.
"Okay, okay," you acquiesce. "I'll go."
She stands, triumphant. "Perfect. I'll let Lee know."
"If it goes bad, then we're friends off," you call after her as she starts to leave.
"Oh, please. Who else would bring you your stupid permission slips from the office?" she says without turning back to look at you.
Marisol leaves your classroom door open. Of course she does.
Once she's gone, you try to resume grading. You catch yourself putting in the wrong scores for the wrong students, their names all jumbling up together on your screen. You lean back in your chair, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes.
You can't stop thinking of Grace.
Ryland Grace is coming to the bar with you, Marisol, and four of your other closest work friends. And it's going to be great. You're going to be completely normal about it. Because you're a grown woman and you can handle it.
But you know there will be no grading today, nor any guise of productivity. There's no guide for navigating such a weird situation. There's only room 214 across the hall, trivia on Friday, and the sinking realization that Marisol is right.
You have to talk to him.
You do an odd jerking motion, as though your body tried to get out of your chair before your mind had caught up and put a quick stop to the idea. You sit back for a second and squeeze your eyes shut. You feel a lot like you did right before you approached Grace that night—jittery and mortified and… sort of excited all at once.
Alright, bitch, you imagine Hallie's voice in your head and give your thigh a harsh pinch in an effort to ground yourself. Now or never.
The hallway is quiet when you step out. Most of the building has emptied now that it's nearing five in the afternoon. When you peak inside room 214, you find Grace hunched over some papers, a red pen in hand. His hair is that sort of tousled-messy that, in any other circumstance on any other guy, you admire. His brow furrows, mouthing the words he's reading on what you assume is a student's assignment, seemingly bewildered by what he finds.
You knock lightly on the doorframe. He glances up instantly, swiveling his chair to better face you.
"Hi," you say.
"Hey," he says in return.
You shuffle your feet, hovering in the doorway as though there's some invisible barrier between the two of you. "You got a minute?"
"Yeah." Grace straightens up as though he's bracing for impact, a slight grimace breaking through the neutral, friendly expression he wears. "Of course."
He's nervous, you realize. His fingers tap against his thigh and he pushes his glasses up farther up the bridge of his nose. They slip down again almost immediately. He needs to get them sized and fitted, you think, before you realize you're staring. You look away quickly, examining his classroom.
He's got the makings of a model solar system pinned to the ceiling, but he's still missing Uranus and Neptune. Cute, dorky science posters like Don't trust an atom, they make up everything and Think like a proton and stay positive! are plastered on the walls. It's exactly as lively as you'd imagined. From what little snippets you'd heard from your students, Grace was shaping up to be the cool new teacher, well-liked by the kids. Because of course he is.
What an asshole.
"It looks good," you comment.
"Thanks," he says, glancing around as if to view his own room from your perspective. "Still needs some work, but I'm getting there. They really don't give you a lot of time to set up, do they?"
You smile, tension seeping from your shoulders at his casual tone. "No, they don't. It's easier when you've been here for longer. You get away with leaving more and more stuff in your room during break every year."
"Yeah, that… that makes sense." Grace runs a hand through his hair.
You pause, unsure of what to say. It's a painful silence, and you blurt the first thing that comes to mind in order to fill it.
"I'm sorry," you say. "I just wanted to…"
You lose the end of your sentence as he meets your gaze. He waits for you to finish, and you swallow harshly.
"Marisol told me you're coming to trivia."
"Oh. Yeah, Lee mentioned it."
"This Friday."
"I remember."
"Right." You nod a few too many times, grasping for the right words. "Good."
Grace shifts his weight, the tapping against his thigh intensifying. "I didn't say yes."
You blink. "What?"
"I haven't said yes, yet," he amends. "I, well… I wanted to talk to you first."
"Why?" you ask, but you think you know, and you're so touched it's actually a little sickening.
"I don't want to intrude," he says. "It's your group of friends. Your monthly thing. I don't want to be there if it makes you uncomfortable."
"You don't have to do that." Guilt leaves a sour taste in the back of your mouth. You'd never wanted Grace to feel unwelcome, you'd just… wanted to be left alone. You can't imagine how you would've ended up if Marisol hadn't taken pity on you and swooped in to practically adopt you, and you certainly can't imagine putting Grace in a position where he couldn't have that same opportunity to connect.
He ducks his head, avoiding your gaze. "It's the right thing to do."
"No, I mean… you should come. It's fun. Marisol takes it way too seriously and Lee pretends he doesn't care but he does, and Abby always gets super drunk. Joe has tried to bribe our rival team a couple times. The drinks are good. Can't say the same for the food, though, so—" you cut yourself short. You're rambling. And his face is doing something unreadable and you're so certain you've made a mess out of the whole thing that you do a double-take when he responds.
"That does sound fun."
"It is," you insist. You're aware it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself rather than Grace, but the words are already out of your mouth and who even cares, at this point? How much more of a fool can you make of yourself? Might as well own it.
He studies you. "You're sure?"
No, you think. You make me nervous and a whole night at the bar with you is going to drive me insane but Marisol will kill me if I don't go.
"I'm sure."
"Okay." He clears his throat, smiles, and you're certain you're getting yourself into something you'll for a second time. "Okay, then I'll be there."
ᯓ★
› A/N: hiii this took way longer than i expected haha writing is hard :( big big thanks to vi (@pixiebuggz) for being my beta reader and helping brainstorm the ending so i could finally get this out! next part is finally some smut and talking things out. if you want to be added to the series taglist just comment! (and also please yell at me if i forgot to add you!!!) i'm debating on making just like a general writing taglist for when i post for other rygos characters is that something y'all would be interested in? idk lmk. i'm pretty sure no one noticed but i changed the title of part two like three or four times i'm so indecisive when it comes to titles LOL. as always if i missed anything in the tags/warnings lmk
luke has never fucked a virgin before. not really.
word count: 5.8k
warnings: explicit sexual content, implied age gap, lost of virginity, cunnilingus, size kink, size difference, protected sex (implied unprotected too).
Luke’s job is pretty straightforward. And he’s been doing it for as long as he can remember.
When being a stunt rider for the carnival wasn’t cutting it anymore, he had to find something else to keep himself afloat. For Luke, jobs that required basic thug shit came easy considering the skill set he had. He found out pretty quickly that cracking skulls and busting knees were what he was good at.
But that barely scratches the surface of what he actually does for work. It pays well mostly because he offers his clients a wide variety of assistance. And to put it briefly, Luke provides services with his body, and he gets paid handsomely for it.
Though it generally depends on the work he’s been hired to do. Most of the time it’s the usual bodyguard shit, something he’s more familiar with, but Luke thinks it’s just glorified babysitting. He feels that he should be above looking out for a grown-ass man or woman, but then again, it pays well. And when Luke’s being told to do protection services for a rich man’s wife and she later asks if she could suck his cock for an extra tip is the only fun thing about it.
Which is another thing entirely.
Luke isn’t the one to boast, but he knows he’s hot shit. Because if he’s not, the wives of his clients wouldn’t be throwing themselves at him. And he wasn’t called “Handsome Luke” during his carnival days for nothing.
It started when he was hired to be a bouncer at a club for a week or two. When a dancer tried getting in his pants during his break, Luke decided to give it a little twist.
“Are you paying for it?”
“What?” The woman, who introduced herself as Britney, raised a brow. “Why the hell would I be paying for it?”
“Well, you dance on dudes for money. You’re basically asking me to fuck you during my unpaid break, when I should be resting instead,” Luke reasoned with a smirk on his face. “I figured you’d understand, considering it’s the same principle. Business is business.”
But Luke knew Britney was one of the highest paid dancers in the club. She got the ass and the tits for it. So she really didn’t mind throwing a couple bucks on Luke’s request and rode his dick until she was satisfied.
And while Luke never thought about making the whole sex thing his only source of income, he did get a lot more customers there than his gangster jobs. Usually from old and desperate married women who couldn’t get the treatment they want from their husbands because their dicks no longer work. But Luke always makes sure to mention that there’s an additional fee if they want him to act like he’s their husband too.
But if there are old married women wanting his services, there are also the old men who want to fulfill their little fantasies with their wives. The cuckold ones who want to have their small dick shamed while Luke’s got his own cock deep inside their wife. Luke stopped questioning people’s fantasies a long time ago. And if the guy wants Luke to stick his schwanz inside him too, then that’s another fee they need to be informed about.
This is also a great time to mention that he never fucks raw.
He can’t have little Lukes running around town when he literally fucked almost half the population of it.
Luke could only thank Britney for being his first ever client after she advertised his huge dick around town when they fucked. He doesn’t mind pimping himself out as long as it keeps him from going back to that trailer he used to live in. He doesn’t mind dealing with all sorts of clients if they’re going to fucking pay for it.
What he’s not used to is someone boldly doubting and questioning his skillset in his face.
“Excuse me?” Luke can’t help but ask, barely masking the surprise written across his face. “What did you just say to me?”
The dive bar near his shabby apartment is where he spends his time when he’s bored. Luke watches soccer occasionally, pretending to be interested, but at least it takes his mind off things. They also serve cheap drinks and awesome nachos, and he hooked up with the owner a few times for a round of free alcohol.
So Luke pretty much knows what to expect from this place.
Which is why he’s caught off guard when a young woman approached him and asked if his dick was really huge as they say.
Said young woman certainly didn’t mind repeating the question.
“Is your dick really huge?” You ask again, with that same genuine expression on your face. Luke knows it’s genuine because he’s been asked that question a lot of times, but this is the first time ever that someone looks genuinely… curious. “I really want to know because I don’t want to waste a few bucks. I mean, I’ve been told you give great services but I want like, reassurance first before I actually give you my money.”
Oh.
It’s an inquiry.
“But wait. You’re Luke Glanton, right? Sorry, I should’ve asked first. That was probably very rude.”
“And very weird. You usually don’t go around asking men if their dick is huge. Some of them wouldn’t react as kindly as I did,” Luke grins as he shrugs. “They might take offense.”
“... But you’re Luke Glanton?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
Luke takes his time inspecting you, from head to toe. He thinks you’re not his usual client, so maybe his market is finally expanding? About time. Not that he’s getting sick of fucking older women and occasionally men – but it’s good to have younger ones on the side too.
Actually, you don’t look like his type at all. Luke notes that you’re cute and you look like jailbait, and your sweet perfume isn’t really his type but it works.
Personally, Luke prefers the long legged, confident women. The ones with the dangerous red lipstick and a smirk he’d wipe off their faces with his dick. The women in corporate who didn’t mind throwing money if it meant Luke would get to praise them for being a good girl.
But this works.
“I’m asking for your…” you trail off, and Luke raises a brow. “... services? I thought that was already pretty obvious. You should really improve your customer service.”
“I offer a lot of services, you have to be very specific.”
“But I did ask for your dick.”
Luke cracks a grin. You’re funny. He wishes you would talk less, though.
“Alright, you got me. Are you looking for anything specifically? Aside from my dick, of course.”
“Can I have the full package?” you ask bluntly, and really, Luke respects it in a way. “I can afford it. I sorta… saved up for it. Because my friend recommended you and said you could really help me have a good experience.”
“Your friend,” Luke repeats. “Do I happen to know this friend of yours?” Because he might have fucked them already as far as he’s concerned. But again, you’re on the young side. And Luke mainly fucks older people. So your friend must be fucking geriatric.
“Not really. But her mom was your client once.”
Well, that’s fucking bizarre.
But not the weirdest Luke has ever heard. So he shrugs it off like nothing and goes back to take another sip of his beer.
“Do you want to know her name?”
“Not really.”
“Okay,” you say in a quiet tone. “So… Can I get the full package then? And can I also know what it includes now?”
Luke raises a brow again. “Now?”
“Yes, what do we usually do? I don’t think you’re doing a good job selling yourself. Shouldn’t the customers know what they’re paying for first? And you don’t really sound very enthusiastic. Maybe this is a bad idea after all —”
“Whoa.” Luke is quick to grab your wrist when you’re about to slide off the stool and walk away. “Where the fuck are you going?”
You scrunch your nose as you try to pull your arm away. “I’m leaving. Like I said, you don’t look excited. If I’m boring you now, I’ll probably bore you later during sex.”
He breathes loudly through his nose. Young girls. Always so insecure. But luckily Luke knows just how to butter you up. After all, he’s not about to let money walk away from him. That’s not the type of person he is.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I was distracted. You have my full attention now. Full package, was it? You wanted to know what’s included?”
“Yes,” you deadpan.
“Well, why don’t I show you instead? That’s what you’ll be paying for, right?” Luke grins, squeezing his fingers slightly around your wrist. He then pulls your stool closer to him until the two of you are almost touching. “I don’t usually tell my clients what I’m going to do to them in bed. I like to surprise them.”
Luke sees you frowning. It’s cute. The way your nose scrunches up, almost like a cat.
“I don’t really like surprises.”
“But this is a good surprise, though. Don’t you think?”
When it takes more than a few seconds for you to respond, Luke wraps an arm around your waist instead. It makes you gasp a little, but you don’t pull away. Just gives him a weird, cautious look that he sort of respects a little bit. Usually women (and men occasionally) would be throwing themselves to him. But you’re being cautious. It’s a good thing.
“What’s your name?” he finally asks, and he smiles when you say it politely. “Pretty name. But I’d rather call you baby. Or sweetheart. Or my good girl –”
Luke snaps his head to the side when the bartender named Mark knocks on the counter.
“Not here, dude. We’ve got customers around.”
He finds that mildly offending considering Luke is the one that brings the customer around in the first place. But he doesn’t say anything, because he’s got a cute girl hanging on his arm.
Instead, Luke turns his attention back to you who looks flustered by the sudden acknowledgement.
“Seems like they want us out. Do you want to get out of here, baby? Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the motel. Only because you’re cute.”
*
The man who works at the front desk knows Luke, and he knows why he’s here.
He just tosses him the key for the room without looking up from the k-drama he’s watching, and he knows Luke will pay the next day – he always does.
Luke has your hand in his as he drags you to the second floor and the last room of the hall.
“Have you been here before?” you ask meekly as you look around the area.
“I’m here every other week, sweetheart,” Luke says as he pushes the door open. “It’s cheap and it gets the job done.”
He gets out of the way so you can enter first, and he watches as you cautiously look around the room. Luke has suspicions that you’re a rich kid. Maybe with strict parents, because you mentioned something about saving up for this kind of nonsense. But honestly, he’s not quite sure. Luke is certain this is the first time he’s fucking someone your age, though.
Speaking of.
“Hey, I probably should’ve asked you this earlier. But how old are you?”
You turn to look at him with surprised eyes. “Oh, I’m 20. Just turned 20 last month.”
“Oh, great,” Luke sighs in relief. Definitely the youngest one he will ever fuck. But he guess there’s a first time for everything, right? “You ever done this before?”
“Seeking out a prostitute?”
“Well, that too,” he points out. “But like, sex in general?”
It takes a tad bit longer for you to answer. Longer than necessary. And Luke raises a brow in suspicion.
“You had sex before, right?” he asks again.
Again, silence. In fact, you’re even avoiding his eyes like a guilty dog.
“Please, don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”
“Does that matter?” you pout. “You’re good at this, you know what to do. That’s why I’m paying you.”
Jesus Christ.
Luke has personally never handled a virgin before. And honestly, he really should’ve expected something like this already. Considering how bashful you’re being. But then again, there are virgins out there who act freakier than him. That’s why Luke’s never been the one to judge a book by their cover.
“I’ve never fucked a virgin before, that’s all.”
You squint at him. “I don’t believe that. You’ve lost your virginity yourself too, haven’t you?”
“Well, I lost it to someone who wasn’t a virgin. So technically I wasn’t fucking a virgin.”
“Do you want to get paid or not?”
Mouthy.
And if Luke isn’t a literal slave for money, he probably would’ve said no to your bratty ass. He rarely comes across one. But when he does, it comes with a challenge that leaves his dick satisfied. So he guesses it’s all good.
In two wide strides, Luke is crossing the room and towering over you. He finds it quite cute that you have to crank your neck up just to fully look at him, and he brings his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. Such a simple action and you’re already trembling like a leaf.
“Is there anything I can’t do to you before we start?”
“None. Do whatever you want with me.”
Luke can’t help but grin. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart.”
You don’t answer then. And that’s good. Because quite frankly, he’s getting tired from how mouthy you’re being. The only sounds he wants to hear from women’s mouths are the ones when he’s stuffing them full of his cock, brain rendered blank and drooling mindlessly on the pillow.
Luke finally leans down to capture your lips to his, and he pulls you close to his body as he wraps his hands around your waist. Turns out, you’re not as stubborn now as you were an hour ago in the bar when you’re getting kissed like this. You’re quick to submit yourself and melt into his arms as Luke deepens the kiss.
He brings his hand on your neck, then he slides it up until he’s gripping your hair roughly, keeping your head in place as he licks open your lips. You immediately get the memo and open your mouth, and Luke immediately shoves his tongue inside.
Luke can hear the kiss when he tilts his head. It’s wet and messy, and there’s already drool spilling over the two of you. It’s clear that you have no idea what you’re doing, mindlessly letting your tongue clash with his while your hands desperately grip his shirt.
And when he pulls away, there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. Luke leans closer to lick it away while you scrunch your nose in disgust.
“Don’t tell me that’s your first kiss too.”
“My first kiss was better than that,” you say with a hint of smirk on your face.
“I’m sure it was,” Luke hums. He then takes a hold of the end of your shirt and quickly pulls it off you. He whistles at the sight of your bra, holding a sizable flesh of tits right on his face. Beautiful. Breathtaking. He’s certain he’ll never get tired of the sight of boobs ever. Luke is quick to squeeze it through the fabric and watches as you squirm and whimper in front of him. “I want to fuck your tits. But maybe we can do it later.”
“Fuck my – how will that work?” you ask in genuine curiosity.
“I’ll slot my cock between those beautiful tits of yours and I’ll paint your face with my cum,” Luke deadpans, then he pushes you on the bed that you bounce slightly on the mattress. He slides his fingers on the edge of your pants, and he pulls it off in one swift movement, leaving you in just your underwear now that’s not going to last long – because Luke is pulling that away too.
And almost immediately, he smells the scent of sweet, untouched pussy in the air. And his cock has never been so hard before. When Luke spreads your legs open, his mouth dries up upon seeing your bare cunt in front of him.
“What?” you ask, voice a little shaky from embarrassment. “Is it ugly? I waxed before I went to you.”
“Why would you do that?” Luke tilts his head. “I love me some thick bush.”
“So it’s ugly?”
“No, I love all sorts of pussies, don’t worry,” he reassures her as he gently caresses your thighs. “Your cunt is fucking beautiful. Just been awhile since I last saw a bald one.”
Surprisingly, that cracks you up. And Luke finally hears a giggle falling from your lips. It’s cute.
“Take off your bra, too. I wanna see the girls.”
You obediently reach behind you and unclasp your bra. Luke watches with a grin on his face as your tits finally flow free. He brings his hands to cup both of them and uses his thumb to play with your perky nipples.
“T-They’re sensitive,” you whimper loudly. “Do you wanna… suck on them? I heard it feels good. Wanna try it out.”
Well, he wouldn’t have to be told twice.
Luke leans down and wraps his lips around your right nipple, and he sucks roughly. He sucks until your back is arching under him, lips licking around your areola before diving back in to suck and nip gently at your nipple. Then Luke turns to the other one and does the same, until his spit is dribbling down to your belly and you’re itching away from the assault of his mouth.
When he pulls away to see your reaction, he sees that already fucked out expression on your face that he’s familiar with. But this early on? Fucking hot.
“How’s that, baby? You love getting your pretty tits played with?”
You only nod with your bottom lip in between your teeth. Not good enough.
Luke brings his hand down to smack your left tit, and you squeal like a pig.
“Words, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”
“Yes! Yes, Luke, I-I love getting my t-tits played with,” you sniffle, and he smiles. Good.
“That’s better.” He gives your nipple a pinch and laughs cruelly when you yelp in surprise.
Luke pulls away to start unbuckling his belt. His eyes never leave yours as he yanks it out and throws it on the floor. But before he gets rid of his pants, he gets rid of his shirt first, baring himself in front of you and shivering slightly when the cold air hits his chest. Luke also doesn’t stop you when you sit up, a hand reaching to touch his chest and stomach, your surprisingly short nails digging into his skin.
“You like what you see?” he asks teasingly.
“You’re… really hot,” you say quietly, hand going further down until your fingers are just nestled on the thatch of hair around his belly button and disappearing down into his pants. “And hairy.”
“You should see the big guy.”
You give him a weird look and he pushes your hand away. Luke then shoves his own hand inside his pants, and he fishes out his hardening cock to show it to you. He’s still not fully hard yet, just barely getting there, but he can already feel himself heavy in his palm and leaking slightly on the tip. Luke holds it on the base as he points it directly at you – something he noticed that women loved from his years of doing it. And when he pans his eyes to look at you, as expected, you might as well be drooling like the rest.
“Is that – wow, that’s… really thick…” you trail off, eyes never leaving his dick. “You’re not fully hard yet, right? Is it going to get bigger?”
“Yeah,” Luke grins. “You like it? This is what you’re going to be paying for, isn’t it? The first words you uttered to me were about my giant cock.”
“I just never expected it to be that big.”
“This isn’t even the biggest it’s going to get,” he deadpans. “You’re going to have to wait for that. So for the meantime…”
Luke grabs your legs and pushes them up in the air, baring you outright naked in front of him. And he doesn’t miss the way your face twists in a sudden surprise, but Luke doesn’t wait to admire it.
He immediately dips his head down and latches his mouth upon your cunt, and he sucks. He keeps a tight hold on your thighs, his nails digging into your skin as he hears the loudest whimper he’s ever heard a woman makes.
Virgins, Luke thinks. Probably the first time having her cunt touched too, much less eaten. But nonetheless, Luke delivers what he always does. What he knows he’s good at.
He alternates between sucking and licking on your clit, just at the right pace. Not too fast, not too slow. Luke can feel your slick already dripping down his chin, and he finally fucks his tongue inside your tight little cunthole and buries his nose down mound.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the smell of pussy.
“Fuck — Luke, that feels — oh, god… oh god, that feels so good —”
Luke hums loudly, making sure you feel the vibration on your pussy. He lets your fingers pull at his hair, and that only motivates him to fuck you with his tongue faster.
He drools all over your hungry hole. He can feel your warm walls clenching around his tongue. And he curls it to get all the slick from the source itself. Luke can feel himself getting harder as the seconds go by, and he can’t help but grind his cock slightly on the mattress.
“G-God, that — that kinda t-tickles — oh fuck — yes, yes —”
Luke pulls away to look at your face. It’s twisted in pure arousal and excitement, and your hands are pushing him back down to your hungry cunt that’s winking at him and clenching around nothing for more. He pulls back slightly to spit directly on your clit, and lets it dribble down your ridiculously tight opening and down your asshole.
“Luke, come on,” you whine loudly, trying to push his head down again, but Luke doesn’t relent. “Please continue. I want — your tongue again. Please?”
“You want it where?”
You pout and Luke smirks. How adorable.
“Tell me where. Go on,” he says. “Tell me you want my tongue again in your tight little pussy. Go on. Say it.”
“I’m not saying that —”
“Then you’re not getting it.”
When Luke goes to pull away, he laughs when you make sure to keep a rough hold onto his hair. You’re pulling it like a child, and he presses his cheek against your inner thigh with his hand caresses your hips.
“It’s embarrassing,” you say quietly, clearly ashamed. But that’s never been something Luke acknowledges when he’s fucking someone on the bed. If you’re not being shameful and not putting your heart into it, what’s the point? You were already moaning like you didn’t give a shit about the people possibly being next door.
“It’s hot,” Luke notes, giving you a cocky grin that he knows always works for other women. He’s not surprised when you bite your lip and look away, finally saying the words he’s been dying to hear.
“Please… put your tongue in my p-pussy…”
Luke’s cock has never throbbed so hard in his life before. Maybe it’s because you’re cute. Maybe it’s because you’re a virgin and this is the first sexual experience you’ve had in your life. Maybe it’s because he loves the way your cunt looks stretched around his fat fingers, and the way you moan with no shame and throw your pretty head back.
“Not quite my tongue yet but fuck me…” Luke whispers. “You’ve got the tightest little cunny I’ve ever come across.”
He pulls out his wet fingers and replaces them with his mouth. Finally. And Luke spends the next two minutes coaxing out your first orgasm of the night by smearing his lips and nose all over your sopping wet clit, acting as if he’s making out with it while keeping his eyes locked on your face
Luke uses his fingers to finally fuck you over the edge. Your legs wrap around his head and push him down to suck harder onto your clit. And when he curls his fingers in, he feels you squeezing around and squealing like a fucking pig.
Luke begins humping the mattress, his cock rubbing raw on the blanket bundled up beneath him. And he can feel his dick leaking like a fucking faucet. When he pulls away to sit up, he takes a moment to admire you out of breath.
“Your poor cunny looks prettier when she’s all puffy like this,” Luke smirks as he reaches down to deliver a smack right on your quivering pussy. You jolt and instinctively close your legs, but Luke smacks your thigh too. “Keep them open. We’re just getting to the good part.”
He sees you looking down to glance at his cock, and he cracks a grin when you grimace.
“That thing won’t fit.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Use something else.”
“I thought you wanted the full package?” Luke raises a brow, and he grabs your ankle when you try to crawl away. “Don’t go anywhere. I promise you that when I fuck you full of this dick, you won’t go looking around for something else.”
You can only whimper. Most girls do. And guys, don’t forget. Some of them would always act so brave and confident, but cry like a baby for a bottle when Luke’s screwing them down into the mattress. It’s hot, though. Luke can’t complain.
“Are we going to do it now? You don’t want me to…” you lick your lips. “You know… suck your uh —”
“My dick?”
“Yeah.”
“Next time,” Luke grins. Before he fully gets rid of his pants, he fishes for the spare condom in his wallet. They probably should’ve stopped somewhere first before they got here, but alas, he’s not about to run to some gas station when his cock is hard enough to knock down bricks on the wall.
When he sees you looking curiously at the package, he hands it over with a knowing smile on his face.
“You wanna put it on?”
“... Magnum XL…” you read the packaging quietly. And as if a surge of pride, Luke’s own dick twitches against his stomach.
“I know it’s big, stop wasting any more time. Put it on.”
You obey without another word. Maybe it’s because you’re scared. Luke imagines that’s probably the case. You’re a virgin, after all. And not to mention the fact that Luke has also never fucked a virgin before.
He’s just… going to be less aggressive, that’s all.
Luke holds himself at the base while you put on the rubber plastic over his girth. You give him a quick stroke to test it out, and he watches as you slowly lean your head closer to press a chaste kiss on the head of his cock.
“How fucking cute,” Luke chuckles, petting your hair. “You gotta kiss it better first because you know how I’d fucking struggle stretching that cunt of yours, hm?”
You scrunch your nose. “You need to learn how to be less vulgar.”
“I’m a male escort. It’s what I do.”
Luke doesn’t wait for whatever it is that you have to say next. He flips you over on your hands and knees, and he positions himself behind you, taking aim of his dick to rub your clit with the fat, mushroom head of it.
“It’s not — I’m scared, Luke. I don’t think it’s going to —”
“Shhh,” he says, reaching over to insert his fingers in your mouth. “Just relax. Let me do all the work. Relax your pussy when I head in. It’s going to hurt, but just relax.”
Luke really doesn’t want to comfort a crying virgin. But he doesn’t want to be an asshole. And what if you rate him with 2 stars after this and tell the experience to everybody. That’ll only ruin his great image.
So Luke slowly eases his cock in. Once the thick head finally slides its way in, everything else will go in smoothly.
“That’s right…” Luke coos when you keen and fist the sheets. “Biiig stretch.”
Your mouth is muffled, but he knows what you’re saying.
It’s big.
It’s a tight fucking fit.
“I know, I know,” he says through gritted teeth. Because fucking hell. His dick feels like it’s being choked to death. When he knows half of him is finally inside your snug little cunt, he prepares you for the worst part by pressing a soft kiss on your nape. That’s when he drives deep and shoves his whole dick inside you.
He throbs harder when you scream around his fingers, and he’s fucking lucky you didn’t bite them off. You just try to buckle your hips away, but Luke keeps you close to him, not letting you go anywhere far.
Luke keeps his cock buried deep inside you, and he takes a moment to regain his senses. He eventually pulls his fingers away and hears you letting out a pathetic sob as your face falls on the mattress.
Ah fuck.
How did you figure out this is his favorite position, really?
“It hurts, Luke —” you sniffle.
“Only at first,” he reassures while he keeps a hold of your hips. “Relax your muscles. You’re clenching, that’s why it hurts.”
“It hurts!” you argue loudly, but that soon crs. acks when Luke moves slightly and you scream. “Ah — slow down!”
Luke is reminded once again why he doesn’t fuck virgins.
He simply doesn’t have the patience for this.
But he’s nice today. He’s not an asshat. So he goes slow.
He drives his cock real nice and slow, only hearing your wordless little whimpers and moans. When you try to muffle it with the sheets, Luke pulls at your hair to hear you better.
“Don’t be shy to make a sound,” Luke reminds you. “I want the whole building to know who’s breaking in your pussy like this.”
“Stop — being so vulgar —” you choke out, and Luke can only laugh at you. “M-My pussy — it doesn’t — ah, slow down — it hurts! It’s big! Slow down!”
“I am slow,” Luke says with a small grin on his face. He rolls his hips forward slowly, enjoying the sloppy sounds that your cunthole is making as he slides in and out, the slowest he’s ever fucked someone in his life. “What were you saying? Your pussy what? It hurts? Does it?”
“Ah — it’s sensitive!” you whine.
“Poor baby,” he says, fake pouting. “But your poor little dripping pussy is so wet. Surely you won’t be able to blame me if I just —”
Luke doesn’t give you any more time to adjust.
He finally fucks deep, relishing the wet sound of his meaty cock sloshing in your cunt, and he begins jackhammering the shit out of you into the mattress.
“Luke —” you squeal out his name. But that squeal quickly turns into a scream. And when Luke grinds his hips against your ass, feeling his fat balls slamming against your sopping clit, you try to run your ass away but fail. “Ah — ah, ah, please — oh fuck — shit — it’s so big —”
“Yeah? You love it?” Luke grins through his sweat. “Tell me you fucking love it.”
“I — oh, Luke… Oh, fuck — oh, shit — fuck —” you moan pathetically, clenching around his dick as you try and buckle your hips away. “It feels so huge — I love it — I love it, Luke! I love being…. Ah… filled like this! Your cock! I love your cock —”
“Damn fucking right you do.”
Luke leans down to turn your head around slightly to press a wet kiss on your lips.
“More, more, more, please — please, Luke —”
“I knew you’d come around,” Luke grins. And then, he fucks you harder.
Luke fucks you until you’re clenching the sheets with your fist. He hammers his hairy cock down, until you’re pushing back against him by yourself, poor little clit dripping with pure satisfaction from being fucked full of him.
“Yeah, that’s right… work that pussy on my cock… show me how good you feel — oh fuck… yeah. She’s so fucking wet,” Luke croons. “Your kitty must be so fucking happy that I’m the first one to break her in, huh? God, you’re such a slut for it. Your first fat cock and you already know your fucking way around.”
“Y-Yeah… it feels so good, Luke… feels so good i-inside me…” you drool. Luke swears if he can see your face now, your eyes are rolling at the back of your head. It’s just one of the downsides of fucking doggy-style. But he doesn’t have to see it to know it. “My… pussy is so — happy. I’m gonna — I feel weird, Luke… my pussy feels like — oh… oh fuck… oh shit….”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Luke groans. And honestly, he can’t take it anymore. The moment he feels your hot walls squeezing him dry, he pulls himself out and rips the condom off and throws it on the ground. You fall on the mattress on your front, twitching and convulsing from your orgasm.
Luke takes himself in hand at the thick root of his dick, and he starts fucking his fist with a sweaty plap-plap-plap, his hand becoming a blur from the speed of it. And finally, he moves quick to flip you over on your back to aim his cock directly at you and shoot his load right onto your perfect fucking face.
Luke groans loudly, feeling his balls pulling at the sensation as he slows down from fisting his hairy cock. White ribbons of semen are shooting out of his slit and onto your brow and lashes, and it’s a good thing you have your eyes closed, otherwise that would’ve been a big problem.
And when you finally do open your eyes, you lick your lips at the sight of him.
Slut.
“Fuck…” is really the only thing Luke can say. He’s never come that fast before. That’s a new record. But then again, it mostly has to do with the fact that it was an untouched, virgin pussy.
Not anymore, it seems.
Luke moves to reach down and see the condition of your cunt. And he wants to salivate upon seeing it all puffy and sore and slightly gaping because of him. Not to mention the light streak of blood smeared all over your cunt lips and clit.
When he glances up to meet your eyes, he sees that you’re dipping your fingers onto his load and licking them clean.
“You’re a real fucking freak for a virgin,” Luke comments, and he smirks when he sees a glint in your eyes. “You wanna go again?”
You only raise a brow.
“... Is there an additional fee if I want it raw?”
a/n: this is just an excuse for me to write about luke's absolutely humongous cock. and also he's a bit mean here. also he's huge, did i mention that? also he's got a dirty mouth. also he's huge did i tell you that—
pervy professor ryland who physically can’t rip his eyes off the jeans that hugs your ass perfectly every time you walk past his desk. it’s just so well rounded and perky, and it jiggles softly underneath the rough fabric that makes his eyes twitch a little underneath his glasses. he’s certain you’re not doing it on purpose judging by the fact that you don’t even have a clue that half of the football team is doing the same. ryland truly isn’t any better.
pervy professor ryland who blatantly flirts with you when you’re reaching out about a paper he assigned. shamelessly staring at your cleavage when you’re wearing something that hangs low on the neck. it doesn’t help the fact that you have such perfect tits that’ll fit well in his hands. he daydreams about squeezing them in his palms or burying his face in between your two globes, to sniff the sweat that’s been building up under your breasts and lick them clean with his tongue.
pervy professor ryland who has no qualms telling you to stay after class and say it concerns your grades, when it’s really all about finally asking you out after weeks of beating around the bushes. he’s not stupid. he knows you feel the same way but is just to shy to even fully commit to it. he knows that you know how he looks at you. the lingering lustful stares and every time ryland wets his lips when looking at yours.
“it’s unconventional, but not unheard of,” ryland explains as he leans against his desk with his arms crossed. “this university doesn’t forbid it. but if you’re unsure because of how the people may see it, we can keep it under wraps if that’s what you wish.’
“yeah,” you nod shyly, clutching your bag beside you out of nervousness. ryland can see the thin layer of sweat forming on your forehead, and the way you refuses to meet his eyes and would rather look at his tie instead. “we can just… keep it under wraps. i want to. but i want to keep it a secret for now.”
ryland smiles, “no problem. i’ll pick you up at 8 then?”
pervy professor ryland who wasted no time on the first date. fingered you in his car while you’re strapped on the passenger seat. the vehicle was parked right outside the restaurant, and he had the seat inclined back and your legs spread while his thick fingers tickled your cunt under your chiffon skirt.
your tiny little hands were gripping his wrist, uncertain whether or not you wanted to push him away or pull him deeper. “oh shit– that’s– oh god, ry, that feels so– oh please… please, make me come–”
“greedy girl,” ryland said, and his eyes wandered out the windows to see the relatively empty streets. even if there were a couple of people walking by, they never noticed them inside the vehicle. his windows were slightly tinted. “you’re lucky i find you so cute.”
he pushed you over the edge by pushing down his thumb on your puffy clit as he curled his fingers deep inside your dripping little pussy, at the same time using his other hand to turn your head to the side to press his lips on yours.
pervy professor ryland who brings your dirty panties to work. and when he’s all alone in his office, he brings it up to his nose and inhales the scent of your cunt while fucking his fist wildly underneath the desk. ryland thinks about you putting all your weight down his face, until he’s grinding your fat pussy lips against his mouth and nose and drinking in all your sweat and slick – oh and in fact, he fucking loves it when you’re sweaty.
pervy professor ryland who doesn’t let you shower when you get back to his apartment after a hot sunny day. ryland would literally bury his face in your neck and armpits, nose and lick every crevice like a hungry man.
“stop that– i’m stinky,” you whine as you try to push his stubborn head away from your armpit. but you know better than anyone else that your whine does nothing but make him throb harder than he already is, so ryland presses his clothed thick cock against your thigh instead.
“i love your stink,” he murmurs. “your little girl stink. i can’t even imagine how good your cunt smells right now. god.”
pervy professor ryland who fucks you stupid in a bathroom on the campus. he has you bent over the dirty stink and keeping your head up to make you look at yourself while he drives his cock deeper over and over inside you. ryland also has your dirty panties shoved in your mouth to keep you from making any loud noises.
pervy professor ryland who makes you kneel on the hard tiled floor to clean off his meaty dick with your mouth. he keeps a tight hold on your messy hair while his other hand holds the wall for support. his glasses are fogging and sliding off his nose. and as much as ryland wants to keep you quiet at times like this, doesn’t mean he has to shut his mouth too.
“you wouldn’t be licking my cock clean right now if your dirty pussy wasn’t so desperate for it earlier,” he coos while he fucks your mouth, groaning quietly when he feels your throat contracting around his girth and your spit dribbling down his balls. “don’t puke. you’ll be cleaning it up with your tongue too.”
a/n: ask me if i care about making ryland grace mean and bad
i was jelly of everyone having fun with their Ryan Gosling dolls, so now y'all get to witness my "happy ending" hcs for my beloved Julian Thompson from "Only God Forgives".
there's a part 2 >here< now for anyone who wants more <3
(tw for anyone who follows me for fluff content: do not look into this film just for fun unless you're also into fucked up shit and artsy movies)
i ADORE Julian. he should stand in stark contrast to my deep, abiding love for good, good boys, but since what i truly love MOST is a good boy who suffers i find him absolutely heart-rending. Julian Thompson fucking SUFFERS for the tiny shred of goodness inside of him that his abhorrent upbringing and fucked up circumstances want so desperately to crush out of him.
even in a made up "happy ending" i don't think he'd be likely to ever find (or deserve) true peace. still, i can dream of a life for him after the film...
the Lieutenant relieves Julian of his lower right arm and deeply wounds his left. but - like he's done for others he expects attornment from - he does not leave Julian to die.
when he wakes up in the hospital, alone, Julian feels no relief at being alive and immediately considers ending his own life.
the sight of the gruesome scar on his left arm causes him to recognizes the punishment inherent to having to carrying on as he is now.
when he's eventually released from hospital he does not return home or to the Muay Tai gym. he wants nothing to do with either place and - for the first time in his life - he is not gripped by the fear of his family or their expectations.
he finds out through the news that the police have dismantled his and his brothers former empire and seized all of their assets; yet he feels no sense of loss whatsoever.
with the (still considerable) amount of cash he has stashed in various places, Julian overpays his few remaining contacts for the paperwork necessary to leave Thailand with a new identity.
before he departs, he pays a kid to deliver Mai an envelope with an empty letter and the majority of his remaining funds.
tired of standing out, Julian chose a Canadian passport and travels to Vancouver, hoping to dissolve into the busy city without anyone taking note of him.
it isn't hard to find work, but it is hard to find a place to live. for weeks it's just him and his backpack, outside or at 24-hour dinners, until he finally settles into a tiny basement suit in the home of an elderly Chinese woman with three black-and-tan Pomeranians and a thriving back-patio garden.
his landlady's grown son doesn't like Julian, but her dogs do, and that's good enough for her.
at first, he changes jobs constantly; unwilling to let anyone get to know him or to allow himself to feel too content in any one place.
if people try to form friendly connections with him, Julian remains cold and quiet until they move on. to him, it's for their own good. he doesn't trust himself and he doesn't want anyone else to trust him either.
he never practices Muay Thai again nor works out strenuously. he never allows himself to consider adaptive devices for his missing right arm, nor physical therapy for the damage to his left. he never wants to feel like he's capable of using his body to do grievous harm ever again.
he does everything in his power to deny himself things. outside of a cellphone for work, his only possessions are his clothes and the bedding on his mattress on the floor.
he never allows himself to accrue much wealth. he never has more than a few months worth of rent and food money in his bank account at any one time. if he starts to feel like he has an excess of funds he donates it to community outreach programs and animal rescues.
while working at a market one summer Julian starts feeding a stray dog who frequently sneaks into the event grounds. the dog eventually starts to follow him home, sleeping under an azalea bush outside the front gate until he leaves each morning.
he comes home one day to find his landlady scrubbing the stray dog down with the backyard hose. she gives him a slip-lead and some cash and insists that he takes his "new friend" to the veterinarian.
the stray gets to sleep in his bed every night from then on.
he never officially gives "Good Girl" a name; always insisting that he's going to find her a better home (but he never does and she would never let him).
GG is eventually joined by two more dogs and a chunky orange cat (all of whom have more furniture, accessories, and clothes than Julian himself).
initially, he just assumes that GG is especially smart, but over time it becomes obvious that Julian has the right combination of patience and temperament to be extremely good at dog training.
over time, GG and her siblings become extensions of both Julian's missing arm and his missing family. they're the first loving connections that he truly allows himself to form.
it doesn't take long for Julian and his talented dogs to get pulled into the local TV and movie scene; Vancouver being a hub for shooting all sorts of films, shows, and commercials.
the trust he has in his dogs and that his dogs have in him help Julian to rebuild his sense of self. feeling useful helps him to feel less haunted by the horrors of his past and finding positive ways to interact with other people starts to slowly help him to feel human again (or, perhaps, for the first time).
working in TV and movies, of course, eventually leads to Julian crossing paths with Colt Seavers and the rest of the RGCU <3
summary: Months have passed, and you have found yourself struggling to find your place at Grover Cleveland Middle, leading to thinking about transferring, especially with your complicated relationship with your co-worker. Ryland sees the transfer forms on your desk when asking for stickers, and brings it up in a distasteful way. You are reminded of the last time you saw him.
tags: 18+ SMUT, AFAB reader, fluff, angst, kissing in the rain, confessions, showering together (no sex), oral (m and f receiving), face sitting, p in v, switch!ryland (switch!reader), hair pulling, dumbification, crying during sex, mating press, creampie, bruises and hickies, consent checks, ryland talks you through it, multiple orgasms, ryland is so in love with you, enemies to lovers, rivals w benefits, no use of Y/N for reader insert, porn with plot (pwp), not beta read.
notes: IT'S FINALLY HERE! golly gosh i'm so sorry i got carried away and it ended up being much longer than planned, hence the delay. I love you all <3 I hope you enjoy!
part one - part two - part three - part four
NSFW UNDER THE CUT! MDNI
The soft patter of rainfall resounded within your classroom, the grey clouds casting a dim light through the glass. The students had gone home for the day, and here you sat marking some homework, a quiet hum of a song on your lips. It was late autumn now, the leaves having changed and fallen, as they usually do, as the days have gotten darker and colder. A thermos of tea sat on your desk, steaming at the lip.
A few of your coworkers had found out that Grace and you had attended the same grad school, through some ethical stalking of your old Facebook account, to which you now tried your best to avoid contact with most of the staff. Of course they noticed, and fortunately they took it as a sign to stop prying into your personal life.
However, this did lead to you being alone most breaks, lunches, and evenings. Not that you minded - the quiet has always been something you enjoyed - but now the only person you really talked to at work was the one person you actually wanted to avoid. Part of you wondered if you should put in a transfer request, and with every day you felt the eyes on you that part of you grew stronger and louder. It got to the point that the transfer request sat on your desk, only waiting for your signature.
If not for your students, you would have sent it in weeks ago.
You had gotten incredibly attached to your classes, and in the few months that you’ve worked here, you had been told by multiple parents of your positive effects on their children. The mere thought brought a smile to your face, your features lighting up as you continued to write in red ink.
A knock on your door broke your train of thought, your smile falling as your eyes met the guest at your door, standing in his usual grey suit.
He immediately raised his hands at your stony gaze, sighing through his nose. “It’s for the kids.”
Your gaze softened immediately, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose, your other hand waving in a gesture for him to state his case.
“I’ve run out of stickers, and I’m halfway through grading papers for tomorrow.” Grace began, taking a tentative step into your classroom. “Could I borrow some of yours? The students without them would be heartbroken.”
You paused for a moment, before sighing in defeat as you gestured him to come closer, spinning in your chair to reach the lower shelf of your desk cabinet. Your fingers quickly found the laminate sheets, a gentle smile on your face as your eyes caught the shimmer of gold stars. You held them out for him to take, only for him to not do so, causing you to raise an eyebrow in confusion.
You followed his gaze to your transfer form that lay on your desk, not missing the conflicted emotions that swirled in his eyes. His lips parted to speak, only for the words to get caught in his throat, his brow furrowed.
“I haven’t decided yet.” You sighed, placing the gold stickers down, gaze avoiding his. “I’m planning on staying until the winter break at least.”
“You want to leave again?” With the way his face quickly morphed between expressions, you could tell he immediately regretted the words that slipped from his mouth, especially the adverb ‘again’.
Your heart leaped into your throat, jaw clenching as you swallowed the years of buried grief. You drew a sharp breath through grit teeth as you simply pushed the stickers into his hands, and he easily took the hint, exiting the room and shutting the door behind him.
Thunder roared outside as you sunk into your chair, palm on your chest as your eyes scanned over the transfer forms yet again. You couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at Grace, he was right after all.
You were always running away.
*~*~*
Your phone buzzed endlessly with congratulations, after your supervisor accidentally spread the news of your new job to the rest of your cohort. Sitting at your desk, you sighed as you turned your phone off, eyes drawn to the droplets of rain that cascaded down the glass of your window. The sun had long since set, the room illuminated solely by the warm light of your desk lamp as your eyes fluttered shut, focused on the sound of the storm raging outside.
After months of interviews and assessments, you had finally secured a job at the MRC Laboratory of Molecular Biology, a company that you’d been striving for a position ever since you were in high school. It all felt a little unreal to you, and so you had kept the news mostly to yourself, but you let it slip at your final meeting with your supervisor. A job at MRC is incredible for anyone in your field, and in the midst of celebration, your supervisor had let everyone else know, much to your dismay. As brilliant as an institution MRC was, it was situated in Cambridge, in the UK - you would be leaving California, with no known return date.
You wanted to be the one to tell him, you didn’t want him to hear about it like this.
But alas, here you were, the news spreading like wildfire throughout your cohort, and you were positively certain he had caught wind of it by now. Part of you felt relieved that you wouldn’t have to figure out how to break it to him, you were sure you would have said something stupid, something you would have regretted. Maybe you wouldn’t have regretted it? Perhaps it would have turned into something beautiful.
But no, you had no reason to see him again now, with your graduation having passed and your flight next week, there was no point in saying goodbye.
Your train of thought was derailed by a frantic knock on the door, your brow furrowed in confusion as the rattling continued. With the lightning flashing outside, only someone stupid would be out at this time.
You quickly made your way to your front door, fingers hasty against the lock before you swung it open, your heart jumping to your throat at the sight before you.
There Ryland Grace stood, hair flat against his forehead as droplets obscured his glasses. He wore a grey hoodie, which was drenched through, his whole body shaking. Your name fell from his lips, a pitiful sound as he looked at you.
“What…” You could barely find the words to say, eyes darting anywhere but his. “Why are you here, Grace?”
He removed his glasses as he took shelter on your porch, his chest heaving as you took a better look at him in the light. A mess was an understatement, disheveled and scattered, anguish swimming in those blue eyes of his. Did he run all the way here?
“You… You’re leaving?” Grace swallowed thickly, trying to catch your averted gaze. Your jaw tightened at his words, arms folded as you took a deep breath.
“Why do you care?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, and you didn’t miss the way he flinched at your words. “We agreed that we’d stop once we graduated, which was weeks ago. In fact, you shouldn’t even be here.” You buried the ache that bloomed in your chest at his crestfallen expression.
“No.” He said firmly, shaking his head, “don’t give me that bullshit.” You could see the tension in his shoulders as he spoke, quivering with each breath.
“Bullshit?” You groaned, rolling your eyes. “I’ve finally achieved all I’ve ever wanted since I was a teenager, Grace. What we have, what we had… It didn’t mean-”
“Don’t you dare.” He cut you off, tears lining his eyes. His hands came up to angrily wipe away any semblance of his vulnerability. “You were gonna leave without saying anything? Pretend that we aren’t anything? That this - that I - meant nothing to you?”
Your throat felt dry as the words tangled in your throat. What could you say? Could you even say anything?
“I always hated the way you would only call me Ryland if you wanted something from me.” He confessed, fists clenching at his sides. “You didn’t even have to, I would do anything you asked of me.” He laughed wryly. “Because I am yours,” his voice felt small at his admittance, as if you could see straight through him, “my heart, my soul - they’re all yours.”
You could only stare at him as he laid everything bare, a disgusting thing twisting in your chest. Shame? Embarrassment? Or perhaps the slight realisation that you felt the same - something you have always denied squirming to life at his words.
“Tell me I’m not stupid. That I’m not imagining things.” He begged, searching your eyes for anything he could cling to. “Tell me that you love me too.” His voice broke, the sound similar to that of breaking glass with each second that passed. “I love you,” your name followed - a whispered, vulnerable sound.
The silence from you was almost deafening, and with the cold wind that scraped against your skin, you struggled to find your own voice.
“Ryland…” You were lost for words. “Grace, I-” His expression contorted at your struggle, the shame of it all finally getting to him as his shoulders slumped.
“Fuck- this was stupid, I’m sorry.” He bumbled, palms dragging over his face as he shook his head. “I- forget this ever happened. Good luck with everything, you’ll be great.”
Grace almost stumbled over his feet as he turned around, facing the storm that seemed to only grow more furious as time passed. Yet he didn’t look back, as he stepped off of your porch, into the torrential rain.
If you didn’t stop him now, that would be it. You could forget everything that happened between the two of you, and focus purely on your future ahead of you. You would permanently close this door and throw away the key, and you could continue denying your feelings for the years to come, despite the years of burying the yearning and care you held for him.
You would never speak with Ryland again. Never feel the warmth of his touch, the comfort of being in his arms ever again. You would never know what this could’ve been - it could’ve been a truly wonderful thing. His smile flashed in your mind, followed by the look on his face before he turned away.
Before you could even think, your bare feet met wet concrete, rain in your eyes. It was cold, the wind getting under your clothes as the storm seeped into the fabric, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to reach him, to hold him, to tear your own walls down for him.
He must’ve heard you scrambling down your driveway, as he turned to you with wide eyes, your name falling breathlessly, though it was muted by the downpour. You leaped into his arms, and before you could spend even a second overthinking it, you pressed your lips into his, his arms holding you tightly as you spun in the rain.
It was messy, uncoordinated, teeth clashing and noses bumping, yet so unbelievably perfect. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you fell deeper into the kiss, eyes closed as your heart burst, fireworks flashing behind your eyelids.
He kissed back almost desperately, lips finding yours between each shaky breath. It was everything you imagined, everything you had tried to run away from, yet here you were discovering the beauty of it all.
You pulled away breathlessly, pulse thrumming in your ears as your eyes darted between his, illuminated only by the streetlight above, bathed in orange rain.
“I love you too, Ryland Grace.” You mumbled, taking shelter within the crook of his neck, “...please, stay.” His hands shook at your sides as he pulled you from hiding, a bright grin on his face as he forced himself into your line of sight.
“Say it again.” He teased, lifting your chin with a finger to pepper kisses at the corner of your mouth. You rolled your eyes at him, pushing his face away with a sigh.
“Nevermind. Leave.” You joked, turning away and walking back to your open door.
“Wait, no-” He chased after you, only for you to pull him into another kiss under your porch light, hand gripping the collar of his wet hoodie as the both of you smiled into the kiss. “God…” He murmured as he pressed his forehead against yours, “it’s so much better than I dreamt.”
“You dreamt of me?” You raised an eyebrow at him as you stepped inside, using your damp shirt to wipe the rain from your face.
“I always hoped to find you there.” He said slowly, closing the door behind him. Your heart fluttered at this new romantic side to him that you’d never seen before. It was nice, something you could definitely get used to.
“What a flirt.” You scoffed, peeling your shirt from your body. “Do you want to join me in the shower?”
Grace almost choked on his own saliva at the sight of your bare skin, his eyes glueing to the wall. “I’m the flirt?”
“You’ve seen me naked before.” You tilted your head at his bashful expression, a smirk curling at your lips.
“Yeah, sure.” He shrugged, face hidden behind his hands. “But it means something more now.”
You nodded slowly at his words, finally gauging just how important this meant to him. Your arms crossed over your chest with an embarrassment you hadn’t felt in front of him for years. Were you feeling shy?
“You should probably go first-”
“Nonsense.” Grace immediately shut your proposition down, shaking his head. “My shirt is still a bit dry under this, and it’s your shower.”
“Okay…” You smiled softly, “you’re free to join me, but don’t feel pressured to, of course.” You took a deep breath, a hand on the banister leading up the stairs. “You know where the towels are.”
He gave you a warm smile before you went up the stairs, slipping into your bathroom with a dopey grin. You tried your best to ignore the sound of your own heart in your ears as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Raindrops remained on your skin, reflecting the bright bathroom lights. You peeled yourself from your remaining clothes as you ran the water, fingers dipping into the stream to test the temperature.
Hot steam rose from the tiles as you finally stepped under the shower, a quiet groan of relief slipping from your lips as warmth envelops your cold skin. A delighted hum of a song you could never remember the name of vibrated in your throat as you relished the buzzing feeling in your chest. Your eyes fluttered closed as you ran your palms over your face, not hearing the latch of the door or the shuffle of clothes on the other side of the curtain.
You almost jumped out of your skin at the feeling of his touch ghosting your waist, lips pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. His hands were light, tentative and hesitant, as he stood behind you.
You tilted your head to catch him in the corner of your eye, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the bright red at the tips of his ears. “Hello there, Dr. Grace.” You spoke teasingly, only for his grip on your waist to tighten for a moment. You could hear his breath catch in his throat at your words, his eyes screwing shut as he shakes his head.
“...still not used to that.” He mumbled under his breath, before testing your name with the ‘Dr’ prefix just as you had moments before. You shuddered at the sound. He was right, it was definitely something to get used to.
You turned around to face him fully, and despite standing here naked together, his eyes still avoided your body, either staying locked with yours or drifting to the walls or ceiling. “Are you alright?” You asked quietly, pulling him under the shower with you. His shoulders almost immediately relaxed under the water, a shaky breath escaping him.
“...I didn’t come in here for sex.” He said suddenly, your eyes widening at his words, before you nodded with a small smile.
“That’s okay.” You spoke quietly.
“I just wanted to shower together.” Ryland continued, laying his forehead on your shoulder. Your hand instinctively comes up to pet the back of his head, nails scratching at his scalp. “Just ignore… y’know.”
Of course you had noticed his little friend had been alive and kicking the moment he entered the shower, but out of respect, as well as an unspoken nervousness on your part, you had resisted every urge you had to just kneel and take it in your mouth. It sat so pretty, tip flushed and glossy.
You heeded his requests and focused on anything else, which wasn’t too difficult with his hands on you. No words were necessary as you began to help each other wash off the rain, your hands gently tugging at his damp, blond locks as you massaged shampoo into his scalp. It felt almost transcending when he did the same for you, something beautiful and bright blooming in your chest.
He was so unbelievably gentle with you, yet applying just the right pressure with his fingertips against your scalp, or when scrubbing you down. It was so sweet and domestic, something you hadn’t felt in years. In fact, you couldn’t even remember the last time someone made you feel this way.
Finally, you rinsed each other off and turned off the water, Ryland pressing yet another kiss to your forehead.
“You’re a lot more affectionate than I expected.” You murmured as he dried you off with your towel, wrapping it around you.
“It’s surprising me too.” He admitted, wiping himself down and wrapping his own towel around his waist. “But I can’t help it.” He added, giving you a shy smile, “it’s been building up for a while.”
You spared him a questioning glance as you both made your way to your bedroom, “how long is a while?”
He avoided your gaze as you fished out some clothes for the both of you, a sheepish smile on his lips. “Do I have to answer that?” He sighed, sitting on your bed.
“Not really, but would you really deny me the satisfaction?” You raised an eyebrow as you shot him a winning smile, putting your underwear on under your towel. He groaned as he surrendered to your power immediately, falling backwards onto the bed as he threw on his own clothes, towel over his shoulders.
“A long time.” He mumbled through his palms, peeking at you through parted fingers as you sat on the bed next to him, wearing a fresh set of pyjamas.
“We’re scientists, Dr. Grace.” You joked playfully, “an exact measurement of time would be greatly appreciated.”
He sighed through his nose as he rolled onto his side to face you, pulling you down to lie next to him. “You have got to stop calling me that.” He said, voice lower than before.
A sly smile curled at your lips as he stared at you with that familiar darkness in his eyes. “Oh?” You said breathlessly, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek, the stubble of his beard tickling your palm. “Is that not your name,” your tone was teasing, dangerous, as your thumb played at his bottom lip, “Dr. Grace?”
There was a shimmer of vulnerability in his eyes as he held your gaze, breathing steadily through his nose. Your name slipped from his lips in a low growl - more of a plea than a warning.
You sat up from the bed, swinging your leg over his hips to straddle his waist, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Is this okay?” You murmured against his skin, holding yourself up with palms against his broad chest. He failed to stifle the quiet whimper that hummed at the back of his throat, hands quick to find your waist.
“Y-Yeah…” He stammered, throwing his head back. “Fuck… careful, it’s been up for almost an hour.” He hissed as you gently rocked on his bulge, peppering kisses down his throat. “I-I’m sorry if I don’t last long.” Ryland mumbled as you went lower, lifting his shirt to kiss down his happy trail.
“Just relax.” You hummed soothingly, giving him a warm smile as you kissed his print through the thin fabric of his pyjama pants. “You can be selfish.” You uttered as you ghosted a palm over his shaft, relishing in the muffled groan he hides behind his forearm.
You slowly pull the fabric of his pants down, his member springing harshly from its confines, planting a soft kiss on the tip. Amusement blossomed in your chest at the sticky pre-cum that dripped over the head, his cock the hardest you’ve possibly ever seen it. He sat up, leaning back on his palms as you lay lazily between his legs.
“You…” He breathed, hand reaching out to caress your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” His words had your heart racing, a bashful sort of emotion pulling your eyes away from his intense gaze.
In order to distract yourself from your pulse thrumming in your ears, you licked a stripe from base to tip, taking pride in the way that his breath stuttered at the stimulation. His cock twitched eagerly before you enveloped the tip within your mouth, tongue swirling over the head as you held onto the base with your dominant hand.
“Ngh… shit…” He groaned through grit teeth, eyebrows tilted upwards as he stared down at you, chest heaving as his mind reeled. “So good… feels so good, baby…”
You’d forgotten just how thrilling it was to hear the sounds he made when you took control, the breathy whimpers and low groans - shyness overcome by pleasure. It always went straight to your core, and you could feel your underwear growing slick as you took him deeper, the tip nudging the back of your throat. Your hand moved up and down whatever length you couldn’t reach, and with the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.
“W…Wait… f-fuck..” His hips stuttered, hand tangling in the roots of your hair, “baby, please…”
You pulled off of him with a ‘pop’, yet your hand still stroked him at a steady pace. “It’s okay, let yourself feel good for me.” You kissed his lower abdomen, your hand moving faster, slick with your saliva.
Ryland released with a broken groan, beautiful whimpers of your name spilling from his lips as his seed spurted from his tip, droplets rolling over your knuckles as you slowly pumped him dry. Apologies fell from his lips in babbles, and you quickly silenced him with a kiss, heartfelt and passionate.
“Are you okay, darling?” You murmured against his lips, diverting to plant a kiss on his forehead. His breath shook as he came back to his senses, brow furrowed.
“Mhm..” he nodded slowly, catching your lips in yet another kiss. “‘m perfect.” He smiled against your lips as he gently nudged his nose against yours, “you’re perfect.”
You laughed quietly at his words, ignoring the way your heart soared.
After wiping down the evidence of his pleasure with a damp cloth, he sat up, removing his shirt. You quickly found your place on his chest, only for him to shake his head.
“You think I’d let you rest without paying you back?” Ryland clicked his tongue in disappointment, hands working hastily on your lower garments. He laid back on the bed, facing the ceiling, “come take a seat, beautiful.” He murmured, and who were you to say no?
It wasn’t a position you’d done often, so you were hesitant as you straddled his face, knees digging into the pillows as you hovered tentatively over his face.
“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to be shy now.” He growled, before his fingers dug into your thighs, pulling your cunt shamelessly onto his mouth, clit catching on the tip of his nose.
He lapped at your core like a man starved, tearing a cry of pleasure from you like it was his job. Your hands found his hair in a second, roughly tugging at his scalp, only egging him on further. Ryland groaned against your pussy, tongue dipping into your entrance as you ground your hips against his nose.
“Tastes so good…” He hummed, drawing yet another moan from you as he sucked and licked desperately. Every flick of his tongue sent electricity up your spine, legs shaking with each wave of pleasure that he gifted to you. Your vision blurred, breathy moans spilling from your lips. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you…” A broken whimper tore from the back of your throat as he pulled you down to suck harshly on your clit, and despite all of your efforts to escape, his hands held onto you like a death trap. You were sure his fingers would leave bruises, but the thought only had you growing wetter.
Ryland was relentless in his ministrations, words becoming scarce as he honed in on his task, moans filling the room under the low lamp-light.
Sometimes you hated how well he knew your body, with the speed he had your orgasm coiling in your stomach. However, you knew you were lucky, and with the way your legs quivered and your walls tightened around nothing, the both of you knew you were close.
“C’mon…” He groaned against your core, keeping at his constant pace, “let go for me…” You didn’t know he could hold you even tighter, yet he was always proving you wrong.
Your hips twitched as your climax quickly approached, the coil winding further and further, Ryland’s name a mantra on your lips as you screwed your eyes shut.
“Nono…” He mumbled. You cried out in protest once he pulled your hips off of his mouth, brow furrowed in desperation. “You gotta look at me when you cum.” He ordered, and once you nodded eagerly, only then did he continue.
It was dizzying, trying to maintain eye contact with Ryland as he stared up at you with blown out pupils, lust and adoration swimming in his eyes. There was no hope in holding back your whimpers as he continued to swirl his tongue between your folds, your orgasm picking up exactly where it left off, which just so happened to be at the edge.
Your climax rippled through you unapologetically as you struggled to hold his gaze, hips quivering as your fingers scraped against his scalp, a guttural moan tearing from your chest. He continued to lap at you through your orgasm, slowing down with each aftershock. Your lungs heaved as you came back down to earth, shuffling back onto his chest as he stared up at you with a proud grin.
His hair was a mess, strands sticking in whatever direction they wished, as his chin and nose glistened with your slick. A laugh passed through him as his eyes scanned your blissed out state, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, illuminated by the warm light.
After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Ryland sat up to pepper kisses across your collarbone and jaw, whispering praises under his breath. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead against yours as you settled in his lap.
Much to your surprise, his cock was hard once again, your breath hitching at the way it stood tall between the two of you.
“We don’t have to keep going, if it’s too much.” Ryland mumbled in reassurance, nuzzling under your chin.
You sighed through your nose, pulling your pyjama shirt off with a small chuckle. “When have you known me to leave a job half done?” You rolled your eyes playfully, yelping as he flipped you over onto your back, bouncing against the mattress. You didn’t even notice him remove his pants, only feeling his bare thighs against your ass as your ankles laid on his shoulders, where they belonged.
“Yeah?” He smirked at your startled expression, and you barely caught the flush of his cheeks in the low light. “I want to make love to you. Is that okay?” He asked quietly, hands stroking up and down your legs, peppering kisses along your calf as his heavy member rutted against your sensitive folds.
“Mmh.. yes, please.” You nodded, giving him an encouraging smile once you caught the vulnerability in his eyes.
You breathed deeply as he sunk into your core, his cock sliding in effortlessly as your walls eagerly pulled him in. Curses caught in your throat as he pressed deeper, stilling once he was all the way in, his tip snug against your cervix. You could feel him pulse inside of you, his brow furrowed as his gaze hazed over, hands never staying in one place too long. You felt so unbelievably full, his size even more prominent now with the lack of movement.
Ryland dragged his cock all the way out but the tip, before slamming his hips down, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your skull with a shattered moan. He held himself there yet again, dropping your legs to nip at your throat, suckling at that sweet spot under your ear, a hand groping at your breast.
“P-Please..” You begged, your hips bucking against his. “Ry… don’t be a t-tease…” You whimpered as he left hickies down your neck, licking the bruises as he still sat seated deep inside of you.
“‘m sorry, baby…” He hummed against your skin, testing another deep thrust. “I’ll take such good care of you, I promise… let me savour you…” He mumbled, beginning to move his hips slowly, his abdomen grinding deliciously against your clit. He hit so deep every time, his tip bumping against your g-spot and kissing your cervix with each thrust.
You could feel him in your throat, head thrown back against the pillows as he consumed all of your senses: his clean scent from just getting out of the shower, yet underlined with his woody musk, the taste of him on your lips with every kiss, the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, eyes full of love, the sound of his moans reverberating in his chest as lewd noises filled the room.
He cursed under his breath as he went just a fraction faster, hands and lips all over you, it was almost overwhelming, if it weren’t for the quiet words of encouragement slipping from him with every thrust.
“That’s it, baby… taking my dick so well…” Ryland praised, your legs quivering. “Awh, my love… you got this, always so good for me…”
Your nails scraped over his shoulders, one hand trailing up his nape to intertwine with his roots at the back of his head. He moaned quietly next to your head as his hips sped up even further.
“Y-You said I could be selfish… right..?” He mumbled in between moans, catching your lips in a messy kiss.
“M-Mmh… yes…” You confirmed, kissing back roughly. “What… fuck… whatever you want…” You could barely get your words out with all of the nasty sounds he pulled from you, playing your body like a fiddle.
Ryland growled as he bit roughly just above your collarbone, before pushing both of your knees up to your chest, into a mating press. The moan that tore from your throat was a sound you didn’t even know you could make, and if anyone told you he could fuck you even deeper, you wouldn’t have believed them, but by god he proved you wrong yet again.
You could barely form a coherent thought with the way he was ruining your pussy, cock bullying your g-spot as his lips never left your skin for even a second. Your mind was just full of him, just as your cunt was.
The sounds slipping from your lips were nothing short of sinful, only encouraging Ryland to keep going, much to your dismay. Your orgasm was again quickly approaching, and with the way his cock twitched deep inside you, hips stuttering with every thrust, you could tell he was close too.
“Cum with me, baby…” He murmured against your throat, his grip on the back of your thighs bruising. “I’ve got you.” He pulled you into another kiss, yet this one felt different, so full of love that it had tears springing in the corners of your eyes.
The coil in your abdomen twisted tighter and tighter, before finally snapping with a jolt of your body, legs shaking. At the same time, he spilled deep inside you with a broken moan, forehead pressed against yours as he gave you shallow thrusts through both of your climaxes. It was a transcending experience, finishing together. It wasn’t something that had ever happened before, and in that moment, you had never felt more adored in your life.
Your lips found each other’s in the come down, moans subsiding through the aftershocks.
“I love you so much.” Ryland mumbled once the fog cleared, kissing away the tears in the corners of your eyes, your name slipping from your lips like something sacred.
“I love you too, Ryland.” You nuzzled your nose against his, giggling quietly.
A low moan escaped you as he pulled out, your whole body sore as he apologised with kisses. He quickly wiped you both down, catching his seed before it could spill out onto your bedsheets. Once he was satisfied, he laid by your side, and you slowly rolled over to face him, your muscles aching in protest.
His fingertips traced over your cheek and down your jaw, brushing lightly over your collarbone before laying his palm flat on your upper arm, stroking gently with his thumb.
“Hello there.” You spoke quietly, suddenly feeling shy under his loving gaze. “You know… you never answered my question.” You recalled, giving him a small smile.
“Oh, right…” His eyes darted between yours as he hesitated on his words, lips parting to speak. “It was, uh, before we…” Ryland almost grimaced in embarrassment as your eyes continued to study him, tracing over each wrinkle in his expression, “...a month or so before our first time?”
You sat up in surprise, jaw dropped as you took his hand into yours. “What?” You spoke breathlessly, your fingers interlacing with his as he looked up at you with unadulterated adoration in his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“I swear.” He kissed your knuckles, raising his head onto his other hand. “A lot of people in our cohort had their eyes on you to be fair, I just happened to be one of them.” He confessed with a shrug.
“Lucky you.” You chuckled, laying back down.
“What about you?” He asked, “it’s only fair.”
You sighed as you thought about it, still fiddling with his fingertips. “Mine’s a lot more recent than yours.” You forewarned, avoiding his gaze. “I only figured it out recently, but I think I’ve been denying it for years.” Your voice was small, ashamed, only for him to laugh quietly. You looked up at him in confusion.
“That’s fine.” Ryland reassured you, gently squeezing your hand, “I would have been okay with just agreeing to be friends. Knowing you feel the same at all…” He paused, a bright grin on his face, “I’m on cloud nine.”
You couldn’t help but mirror his smile, before your heart clenched painfully at reality coming back to bite you. You were still leaving in a week. “What now?”
“Hmm…” His smile never faltered, pulling you to his chest as he kissed the top of your head in comfort. He was silent for a moment, before he spoke up again, “why don’t I come with you?”
Your eyes widened at his proposition, head tilting to meet his gaze, “to Cambridge?”
“No, to space.” Ryland said sarcastically, yelping when you poked him in the stomach in retort. “Yes, to Cambridge.” He suddenly realised the weight of his words, stammering, “of course, that’s a huge step, and if you don’t want to live together yet, then we could always do long dist-”
You silenced him with a deep kiss, your arms wrapping around his head as his easily found your waist. “I… yes… I'd love that.” You confessed breathlessly, “you’d really come all the way to the UK for me? Leave everything behind?”
“You are my everything.” He said without missing a beat, thumb caressing your cheek.
Your mind went blank at his words, warmth blooming in your chest as you leaned into his touch.
“Oh, by the way…” Ryland spoke gently, kissing your forehead before gazing at you lovingly. “May I be your boyfriend?”
- - -
The following days you had never felt happier, planning your future together with your new boyfriend leading up to your departure date. Due to the late notice, Ryland had to get a plane a couple days later than you, and so here you stood eagerly at London Stansted Airport, amongst the crowd of people also waiting for their loved ones.
Nerves buzzed in your system as you stood with a sign with Ryland’s name on it, eyes scanning the people in the distance. Your heart raced as people began running into each other’s arms, a small smile on your face.
Minutes passed, and your heart dropped to your stomach as the crowd you stood with grew thin, a lump forming in your throat as you spotted the pilot and flight crew departing. Your knees felt weak as you checked your phone multiple times. This was his flight, no mistake about it, you had booked it together after all.
In the midst of your panic, a staff member approached you with a concerned smile. “Are you alright?” They asked, to which you explained your situation to them
After double checking for his name in the passengers list, and confirming he was, in fact, supposed to be on that flight, the staff member gave you a heartfelt apology before leaving you to your own devices. You sat in that airport for hours, ringing his phone, messaging, but to no avail.
w what if we were to combine twitlight x henry letham… thinking abt him also getting to be the melancholic younger one in this universe and the rest of the family are other rygos characters and also some gn!reader being in bella’s role could be so cute… (like edward) henry keeps being pushed to get a partner but he has never been interested in anyone or anything that isn’t creating art… until he is
Coven
(Vampire!Henry Letham x reader x Vampire!RGCU)
Henry Letham had been alive for forty-two years, but was only twenty-one. See, Henry was killed in a car crash and brought 'back', if you can call it that, in 2005 on his twenty-first birthday: some lousy gift, that was. He often wished he'd been left to die alongside his family, but the benevolent scientist, Ryland Grace, now one of Henry's surrogate brothers, couldn't fathom not giving someone a second chance at life, even if they weren't really alive. Henry was far from the first of Ryland's charity projects, nor was he the youngest vampire in his coven: Ryland's vampirism was the product of a science experiment gone-bad in 1977, and he had thus taken to saving 'strays' when he felt it was right. First there had been Holland in 1979, a PI who had drowned drunk in his own bath, then Henry, then, finally, Courtland in 2002, a CIA operative stabbed in prison. Henry slotted in right between Holland and Courtland in vampire-age, but was physically the youngest in human years.
One good thing about vampirism (and there weren't many) was that it gave members of a coven a similar appearance. Much like human genetics, vampires turned by the same person developed similar vampiric features: all of Ryland's 'creations' sported the same kind of fangs, of porcelain-smooth skin, of angular features, of luscious hair. Ryland had been clever enough on the first occasion to use his coven-mates' similar looks to claim that they were all brothers, to explain their tight-knit bond and reclusiveness. He consoled himself that it wasn't strictly a lie to tell people they were blood brothers, because they were— just not in the way most people meant.
Now, it was 2026 and the Mid Atlantic coven had been moving around New York City for years, figuring that it was a busy enough place to slip in, get their fill of blood, and go unnoticed. They were right: nobody had figured them out, yet. Still, they weren't planning on staying much longer to ensure nobody cottoned on to the fact that they weren't aging. Henry, for example, was pursuing— for the fifteenth year in a row— an education in Fine Arts. Pale, dark-haired, with haunting blue eyes like his brothers, Henry spent most of his time in the attic, painting feverishly because he didn't need to sleep anymore. Canvases full of stormy skies, burning cars, and the same faceless figures over and over again lined the walls of his bedroom in the 4-bed town house they rented with cash.
Henry had never been interested in anyone: not in the humans who stared at him in college hallways, nor in the few vampires he had met from other covens. His siblings teased him relentlessly about it: whilst none of them had long term partners, they often took lovers— human or not, it didn't matter. Henry, however, had yet to consummate his vampirism, primarily for fear of killing them with his strength.
“You’re going to die alone, Henry,” Holland said one evening, sprawled across the couch with a cigarette burning down to a stub. “Or, well… stay dead alone.” Henry ignored Holland, as he often did, continuing to read his novel. There were very few art books Henry had not read, by now, so he had moved on to fiction.
Ryland pushed his glasses up, not looking up from grading the sixth-grade papers. Whilst an immensely competent scientist, Ryland left the molecular science community when he figured out that he was no longer aging: he couldn't have his name and photo published in papers when he had looked the same since 1977. So, teaching science to kids was a way to stay involved whilst keeping out of the spotlight.
“Leave him alone," Ryland muttered. "Not everyone needs to mate every fifteen seconds like you do." Courtland snorted from the kitchen.
“Says the man who probably 'mates' with his telescope.”
Holland fell into fits of laughter; Ryland sighed exasperatedly and sent an apologetic look to Henry, who let a slight smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.
But maybe Holland was right: maybe Henry didn't want to stay dead alone.
You, on the other hand, were a freshman student at the college: quiet, a little clumsy (everyone was compared Henry, who carried himself with an unnerving grace), and clearly enthusiastic about your studies, even though you only took Art as an elective to appear academically 'well-rounded'. Henry usually hated this sort of half-commitment to art: it was all or nothing, and he didn't want to have to weed through those kinds of people, so he took to not bothering with anyone in class at all, certain that nobody but him held a genuine passion for art. And so, the first time you saw Henry Letham, he was sat alone in the back corner of the Art studio, staring out the window like he was— or wanted to be— somewhere else entirely. When the professor called your name for introductions, his head turned slowly: a dissonant note in the usually tedious song that was every day. His eyes met yours, almost scowling in analysis, until something in him shifted and he dropped his gaze to his hands, confused. What was that? He didn’t speak to you that day, or the next, but you felt his gaze on you constantly: during lunch, in the hallway, in the parking lot... It should have been unsettling, but it felt oddly magnetic. You'd turn to catch him watching you in the cafeteria, eyes angular and hooded, then pulling away reluctantly with dissatisfaction, as though he'd been looking for something that he couldn't find.
Henry, too, had never felt anything like it. You were human: fragile, warm-blooded, and full of life he had lost long ago. He should have stayed away and he knew it— for your sake, if not for his. And so, to satiate his desire to be closer to you without drawing you into his world, he started painting you. Hundreds of sketches of you reading, walking in the rain, looking straight at him with a soft, curious expression that made his dead heart feel like it was trying to beat again.
His siblings noticed immediately, of course.
“Oh my god,” Holland whispered one night, peering over Henry’s shoulder at a half-finished canvas of your face. “He’s in love. Henry Letham is in love. This is...historic.”
“Shut up, Holland,” Henry muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Ryland leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
“You know you can’t avoid her forever. The girl’s in three of your classes.”
Henry stared at the painting. “Yeah, well. I can try.”
The first real conversation you had took place weeks later, in the library. You were reaching for a book on the top shelf when Henry appeared beside you, silently pulling it down and handing it over.
“Thanks,” you said, startled.
He nodded curtly, as though he were ready to turn away.
“You like Reveur?”
You tilted your head, not expecting conversation from someone so obviously timid.
“Yeah. I like the... quiet longing bullshit.”
Henry’s eyes dropped to the cover of the book in your hands.
"Hmm," was all he could manage before walking away. How odd he was.
From then on, Henry couldn't help himself; he told himself that he could be controlled, careful with you. He would sit next to you in class, exchange feedback with you on one another's work, walk you to your car when it rained. Other times, he would interact with you when you didn't even know it. Over the first semester, Henry had formed a nasty habit of trailing your scent back to your on-campus apartment, sliding in through a cracked window, and watching you sleep for hours at a time, perched by your side. To Henry, in many ways, this was less dangerous than actually speaking to you: he could satisfy his desire to be close to you without bringing you in to his world of bloodshed and unnatural lifespans. He didn't think he could do that to you; it would be selfish to try. He never touched you, awake or asleep, but the yearning to hold you was tangible and he hoped you felt it, too, even when you were dreaming.
Some mornings you'd wake up and swear you could see charcoal fingerprints on your windowsill.
imagining grace in his first year of teaching kind of automatically introducing himself as dr. ryland grace bc that's what he's used to. and the kids are like O_O dr? and somebody inevitably googles him and finds a video of his final crashout. and because 13 year olds are little menaces, when he inevitably snaps at the class to sit down and do their work at some point (his classroom management skills need time to develop okay) somebody puts on a little pouty face and goes "dr. grace? you don't.....you don't think i'm a.....a staggering waste of carbon......do you?" and grace's life flashes before his eyes.
and next year he's just mr. grace and doesn't tell any kids his first name so it's harder for them to google him (they manage it anyway).
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