henderson…don’t you touch her. @beskarrd - Tumblr Blog

May 15

FURTHER RESEARCH REQUIRED

Chapter 1 of the Further Research Required Series (Ongoing)

Pairing: Student!Ryland Grace x Student!Reader - Grad School AU

Summary: Ryland Grace is a brilliant student and an absolute pain in your ass. He's selfish, arrogant, and, worst of all, he is dead set on disproving your dissertation research. But what happens when your sworn enemy and personal academic rival comes to you for help?

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Nothing major; general insults and arguing; a small amount of angst if you squint; I really leaned into overly cocky grad student Grace lmao

A/N: Welcome to my highly requested academic rivals Grace x Reader series! I've got a few tricks up my sleeve for this fic so stay tuned, I will most likely keep updating as long as people are interested in it! Also, as per usual, I tried to throw in science terms but I am not a biologist so please don't yell at me. Enjoy!

You know what would be incredibly helpful right now?

A black hole.

Truly. A big, gaping, expansive, fatal black hole that swallowed you up and put you out of your goddamn misery so you didn’t have to listen to one more second of Ryland Grace’s idiotic research proposal.

You tapped your pencil against the pages of your notebook impatiently, attempting to engage in a sort of self-soothing ritual so steam didn’t start billowing out of your ears in front of your entire lab group. Grace stood at the head of the lab table (typical) looking down at you, your lead lab professor, and your classmates as he rattled off his ideas for taking the lab in a direction you would rather die than go in.

For some godforsaken reason, Ryland Grace had entered your life like a plague four fateful years ago, when you enrolled in this university to pursue your PhD in molecular and astrobiology, and you simply could not find an antidote. He seemed to weasel his way into every class, every paper, and every lab you joined with his stupid ideas and his completely off-base theories. I mean, you pursued a graduate career in academia to expand your knowledge base and, there he was, suffocating you and seemingly making you dumber by the second if he was within so much as a five-mile radius of you.

Grace was a molecular biologist by trade, as you found out when you first met him, having several published papers already and consulting for a couple of well-distinguished labs on the side. On paper, he was exceptional. A true beacon of light for the future of microbiologists. In fact, when you first met him, you liked him. He was charming, creative, funny, a great teacher (you had even participated in a seminar he taught a couple semesters back) and you genuinely enjoyed being around him. Then you read his dissertation proposal.

An Analysis of Water Based Assumptions and Recalibrations of Expectations for Evolutionary Models.

I mean, it was public knowledge. Published via his old university’s library even, years before you two met. You remembered where you were when you read it too. Bundled up in bed, searching through articles mindlessly at 2 o’clock in the morning, as all grad students do, to add to your literature review for your dissertation.

The Essential Solvent: Demonstrating Water’s Non-Substitutable Role in Living Systems

Grace’s proposal completely contradicted yours.

You posited that water was a requirement of life, Grace was arguing the exact opposite. Argued doesn’t even feel like a strong enough word. Grace’s proposal attacked yours. He seemed to want to destroy the very fabric of ideology that was woven into your research and he was not shy about it. He was brutal, ripping other research papers to shreds in his proposal, going into detail about how water wasn’t just unrequired, it was completely irrelevant for life. You nearly choked when you read one of his section headers, ‘The Goldilocks Zone is for Idiots’.

You had three entire pages dedicated to a review on the current research of the Goldilocks Zone.

Though your proposal wasn’t published yet, it was like Grace knew all of your talking points, because he somehow had eviscerated every single one.

The worst part about it?

He was right.

His arguments were completely justified, with plenty of literature and research of his own to back them up. You had no choice but to rewrite your proposal because anyone with half a brain that read your paper would be asking the same questions, pointing out the same flaws. It had set you back months. You almost needed to rewrite your entire thesis to cater to his moronic hypotheses.

He seemed to always be two steps ahead of you, beating you at your own game that you hadn’t realized you were playing yet. He was brilliant and it was maddening. When you had confronted him about it, he merely shrugged.

“I don’t really see what the big deal is. Oh wait, it’s the fact that you know I’m right,” Grace taunted. You scowled back at him. “Look, I’m all for an opposing viewpoint,” you replied. “I mean, that’s what science should be about anyway, right? One research project disproving another research project leading to even more research projects, it’s the natural order of things.” Grace looked at you, as if he was following, but slowly and against his will. You grit your teeth. “You just don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

Grace smiled. “See that’s where you're wrong, o colleague of mine,” he hopped off the counter of the lab where he had been sitting and began to waltz out the door. “My hypothesis disproves decades worth of scientific assumption and theory. So yeah, I have every right to be just a little bit cocky.”

And with that, Ryland Grace walked out of the lab and officially out of your good graces. Fast forward to now, a year and a half later, as you reminded yourself that Grace was still a member of your lab and you at least owed your colleagues your unbridled attention to his speech, even though it physically pained you.

“I know it might sound crazy, but I think we should run some tests with fluroantimonic acid,” Grace finished. He crossed his arms, looking at his audience expectantly, almost as if he was hoping someone would start clapping or emit an audible gasp at his cleverness. Instead, you laughed.

“Something funny over there?” Grace asked, annoyed.

You sat back in your chair, more than willing to pick this fight. Your lab mates knew this dance. Either you or Grace would pitch an idea to the group, the other would tear it down with almost artful precision, and then everyone would be back to square one. It was as if the two of you were completely, intrinsically linked in every way except in agreement, knowing exactly how the other thought and moved before they knew it themselves. It was downright impressive, how you two knew how to hit each other exactly where it hurt.

When Grace would offer an idea that the group loved, you would immediately be able to point out its flaws that no one else even thought to notice. If you had designed an experiment that you believed warranted lab funding, Grace would pick it apart from top to bottom, scrutinizing the most minute details that seemed small, but would no doubt guarantee a harsh denial from the university’s funding committee come decision time. It was always a tough watch, when the two of you went at it, yet nobody seemed to be able to look away.

The two of you were enchanting, erotic almost. The two brightest minds at the university at each other's throats constantly so that neither one could dream of usurping the other. If only you two could manage to agree on something, then the field of molecular biology might really get turned upside down.

“Yes actually,” you replied. “What’s funny is that you think the university would actually provide a student with access to a superacid for experimentation. First, nobody is going to buy into the extremely underdeveloped, and frankly crackpot, theory you have that acids could be considered as an alternative solvent for life. Second, fluoroantimonic acid is ridiculously strong. It can eat through glass and plastic. Not to mention it reacts explosively with water and can cause massive trauma to any living organism it comes in contact with. It’s far too dangerous to keep in a university lab.”

You leaned back in your chair, content with your argument. Grace rolled his eyes. “It can be stored in Teflon! Teflon is literally composed of repeating units of carbon bonded to fluorine atoms,” Grace shouted. “We’re all adults, it’s perfectly safe!”

“It’s 10 quadrillion times stronger than sulfuric acid!”

“Which is why it’s so important to study it! It’s powerful! It could sustain life!”

“Keep dreaming, Grace,” you huffed. “No one is going to go for this.”

“I think it might work,” a meek voice said next to you. You whipped your head around to face the offender. It was Zoe, a good friend of yours in the program, although maybe not at this very moment.

Zoe continued under your eerie gaze. “I mean, there are tons of theories on acid-base chemistry. Acids are involved in a lot of processes, redox chemistry is a whole field dedicated to it. Plus, Venus’ entire cloud deck is full of highly concentrated sulfuric acid and scientists have thought Venus could support life for years. Maybe Ryland has a point.”

Grace stared at you with a pointed look and gestured to Zoe. “Thank you, Zoe. See, some people in this lab actually want to make advancements in science, rather than just reiterating what we already know.”

A low blow to you specifically. He was referring to your dissertation.

Back when you had first swapped dissertation topics with Grace, you had shared that a fear of yours was that others would underestimate the importance of your topic. It was a valid concern, your own advisor said that you might have to fight harder for funding since there were similar studies on the topic to yours, but it was worth it to you. You believed in your research. You knew that life was sustained by water, and that fact was bound to be true throughout the galaxy. You wanted to prove it. Grace encouraged you wholeheartedly. “Fuck the nonbelievers!” he shouted at you one night, during a late study session. “If you believe in it, that’s all that matters!”

That notion was long gone now, as you had learned. If Grace didn’t believe in something, then he thought there was no point in it, even if that included your research.

A new voice emerged at the table, this time belonging to your professor. Your eyes remained on Grace and his on yours as she delivered the final nail in the coffin.

“I think it is certainly worth a shot, Ryland.”

Your jaw dropped.

“I like where your head’s at, even if it might be in the clouds half the time,” she said warily. “I’ll have to talk to the department head about the fluoroantimonic acid though, it can be a very dangerous substance to experiment with, but you are all highly capable.” Your professor began to gather her papers, the lab meeting was just about over. “I’ll shoot you all an email when I hear back and we can meet again. Good job today, everyone.”

Your lab mates packed up silently, too nervous to break the ice that had slowly taken over the room after you and Grace stopped your bickering. You sat, frozen to your chair, incredulous at the idea that Grace had won. Again.

How was everyone always on his side? His ideas were ludicrous. The only reason anyone paid them any mind is because Grace presented them as if they were already fact. As if he knew that everyone was going to agree with him because there was no second option. His confidence was unwavering and downright infuriating. Except you couldn’t decide whether to be angry at him or jealous of him. If only you spoke with the certainty he did when you presented your experimental designs, it might have gotten you farther in your dissertation work. You had been told no so many times, it was to be expected at this point. Not Grace, though. You were sure his arrogant ass had never been told no a day in his life–

“Admit it. You like it when we fight.”

The room had packed up and left by now. Grace had moved his laptop and his notebooks back into his bag, but he hadn’t vacated just yet, choosing to stick around just to taunt you. He leaned back on the table now casually, having moved closer to your lab stool which made you want to do nothing but scooch further away, like he was a carrier of some deadly contagion. He smirked, crossing his arms. He was definitely doing this on purpose. His tattered Converse peeked out between his jeans, tapping on the floor, awaiting your answer.

“You always have to be right, don’t you?” you asked.

Grace scoffed. “No. I just usually am.”

You groaned. He grinned.

That’s it. You shot up, grabbing your bag. You were not going to sit here and let him gloat, he did that enough as it is. You whipped around, meaning to storm off but you felt his hand grab your wrist, rooting you in place.

“Leave me alone, I’m storming off,” you snapped, refusing to look back at him. His fingers seemed to be burning their prints into your skin with how tight he was holding you. Grace exhaled slowly , “As much as I do love watching you storm off, will you just listen to me for two seconds?”

You tore your hand from his grasp, though you didn’t walk away. You stayed there, shoes squeaking slightly against the tile floor, back still turned to him. Something about his voice drew you in. It always did. Though he was insufferable, you couldn’t help but listen to him speak. He was smart, there was no denying that, and his ideas were always intriguing. So you stuck around, no harm in hearing him out, right?

He must have taken your silence as an invitation to continue. “Look I, uh-” he ran his fingers through his hair sheepishly. You turned around to look him in the eyes. “I need your help,” he said.

You snorted and readjusted your bag on your shoulder. “Wow, Grace. Just, wow. I mean, you’ve actually outdone yourself. I knew you were dumb but I didn’t know you were that dumb-” you trailed off.

“Ha. Ha.” Grace laughed, sardonically. “Very funny. I, um. I’m serious though,” he said.

Your ears perked up. What could possibly be so dire that Grace was asking you for help? He knew how you felt about him, you certainly didn’t keep that a secret. He must be dreaming if he thinks he’s getting anything from you.

“I am sort of, uh,” he looked around the lab as if someone was around to overhear him, even though you two were the only ones in the room. He whispered so low you could barely hear. “...failing one of my…”

“Grace, I can’t fucking hear you, could you speak-” you huffed.

“I’m failing one of my classes!” he yelled.

You jumped. His words definitely shocked you, in more ways than one. Ryland Grace was failing one of his classes? He was the top of every class! He was the student that other students looked up to! He’s tutored countless numbers of his classmates and undergraduate students. He’s been a TA for as long as you could remember, hell, he’s taught his own courses before. How could Ryland Grace be failing?

After your body recovered from the full factory reset it had done from Grace’s sudden outburst, you felt it. The laughter, bubbling up in your chest. Who were you to deny it when this situation would likely never come up again as long as you lived?

You cackled. You laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. Tears started forming in your eyes. Your vision got so blurry that you could barely see Grace, who you assumed was frowning at you.

You continued like that for a good thirty seconds at least until Grace interrupted you. “You done, yet?” he bristled. You held one finger up, shushing him, and continued your laughing fit. He palmed at his face with exasperation. As the waves of laughter subsided, you sighed wistfully. “Oh my god, Grace. This is the best day of my life,” you said simply. “I mean, what possessed you to fail one of your classes, more so, what possessed you to tell me?”

Grace looked down at his shoes. “You would be in the same boat if you knew my situation.”

“No, I think I would be passing if I was in your situation,” you replied.

Grace growled. “Enough of the insults, believe me, I’ve heard them all within the past week. I just got pulled into a meeting with my thesis advisor. She said she’ll drop out of sponsoring my work if I don’t pass this class. Plus, if I get put on academic probation, I could be kicked out of the university. This is serious!”

You chuckled. “Yeah, serious for you! This has nothing to do with me, Grace, so goodbye,” you swiveled on your heels again, only to be met with Grace’s hand on your shoulder this time, spinning you around. You jerked back, as if his touch had actually hurt you, but you weren’t quite able to escape his grasp. He stared into your eyes, pleading with you to listen. He was really worked up about this. You almost felt bad for him this time.

Almost.

“Look, I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t absolutely have to, believe me. You make it very clear you want nothing to do with me. But I’m asking you, no, begging you to…help me,” he said. As if he sensed another laughing attack coming on from you, he touched a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you. You tensed, raising your eyebrows and lowering your gaze to look at the finger he dared place upon you.

His grip on your shoulder was iron clad, holding you in place so you were forced to listen to his next words. “I know what you’re probably thinking, ‘Why would he tell this to me?’,” Ryland accentuated the last bit in a high pitched, “girly” voice, mimicking you. You grunted behind his finger in protest. You did not sound like that.

“I’m telling you this because I want you to tutor me,” he replied to his own made-up question. Before you could protest immediately, his girly voice returned, “‘Why would I ever tutor you, Grace? Even though you’re extremely charming and fun and would definitely be a joy to work with in every study session!’ Exactly, couldn't have said it better myself,” Grace said, now back to his normal voice. “I’m asking you because I want to propose a truce. A trade, if you will.”

He had your attention.

“If you help me,” he sighed dramatically. “I will put in a good word for you with the grant committee. I know you’ve been having problems getting funding and the committee chair is an old mentor of mine from undergrad. I’ll get you the funding you need, more so even.” Grace removed his finger from your mouth now. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate,” he said. His cheeks were now red from embarrassment. You almost laughed in his face again but something gave you pause.

He was really torn up about this. As much as you despised him, you know he loved his field, he loved microbiology. He wouldn’t be flunking unless it was for a damn good reason, though you weren’t about to make him tell you if he didn’t want to. You could be mean to him, but you weren’t a monster.

You paused, weighing your options. You could say no, let him flounder and flunk out and finally knock him off that high horse he had been on since he got here. It would be satisfying, for sure. You could rub it in his face that you had finally beaten him at something and your research would be the one on the university’s record.

Or you could help him. You’d probably have to deal with his stupid quips and annoying arguments for the rest of the semester. You’d also have to see him a whole lot more, another gruelling thing to add on to your never-ending work day.

But Grace was a good student, a great student, even. He may be a pain in your ass, but he was an incredible biologist, and as much as it pained you to admit it, his research was important.

This was going to suck, wasn’t it?

You sighed. “What class is it?” you asked quietly. Grace’s face lit up, he knew he had already won. “Eukaryotic Molecular Genetics. You know, with Dr. Krause?” You frowned. “Yeah, yeah I know that one. We’re in it together, Tuesdays and Thursdays,” you said. Grace nodded. You had to admit, it was a pretty difficult class, but not impossible. You had managed to keep up with the readings and the papers so it shouldn’t be too hard to catch Grace up.

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you said, begrudgingly.

Grace pumped his fists in the air. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, thank you. I promise, you won’t regret this.” Grace started to gather his things, now that he had gotten what he needed from you. You rolled your eyes. You were certain you were going to regret this.

“I will be on my best behavior,” he gave you a mock salute. “Who knows, you might even like teaching me. I’ve been told I’m a model student,” he grinned. You scowled back at him.

“Just be at the library tomorrow night at 7, okay?” you barked. I’ll take a look at what you’re missing and we’ll go from there. But I swear to god, Grace, if you so much as give me shit once, I’m out. This is the world's biggest favor I’m doing for you.”

“I know, I know,” Grace said, and began walking out the door. “I’ll be there. See you tomorrow, professor.” He tapped the doorframe, realizing he wasn’t going to earn a smile from you today, and left. You felt your cheeks heat up.

This was going to be a long semester.

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