daisy

she/her reblog warrior bisexual 18

[wildflowerluver]

me & you together song

michael ‘robby’ robinavitch x fem!reader

3 times the pittlings suspect Robby is married and the 1 time it’s confirmed

cw: married!robby, robby and reader have a kid, godfather!jack abbot, medical inaccuracies (trying my best), age gap (unspecified)

wc: 4.7k

a/n: i couldn’t decide a name for their daughter so i just used a nickname ‘bug’ for her!

Doctor Michael “Robby” Robinavitch was not a married man.

Or so his residents thought.

The Chief Attending Physician never mentioned being married, kids, or any other indicators that typically pointed to a relationship.

Besides, while Robby was brilliant, he was also incredibly cynical. They weren’t quite sure that trait screamed husband material.

That was until one by one the ‘pittlings’ as they were called slowly uncovered aspects of Robby’s life that were more than meets the eye.

1. The Rings

Robby didn’t wear a ring.

His left hand was left completely barren during the duration of his shift.

He dodged questions about his love life left and right, especially from the older patients who learned of his last name origins and wanted his whole life story.

Never denied having a wife, just danced around the topic.

Even Abbot who was widowed still wore his wedding ring

Naturally, those who saw his left hand (including those who worked at PMTC), all assumed he was unmarried.

The Emergency Room today is scarily quiet. Not quiet necessarily, just not the typical rush of screaming patients and understaffing issues.

Robby stands by Dana at the central hub, typing away at the tablet to update charting information. Dana works by him silently, clearly savoring the moment of calm before the inevitable storm.

And then the peace is broken by two paramedics bursting through the ambulance bay doors.

Robby discards his tablet immediately and slings his stethoscope back around his neck.

“What do we got?”

“42 year old male. Experiencing chest pains and shortness of breath. Likely a stemi. EKG has been applied.”

“Whitaker! Jesse! You’re with me,” Robby demands.

The two men follow him right into Trauma 2, gloving up immediately and awaiting further instructions.

They know the procedure at this point. Stabilize the patient, call surgery, don’t lose the heartbeat.

Of course that last one is a lot harder to ensure.

But when they lose the heartbeat, Robby immediately springs into action. He rambles off something about the proper number of compressions.

Robby places his hands on the patient’s chest and began the familiar rhythm of CPR.

Whitaker takes over securing the airway while Jesse preps the defibrillator.

They’ve seen many stemi’s in Trauma 1 and 2 but each time it’s a stressful race against the clock.

Robby pauses his compressions, waiting on his internal clock before he starts again.

Still no pulse.

He places his hands once more, applying slightly more pressure as he begins his second wave.

Whitaker stands on deck, fully ready for Robby’s next set of instructions. The endotracheal tube was successfully inserted into the trachea. All he could do now was wait.

And even something catches his attention.

A shiny piece of gold slips out of Robby’s shirt, hitting his chest as it’s stopped by the chain it’s connected to.

Whitaker probably wouldn’t have noticed if the ring hadn’t caught the fluorescent emergency room lights. And then it hits him. Robby has a wedding ring around his neck.

“Whitaker!”

The resident doesn’t respond immediately. He’s too focused on the newest gossip point he may have just uncovered.

“Whitaker!” Robby yells again.

“Right! Sorry!” He rushes out before rambling off the patient’s vitals.

And then…..

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Robby removes his hands, a sigh escaping his lips as he allows the others to take over with the proper procedures.

Whitaker watches as he reaches for his exposed necklace. The attending runs his finger around the band before tucking it securely under his scrubs.

Like wearing a wedding band was nothing at all.

Whitaker doesn’t wanna ask. It isn’t the time, place, or status to question if Robby was married. Just morbid curiosity.

He’ll have to mention it to Santos if he remembers.

Robby shoots two thumbs up as the stemi patient is moved out by surgery.

“Good work everyone,” he announces before slipping out to see where he’s needed.

Huh.

Maybe Dr. Robby is secretly married.

2. Stitches

You don’t expect to end up at the Pitt, truthfully you never had.

Frankly, if you had a choice you would rather head to Westbridge. Okay, maybe that was a stretch but something about going to the Pitt felt like teetering in your husband's territory.

But now your hand is bleeding bad and if you were able to look past the blood, you swear you could see bone. You cursed yourself out for causing such a disastrous scene from simply trying to cook dinner.

You were incredibly grateful your daughter was being watched by your parents for the night.

You drive to PTMC in a haze. Your hand is throbbing and the blood has already started seeping through the thick towel you wrapped around. Should you be driving? Maybe not. But calling an ambulance for a deep wound wasn’t realistic.

In your dazed state, you don’t even think about texting Robby.

It must be your lucky day when you walk into the emergency department and there’s actually empty chairs available. Robby had come home many nights complaining of being understaffed and overrun.

Check-in went smoothly and when the triage nurse saw your hand, she called right for a nurse to bring you back.

You didn’t see Dana at the nurses station and you knew Jack wasn’t due in for another hour or so. Robby also seemed MIA, probably back with a patient.

Instead, a nurse named Sam shows you to your room. “You can have a seat on the bed. Someone should be with you momentarily.”

The pain in your hand continued to increase. Maybe it was the blood loss or the adrenaline fading but you let your eyes shut until there’s a knock on the door and the curtain slides open.

You're greeted shortly after being shown to North 14 by a dark haired doctor.

You squint your eyes to read her badge. Doctor Trinity Santos.

Ah. So that was Santos.

Robby subtly talked about almost all of his coworkers at home. You knew Whitaker was resilient, Javadi was young but highly gifted, Mel was brilliant, and lastly you knew that Santos, begrudgingly, was a lot like Robby.

“I’m Doctor Santos and I’ll be taking care of you today,” she starts. “What’s going on?”

You lift your band up weakly to show the blood stained towel. Despite all, you manage to force out a laugh.

“Kitchen accident. Knife slipped right down my palm.”

Santos sits in a stool and slides over to the edge of the bed.

“Mind if I take a look?”

You nod, only wincing slightly as she unwraps the towel.

“Yeah you got a nasty cut here. I’ll clean it up and we’ll probably need to do a few stitches. How’s the pain?”

“Not great.”

Santos stands up. “I’ll get you something to numb your hand. You should be in and out.”

You give her a warm smile. “Thank you Dr. Santos.”

She’s gone for another few moments before entering the room with the proper supplies. You swing your legs over the bed and rest your hand on the table and bring it over.

Robby is taking a lap around the floor when he double takes at one of the hospital's newest admitants.

Santos is at your bedside, saline flush in hand as she works to clean out the blood from your wound.

“Doctor Santos? What do we have here?” An all familiar voice enters the room.

Your eyes shoot up. Busted.

“Uh,” Santos starts. “Just a deep hand laceration. Kitchen accident. I gave a low dosage to numb the area. Should be good after I finish cleaning and stitch it up.”

The young doctor doesn’t seem to notice the intense eye contact between you and Robby. There’s a silent conversation between you and him. Something between an are you okay? and a why didn’t you ask for me?

“I’d like to take over here if you don’t mind Dr. Santos.”

There’s a long pause of silence in the room.

“Are you sure?” Trinity draws out each word.

“Yeah, I got it,” Robby starts. “Haven’t done some stitching in awhile. Need the practice.”

“I watched you stitch up someone this morning.”

You stifle a laugh, though clearly not well enough for Robby and Santos to not hear.

Santos stands. “But she is all yours. I’ll be back to discharge her when she’s ready.”

Once Santos leaves, you finally have the courage to look your husband in the eye.

“Michael-“ you start.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine. I was just being stupid in the kitchen.”

Robby sighs. “Accidents happen. I just wish you called me. Or texted.”

The saline continues to clean your hand as silence overtakes you.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble after a moment.

“Bother me?” Robby quietly laughs. “Honey, I'm your husband. You’re allowed to bother me when you're hurt. I’d actually prefer it if you did.”

It feels stupid to you now. You were married with a child for god's sake and you still felt guilty asking for help when you had a huge gash down your hand.

“I was trying to make you dinner,” you winced as Robby began his stitches. “Since my parents are watching Bug I wanted us to have a romantic night.”

Robby laughs. Not in a mean way but simply at your kindness.

“We can still have a romantic night. Just gotta be careful of these stitches.”

“Yeah without dinner I guess.”

“I’ll grab something on my way home,” Robby responds to your quip without missing a beat.

He says it so casually too that you can’t help but smile.

“I like seeing you in your scrubs.”

“Oh yeah?”

You loll your head to the side so it’s resting on your arm. “Sorry, I just find my husband looks too good taking care of me.”

“Careful,” he warns.

“Always am.”

Robby’s mind is still in doctor mode. You managing to flirt with him despite your hand was a good sign.

You grimace one final time as Robby makes the final knot.

Your hand already looks miles better.

“Once I wrap it up for you you’ll be all set.”

Robby turns your hand over and wraps his fingers gently around yours. Still careful of your pulsing wound, he brings your hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss.

His lips linger for a moment, just long enough for Santos to go wide-eyed as she walks past the room. Despite Robby taking over your stitching, you were still technically her patient.

Now, instead of entering your room, she turned on her heel and made a mad dash for where Whitaker sat charting.

“Huckleberry,” Santos sharply whispers.

The boy looks up at her. “What’s up?”

Santos looks behind her back, clearly afraid that her attending could sneak up and hear her gossiping about his personal life.

“My patient in North 14, the one that Robby hijacked?”

Whitaker’s brows furrow in confusion. “Yeah?”

“I swear Robby just kissed her.”

This immediately grabbed Whitaker’s attention. Chart now forgotten, he peers over Santos’ shoulder to see if he can catch a glimpse of the room. No luck.

“What? There’s no way.”

Santos pushes her stray hairs back. “I am so beyond serious you have no idea.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.”

They’re both silent for a moment before Whitaker speaks up. “You know maybe that’s just his girlfriend?”

“No,” Santos shakes her head. “She had wedding rings on. A massive one too.”

Whitaker finally scoffs. “Huh. Maybe Robby does have a secret double life. You know he wears a necklace with a ring on it?”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered until now!” He defends himself.

“So you’re saying I may have just taken Robby’s wife as my patient,” Santos starts.

“Yup.”

“Oh wow. Huh.”

Silence once more. Santos stays deep in thought as Whitaker goes back to charting. She can’t help it, she’s behind nosy.

“Do you think I should just ask?”

“Absolutely not,” Whitaker replies immediately.

Santos rolls her eyes. Curse her roommate for always being the voice of reason.

After checking up on her kid with severe road burn and an older man with chest pains, Santos decides it’s time to check in on you. That is until she sees Robby by the hand sanitizer station.

“Hey Dr. Robby!” Santos calls after her attending.

Robby promptly stops in his tracks and spins around.

“I’m about to go discharge North 14 and then I’ll need a consult in South 6,” Santos explains.

“No need, I already took care of discharge.”

Oh. Robby discharged her patient. Her patient. While Santos was getting better, she still struggled with when to stand up for herself or step down.

“You discharged my patient?”

“Is there a problem Dr. Santos?” Robby inquires.

Oh shit. Santos knows immediately that’s his tone of voice saying are you questioning my authority?

She backtracks immediately. “No, not at all. You are the boss.”

“Good. I’ll meet you at South 6 in a few.”

Santos stays glued to her spot for a moment after Robby walks away.

“Huh,” she thinks to herself. “Maybe I did just stitch up Mrs. Robinavitch.”

3. Little Bug

Jack Abbot walking in the E.R. is an immediate sign that shift change had begun and day shift was finally off the hook.

Jack Abbot walking in with a child on his hip, however, was a totally different story.

Plus, the Paw Patrol backpack he had strung across his shoulder.

Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi sit around their desks. All three are frantically typing away at their charts, desperate to get out of the hospital at a seemingly normal time.

It’s Javadi that spots the scene first.

“Holy shit,” she starts. “Is Abbot holding a kid?”

It felt like the entire E.R. at that moment noticed the attending.

It’s a silent game of if anyone needs to react or not. On one hand, a child in an emergency room is a clear red flag. On the other hand, that kid was with Dr. Jack Abbot.

Jack is unbothered by the wandering eyes.

He heads right to the central hub. Dana spotted them minutes ago and already circled around to greet the pair.

“Day-Nuh!” Bug annunciates both syllables in the nurse's name when she spots the charge nurse.

“Hi Jellybean,” Dana beams, accepting the transfer from Jack and fixing the girl to sit on her hip.

Bug’s hands grasp at Dana’s stethoscope.

For your daughter's birthday, you and Robby had gifted her a play doctor set. She was familiar with the basics and was clearly interested in the real-life thing.

“You have fun with Uncle Jack today? Dana asks.

The girl nods.

“Pirate Jack,” Bug corrects as she points down.

“Pirate huh?” Dana chuckles.

“She learned about my leg a few weeks ago. Started calling me a pirate once she stopped crying,” Jack spoke.

Dana boops the girl on her nose. “Well aren’t you the cutest.”

The attending and charge nurse chat for a few minutes as Bug grabs at everything in her reach: Dana’s badge, her cross necklace, and even the pen that’s clipped to her pocket. Dana, of course, doesn’t mind in the slightest.

Bug quickly gets distracted and wiggles out of Dana’s arms the second she spots Robby in her sightline.

“Da-da!” Bug exclaims. It takes Robby only two quick strides to get to her.

God knows he doesn’t want his daughter running around this place.

Robby, as if he had already sensed his daughter's presence in the E.R., had gathered his things from his locker.

“Oof. Hi Bug,” Robby grunts as he’s hit full force in the legs by the toddler.

The second he picks her up, it’s like his entire demeanor changes. The tension in his shoulders eases and for the first time all day, he doesn’t look steps away from a breakdown.

Robby takes note of his daughter’s outfit that was certainly not the one he dressed her in this morning.

A jersey meant only one thing.

“You took her to a Pirates game?” Robby questions his friend.

Jack nods. “Yeah. They won.”

Robby slides a hand down his face. “So let me get this straight. You took my daughter to a 1:35 start game and are now here to work a 12 hour shift.”

Jack nods again like this isn’t difficult to comprehend. “I’m a shoe-in for uncle of the year.”

That gains a laugh from Robby.

“You’re insane,” he begins. “I’m assuming the jersey was a new addition.”

“Of course. Her cleaned ice cream helmet and hat are in her backpack.”

Javadi turns to their little group who has long abandoned their charting to watch the two men interact.

“You think that’s Robby and Abbot’s love child?’ Javadi inquiries.

That elicits a laugh. The new sound causes Bug to immediately lose her attention on her dad and look over towards the three doctors. Her little hands grasp at the hems of Robby’s scrubs as she focuses mostly on Javadi.

“Looks like she chose you,” Santos says quietly.

Javadi raises her hand tentatively to wave, clearly not wanting to overstep any boundaries with the dynamic most of the emergency department just learned about.

Bug shows a toothy grin as she waves back.

Robby feels Bug shifting around and turns to face the group who suddenly look like deer in headlights. Like Bug when she gets caught pulling puppy dog eyes on Dana for another cookie.

To the pittlings shock, Robby laughs.

“You guys are allowed to say hi.”

Robby points to Santos first. “That’s Trinity.”

“Trin-ty!” Bug repeats.

“Dennis.”

“Dennis!”

“And Victoria.”

Bug’s face scrunches up in concentration. More than two syllables were rough. “Vic-tora!”

Robby shrugs. “Eh close enough, Bug.” He then turns his attention away from the girl. “We’re working on phonics right now.”

Santos holds her hands up. “Alright I’ll bite. You have a kid? And it’s not yours and Abbot’s?”

Dana bumps Jack with her shoulder. “Told ya people would say something.”

Robby glares at the two before turning back to Santos.

“Yes, I have a kid. Yes, I am married. Yes, Jack has been helping me while my wife is out of town. Any other questions?”

Whitaker clocks Santos’ look immediately. So their suspicions were correct.

“Was your wife my patient that you stitched up?” Santos bursts out. She can’t help it. The curiosity has been eating her up.

“Yes it was. She didn’t want to bother me for help.”

“Aw. No wonder you two get along.”

Bug is growing not just tired, but restless too. A bad combination for a toddler.

“When does the missus get back?” Dana asks.

“Tomorrow night,” Robby starts. “Can’t thank you guys enough for everything.”

To everyone in the room, this made perfect sense. Two of Robbie’s close support systems helping him out with his daughter.

“But this little one seems pretty tired from romping around with Uncle Jack. Can you say thank you, Bug?”

Bug turns her head to her uncle. “Thank you pirate Jack!”

Dana squeezes the young girls cheek and with a final wave goodbye, Robby is out the door. Probably the earliest he has ever left PTMC.

Safe to say he left the Pittlings in shock.

+1. Meeting

Your hand takes a bit to heal. Given how deep the cut was, you were fully expecting a long road to recovery.

Robby checked over the wound almost daily. He explained in simple terms to Bug that “mommy’s left hand was hurt right now” and that “she needed to be extra careful.”

Of course Bug was determined to kiss it better. Just like her dad had done to you.

Robby insists that you set up a 3-week checkup.

He told you that the surface skin should be healed by three weeks (sometimes longer with it being such a utilized area), but there would be a road ahead for deep tissue recovery.

Your phone pings as you’re packing your purse.

What time are you coming in?

About to leave! Need anything?

All good. I let the triage nurses know you’re coming so you should be able to come right back. See you soon. Love you

Love you too!

After your initial incident, PTMC didn’t feel as scary. Also probably given the fact that you and your husband had a long conversation about it being okay to ask for help.

The irony was there best believe it.

You’re waved through once you enter the waiting room. This time, thankfully, you spotted Dana immediately at the central hub.

“Well look who’s back!” Dana exclaims.

You hold your wrapped hand up. “Michael insisted I come for a checkup.”

Dana rounds the hub and wraps you in a greeting hug. “Sounds like him.”

She pauses to notice there is no toddler trotting in with you. “No Bug?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “You know I do have a life outside of my daughter.”

“Eh. Debatable.”

You glance around the bustling emergency room. No signs of Robby. “Is my husband around?”

“Let me page him.”

Robby appears just moments after being paged. He looks tired and worn. You can’t imagine what the day has already thrown at him.

But when he sees you, he slaps on a tired smile and walks like the day hasn’t beat him down.

“Hi honey,” Robby greets you, shocking even you as he places a soft kiss to your forehead.

You know he prefers private displays of affection. Can’t live without it actually. In public, however, holding your hand suffices for both of you.

“I can get you set up in a room so we can look at that hand. In and out promise.”

You wave him off. “Take your time. I know you’re busy.”

Dana scoffs and laughs. “When is he not.”

“Tell me about it.”

Robby shoots both of his hands up in the air as an ‘i’m innocent!’

“South 10’s open.”

You’re so close to stealing your husband away to do your checkup when the phone rings and Dana’s face falls.

“Car pileup on 376. Incoming in 5 minutes.”

Robby slides a hand down his face. You squeeze his arm.

“It’s okay Mike. I can wait.”

Robby shakes his head as his eyes dart around the emergency room.

“Santos!” Robby calls. The young resident’s head snaps up, eyes immediately locking on you. “You free?”

She stands up. “I can be.”

“Mind doing a three week checkup? Since I hijacked it last time.”

You chuckle. “Don’t worry, I chewed him out for it.”

You and Robby can both tell Santos is treading in uncharted waters.

“I’m assuming this is your wife?” Santos asks.

You stick your uninjured hand out for her to shake. “Yes I am and Y/N is fine.”

Oh she can’t wait to tell Whitaker.

“Sorry about last time,” you apologize.

Santos shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Nice to meet you.”

Dana looks at the group and repeats. “South 10.”

“Right,” Santos presses her lips together.

You can sense that Robby is on edge about the incoming trauma. “I’ll be okay Mike. It’s just a checkup. Besides, based on what you’ve told me I’m in good hands.”

Santos tries not to glow with pride.

“Okay okay. I’ll swing by when I can.”

Santos guides you to South 10. You take a seat in the chair before she slowly unwraps your bandage. While Robby’s stitches were flawless, it was still a nasty injury to heal from.

“I’m gonna do another cleaning and then test your movement,” Santos explains. “Just gotta grab the stuff and I’ll be back.”

True to her word, Santos is back but this time she’s accompanied by Robby.

“Thought you had an incoming trauma?” you inquire.

“Got re-routed to Westbridge.”

You nod, winching only slightly as Santos begins poking the area for tenderness. Safe to say she found it!

“Do you want to remove your rings?” Santos asks

You nod before sliding the two bands off. “Don’t want them in the way for either of us.”

Robby steps forward and opens his palm. You drop them down as he unclips his necklace chain and slides them on. They hit his respective wedding band with a satisfying clink.

“Want me to stay?” Robby offers.

“Not if you’re going to terrorize Santos,” you fire back.

Santos is enjoying this a bit too much.

“I will go see if someone else needs help then. Please call if you need anything.”

The young resident works in silence. Despite Robby not being in the room, his presence lingers over. If she fucked up working on his wife, she was screwed.

But surprisingly, you’re the one to break the silence.

“Robby told me you’re interested in general surgery,” you speak.

Once again, Santos is taken aback. Robby doesn’t just talk about her outside of work but he talks highly of her outside of work.

“Yeah I think so. I’m still figuring it out.”

“Eh you have time. Don’t tell him I told you this but he thinks you’ll be a great fit.”

Santos smiles. “I think I’m just in shock to be treating you now that I know who you are. And your daughter too.”

“Don’t worry about me. I have no problems telling Robby off,” You laugh. “Just didn’t want to make a big deal last time.”

“I get it. How long have you to been together?” Santos asks and then immediately freezes. “Oh I’m so sorry I don’t mean to interrogate.”

What has Robby been doing to these poor residents to make them so scared?

“We’ve known each other for 10, married for 8, and we’ve had Bug for three years now.”

“She’s adorable. She waved to us when Dr. Abbot brought her in.”

“Yeah she likes Jack more than me sometimes,” you grin.

Your checkup doesn’t take much longer after that. Santos wraps your hand up once more and goes through aftercare instructions. “But I’ll let Dr. Robby know as well,” she finishes out.

You walk back to the central hub as you make small talk with Santos. She tells you about how she used to be an athlete and how she’s fluent in Tagalog. You, in turn, tell her about your own work and all the details that come with that.

Robby strategically positioned himself to be waiting with Dana when you’re done.

“Dr. Santos is fantastic,” you praise when you find him. “Everything looks a-okay.”

Santos slides past you to sit down at her desk with Whitaker and Javadi.

“Just treated Mrs. Robinavitch,” she whispers. The other resident and student doctor lean in close. “She’s so nice. Like scary nice. And smart too.”

And just like the pittlings feared, Robby appears behind them to interrupt their gossip session.

“Well I’m glad you find my wife nice and smart,” Robby muses.

Then you’re popping up right behind them. “Cut them some slack, Mike. They’re just curious.”

It’s like you have him under a spell with the way he relaxes at your touch.

“Wanna walk me out?” you offer.

Robby points at the group of three. “Any of you need anything?”

It’s amusing so see how quickly they shake their heads no.

“Alright, I’ll be back soon.”

As Robby turns to leave, you grab his arm to stop him.

“It was nice to meet you guys! Thank you again Dr. Santos for all your help.”

Dana laughs loudly at their shocked expression. It was definitely weird to see their strict attending doctor be so relaxed around his wife.

“So you do have a wedding ring,” Whitaker points out.

Robby reaches under his scrub top to pull out the chain. “Eight years.”

“And a child together,” Javadi jumps in.

“Three years,” Robby adds.

“I’ll have to bring her back sometime. She’s been asking about you guys non-stop,” You laugh.

Your phone pings. It’s daycare sending you and Robby Bug’s report of what she did today.

“Well duty calls. See you guys!”

Robby wraps his arm around your shoulder as he steers you out of the emergency room.

Santos, ready as ever to pounce on an opportunity to hype herself up, looks at Whitaker.

“Y/N told me that Robby thinks I’d thrive in surgery.”

She pushes away from her desk, laughing loudly and ready to go check up on her next.

Whitaker and Havadi follow immediately, a chorus of “What!” and “Did she say anything about me!” fall from their lips.

Santos gloats.

“You’ll just have to find her next time.”

And just like that she escapes, still riding on the high of Robby’s praise.

And above all, the emergency room feels a little lighter.

[jacksabbotts]

. 𝜗𝜚 ⋆ ₊˚ A COLD SHOULDER

━━ ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . jack abbot x morgue tech!reader ; after finding out that you took all the bodies down to the morgue despite the fact that you were breaking a dozen rules and ignoring your shift responsibilities, jack is now feeling ten times more guilty than he already was

field trip ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . to THE MORGUE

The ER had finally started to breathe again.

It wasn't quiet, the emergency department was never truly quiet. Somewhere down the hall a monitor alarm chirped before being silenced. Wheels rattled over tile. Phones rang. 

But compared to two hours ago, when every available body had been moving at once, the department now almost felt peaceful. 

For the first time in hours, Jack could breathe. 

He stripped off a blood stained disposable gown and gloves as he stepped out of trauma room one. It was almost the end of his shift and exhaustion had started pulling heavily on his shoulders. The adrenaline that always came with a life threatening trauma usually disapated quickly and left behind only sore muscles. His lower back ached, especially and his prosthetic had been bothering him since midnight. 

All he wanted was coffee and ten uninterrupted minutes to finish charting. 

Halfway to the command desk, he stopped. Bay two was empty. His eyes narrowed and a frown pulled at the corners of his already downturned mouth. A few hours ago there had been bodies lined against the wall because the morgue was over capacity. 

Now the bay didn't hold a single one. The crash bed in front of him was bodyless and had been stripped clean. Someone had even wiped it down. Not that that was particularly out of the ordinary but the vinyl seemed to shine more than usual. 

"Lena?" Jack called. 

The overnight charge nurse glanced up from her tablet, cateye glasses low on the bridge of her nose. "Yeah?" She mumbled. 

"What happened to the bodies?" Jack asked, hooking a finger behind him towards the now precariously empty bay two. Lena followed his gaze and she shrugged. As if four missing bodies were completely normal and this was a common occurrence. "Oh, the morgue girl got 'em."

He blinked slowly before lifting his wrist almost subconsciously. "Kinda early for the funeral home." Jack looked at his watch once more, convinced he'd read the numbers wrong. But the same ones blinked back at him. 

"Mhm?" Lena hummed confusion, but her eyes had already difted back to her chart. "Did the funeral home come down and pick up the others to make room for ours?"

The charge nurse didn't seem particularly concerned, but then again, she hadn't reread your email a dozen times in guilt after the little debacle downstairs three hours ago. "Uh, I don't know, she didn't exactly stick around for chit chat. Seemed like she was in a hurry," Lena shrugged. 

"Who helped her move them?" Jack asked. He wanted to know exactly to reem out for leaving the ER and not reporting back to their attending. Lena only shrugged, not even taking her eyes off her tablet. "I assume another tech from downstairs. She insisted she didn't need any help."

There were no other techs from downstairs. A fact Jack was glaringly aware of since he'd witnessed the emptiness of the morgue hours ago. He felt something unpleasant settle in his stomach. He now knows undoubtedly that you did it all by yourself. 

He looked back towards the empty bay. The guilt he was already feeling for snapping at you increased by a tenfold. His jaw tightened. 

"Where the hell was everybody?" 

Lena laughed once. He opened his mouth to chastise the woman because this was definitely not funny. "You work here, Jack. You know where everybody was."

Unfortunately, he did. While the night shift was significantly more tame than the day shift, it was still an emergency department. That meant almost every available body was busy running traumas, taking admissions, managing the patients left from said day shift. All in all trying to keep the department from collapsing. 

Everyone had been busy. Including you. Especially you, it seems. 

He looked down at the transfer paperwork Lena extented towards him. The signature sat neatly at the bottom. Everything filled out to perfection in your neat handwriting. All except the lonely line where he'd been supposed to sign at the transfer. "She asked me to wait until she was gone before I gave that to you," Lena revealed. 

Jack's gaze lifted. His brows instantly furrowed. Surely he'd been harsh with you before and he had not so inadvertently insinuated that you weren't doing your job but had that really detered you from even talking to him? From even being in his presence?

"Why?" he asked, though he was sure he could probably guess at the answer. Lena's expression softened. "'He's busy'," Lena quoted your exact words, a similar disappointment in her look, "'and it isn't worth bothering Dr. Abbot with something that's just my job.' I believe her words were."

Jack looked away first. The guilt settled even lower because he could still hear is own voice from earlier in her words, your words. "You were too hard on her," Lena stated bluntly. Jack almost wanted to fight back. Lena hadn't been there, she didn't know what was said or not said. But his fight died in his throat because he was too hard on you and that hadn't been fair. 

Lena sighed, then gestured towards the elevators. "Go apologize."

"Seriously?" He frowned but the charge nurse was insistent, pointing her pen to the elevators. Jack looked at his watch then sighed. "I have patients to see."

She turned her wrist and glanced at her watch. Then she tapped on it with her stylist. "Your shift is over. I can do the shift handoffs."

He propped his hands on his hips, trying to think of a reason not to go down to the morgue. Obviously you didn't want to see him. How would you react to him barging into your space like that? 

Again. 

He couldn't find another excuse not to, so he huffed and turned on his heels to gather his things from his locker and then mosey on down to the morgue for the second time this shift.

The morgue was cold. 

And while it usually gave most people a chill down their spine when entering, the current temperature was way below normal. Ten minutes ago, you'd lowered the thermostat another couple degrees leaving the morgue at a resounding temperature of thirty-six degrees fahrenheit. 

You were technically violating protocol. But there was a lot of things happening tonight that were violating protocol so you surmised that one little bump in the thermostat likely wouldn't matter standing against all the other things you'd done. 

Things like bringing bodies down knowing full well that you were at capacity and therefore delaying the autopsies you were supposed to have done tonight. With the two of the extra bodies occupying the autopsy tables, you didn't have a space to complete them. Dr. Howell would understand the position upstairs and the funeral home had put you in. 

At least, you hoped he did. 

But the longer you sat next to the fourth and final body positioned next to your desk, the less confidence you had. At this point though, a few degress on the thermostat felt like the least important problem in the room. 

Your fingers ached as you turned another page in the logbook. The skin across your knuckles had gone stiff from repeated exposure to the cold. You usually didn't really notice it. After enough years, the cold stopped feeling like discomfort and started feeling more like background noise. 

For you, the cold had always been reliable and somewhat predictable. Unlike people. 

You adjusted the stack of paperwork beside your elbow and continued charting. Each page was the same. Thats how you liked it. It kept your mind occupied. Kept you from replaying the events of tonight. Mainly it kept you from wondering if Dr. Abbot was still mad now that you'd done what he'd asked. 

You tried to tell yourself that it didn't matter what he thought. You did your job and that was what mattered. Whether or not he noticed was out of your control. 

The squeal of the morgue door made you freeze. Your pen stopped mid word. Nobody came down here unannounced and the last time somebody had, you'd been yelled at. So, excuse you for being nervous. 

You prayed it was Dr. Howell or one of the day time techs, but you knew that both of them were chronically late. 

Slowly, you lifted your head and Jack Abbot stood in the doorway. You wondered what horrible deed you did in your past life would warrant putting this man in your path, not once but twice in one day. 

He looked oddly out of place beneath the fluorescent lights. Your stomach tightened immediately. Jack's gaze landed on you and you didn't have time to pretend you hadn't been looking at him. He glanced around the room. To the two autopy tables, the gurney against the wall and the one next to your desk. 

What was that thing about protocol again? 

His expression changed almost imperceptibly. The sort of change most people would miss. You didn't. His jaw tightened, shoulders squared, and eyes lingering longer than before. You braced for impact. 

Jack rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "It's freezing in here."

Your voice came out smaller than intended. "I'm sorry, I turned down the thermostat."

You're not really sure why you confessed to him so easily nor why you apologized for it. Sure he was above you in status and could probably get you fired at the drop of a dime but why would Jack Abbot care about whether or not you touched the thermostat?

His gaze immediately found the control panel mounted on the far wall. Then his eyes returned to you. "No kidding." A cold of breath escaped him. "You trying to preserve yourself next."

You really couldn't tell if he was joking or not. That put laughing out of the question in case he wasn't. So instead you shrugged. Jack looked around once more and when he spoke again, his voice was much lower. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

The words settled heavily between you. You stared dumbfounded at him. For a moment, he seemed almost annoyed with himself. "I didn't know," he confessed. How could he have? He couldn't have been bothered to read the dozen emails you'd sent. 

"I thought—" he started but quickly cut himself off. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. I'm sorry."

You swallowed. 

"It's okay."

"No," his answer came immediately and a beat later he added, "it's not."

The conviction in his voice startled you more than the apology itself. Jack looked at you for another second before his eyes dropped. 

For a second, you foolishly thought he was looking at your lips. But without another word, he shrugged off his backpack then followed by his jacket. You frowned immediately. "Dr. Abbot—"

You weren't quite sure what he was doing. Surely, he wasn't getting ready to stay awhile. Then, handed out like an olive branch, he held his jacket towards you. "Put this on."

You blinked like a deer in headlights. "What?"

"It's freezing and if you insist on working in here, you're not going to do so without something to keep you warm."

He continued to keep his arm outstretched towards you, the coat hanging from his hand. You knew immediately you weren't winning this fight. So slowly, you accepted it. The coat still felt warm inside from his body heat and sleeves swallowed your hands entirely. 

The smell hit next. Coffee and soap and hospital. Somehow wholly perfect for Jack. 

Something tightened unexpectedly in your chest. Across from you, he nodded once. A satisfied smirk stretched upon his face. Like the matter had been resolved. Like he hadn't just completely altered your ability to think clearly for the last thirty minutes of your shift. 

[jacksabbotts]

CHAPTER THREE REWRITE IS UP!!!! <333

[cognacqueen]

CHAT HE HAS NO RING?!?! WHATS HAPPENING?! IM FUCKING SCAREDDDDDD!!!

[80sfilmclub]

smutty blurb request for agegap robby where he likes to end the day with you riding his thigh/dry humping until you make a mess on his lap so he can clean you up before bed? 😵‍💫

blurb requests are open — ♡

oh sweet nonnie...... this was so much fun to write omfg. quick warning: excessive daddy kink and indulgent uses of petnames!

robby likes to think he's doing better now, finding new routines to have a healthier work-life balance. he doesn't stay later than his alotted shift and he's got something else to help him destress once he gets home.

you.

"fuck, daddy—!" you squeal as your legs slot around his thigh, your panty-clad clit rubbing against the firm muscle beneath you. robby grunts as you push his shoulders back against the headboard from your eagerness. you're like a bunny on his lap, young and overeager in the way you chase your pleasure like this.

"feels good, princess?"

his tone is condescending, dark eyes glimmering with poorly-hidden lust behind his readers, as his large hands grope your perky ass to guide your squirming hips. his own cock is stiff, pressing against his thigh, but he ignores it in favor of the way your tits bounce in the white negligee you have on.

"mhm, so so good," you mewl and one hand leaves your ass to grope your tits instead, greedy in the way he skims a thumb along your nipple before it travels up your neck to hold your jaw. a self-satisfied moan escapes you, leaning into his palm before he's pulling you in to swallow each sweet noise with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.

"yeah?" he murmurs against your mouth, gasping into his while he finally slides down a hand to rub your clit with a merciless precision that has you cumming hard in your panties and on his lap. "made a mess, baby."

"sorry, daddy," you whimper but he tsks gently, shushing you again with feather-light kisses along your cheek and jaw. he lays you onto your back before he settles between your legs, pushing the lacy fabric up your chest just for his own sick viewing.

"s'alright, darling, just let me see the mess you made, hm?" his voice is velvet across gravel, pushing your inner thighs apart to see the sopping fabric that greets him. he kisses your clit through the cotton panties, your hips jolting upwards from the sensitivity. "nuh-uh, stay still. how can i clean you up if you keep moving, baby?"

you offer another pathetic apology but it falls on deaf ears when robby makes a home of his face between your legs, his beard rasping deliciously against your slick inner thighs when he tugs your panties aside to lick up the sides of your lips to capture the slick with his tongue. his large hands brace along your inner thighs, the fabric of your panties hooked into one finger to keep them in place so he can delve the tip of his tongue through your folds.

"daddy—!" you gasp as you squirm and wriggle but his arms are steel, keeping you in place against the mattress. it leaves you in the mercy of his tongue, his scruffy mouth determined to lick and lave every drop you've left behind. the low grunts coming from him are muffled but doesn't lessen the obvious enthusiasm he has for eating you out.

"love your fuckin' pussy, sweetheart, so so sweet for me," he mutters, pussy-drunk now as he leans his cheek against your thigh, his calloused fingertips dragging your labia aside to stare at your cunt with the same lovesick expression he holds for you. "look at her, so fucking pretty..."

"ngh, daddy..." you whine as he gives your cunt another slow drag, purposely missing your entrance to spoil your clit with attention. your toes curl as it skyrockets you into your second orgasm of the night but robby doesn't stop, spreading your folds so he can capture every bit of your cum.

when he pulls away, utterly satisfied, his beard is damp with your slick and his readers a tad bit crooked on his nose. "all clean, princess. time for bed, hm?"

[redwinelewis]

MY MAN ON WILLPOWER | R. GRACE

type one shot (no part 2 requests please!)

pairing ryland grace x pilot!reader

summary you and ryland got hit by some kind of dust

word count 8K

content 18+. smut. sex pollen. fuck or die. masturbation (m). penis in vagina sex. riding. humour (i tried). crack. ryland's glasses stay ON during sex.

a/n officially the longest fucking thing i have ever written. i'm not truly satisfied with this but it's whatever. i hope u guys enjoy it. english is not my first language

masterlist | read on ao3

you and ryland have been staring at yet another mysterious gift sent by rocky like it was a trunk shot from pulp fiction.

you know, the one where— okay so nevermind. that's not important.

what's important was what rocky had sent, which was another cylinder.

you glanced at ryland. ryland glanced at you. then you both glanced at the cylinder.

it sat in the center of the lab table, perfectly still, perfectly silent, and deeply, profoundly suspicious.

“so,” you said, arms crossed. “before you do anything impulsive and deeply stupid, let’s review our options.”

ryland didn’t even look up. “option one: we open it and potentially discover advanced human knowledge. option two: we don’t open it and i slowly lose my mind wondering what’s inside.”

“option three,” you added, “we don’t open it and you will forever be curious about the content but hey, at least you'd still be alive!”

he glanced up at you with a grin that immediately told you he was not going to pick option three.

“ryland last time you said ‘this’ll probably be fine,’ we almost suffocated.”

“counterpoint,” he said, straightening and placing a hand on the latch, “almost.”

you sighed.

“i just don’t like it,” you said for what was probably the fifth time.

ryland made a thoughtful humming sound that meant the exact opposite.

“you don’t like anything that comes from rocky.”

you crossed your arms without taking your eyes off the object. “that is objectively untrue. i like the parts that don’t explode, corrode, or attempt to rewrite the laws of physics.”

“so.... none of it?”

“exactly.”

pause.

just when ryland reached for the cylinder, you spoke out again.

“and just for the record....” you said, voice flat, “i am deeply against whatever you’re about to do.”

“come on. what’s the worst that could happen?”

you dragged a hand down your face, already bracing for disaster. “okay, i need you to understand that that phrase is cursed. like, historically cursed. civilizations have fallen after someone said that.”

he ignored you.

of course he ignored you.

the seal popped before you could argue more. the cylinder hissed open with a soft, pressurized sound.

for a second, nothing happened.

you leaned forward slightly, squinting, peering into the opening, expecting.... something. a device. a sample. anything.

“okay.... maybe it’s empty—”

poof!

a burst of fine gold dust shot out of the container in slow motion, catching the light as it drifted upward and outward, directly into both your faces before either of you could react.

“oh— come on—!” you coughed immediately, stumbling back and waving your hands uselessly through the air. “why is it always airborne—”

“i didn’t—” ryland coughed too, turning his head and blinking rapidly. “i didn’t know it was going to do that!”

“it’s a mysterious alien container, of course it was going to do that!”

the dust settled almost as quickly as it appeared, vanishing into nothing. no residue, no smell, no visible trace that anything had even happened.

you both stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other.

“....okay,” you said slowly. “status report.”

he blinked a few more times, then patted his arms, his torso, like he might find damage. “uhhh.... lungs: functioning. skin: not melting. vision: normal.”

“define normal.”

“i can see you glaring at me, so, yeah. normal.”

you exhaled. “great. fantastic. we inhaled space dust and survived. love that for us.”

“see?” he said, already relaxing. “nothing to worry about.”

you pointed at him sharply. “you do not get to say that. you lost that privilege the moment you opened it.”

“fair.”

then there was a beat.

“so.... that’s it?” you asked.

he peered into the cylinder, turning it upside down. only the residue of the dust fell, nothing else was inside.

“that’s it.” he confirmed.

“okay,” you said finally, though your voice carried a thin edge of disbelief. “either that was completely harmless, or we just inhaled something that’s going to kill us slowly and mysteriously.”

“statistically,” ryland said, already turning back toward the console, “it’s probably the second one.”

“great,” you muttered.

“yep.” he clicked his tongue and made a double finger gun. “nailed it.”

only for a while.

only for a while, it actually seemed like he was right.

you two ran scans, double-checked the air composition, monitored your vitals like you were waiting for them to spike into something dramatic and undeniable. everything came back normal. no toxins, no foreign pathogens, no radiation spikes, nothing that explained the golden dust or what it was supposed to do.

it should have been reassuring.

it wasn’t.

because about an hour in, you noticed something off.

not dramatic. not alarming. but subtle enough.

you shifted in your seat, tugging slightly at the collar of your yellow jumpsuit. the fabric suddenly felt too close, too warm against your skin.

“hey,” you said, not looking up from your screen. you were in your station in the lab, your back facing ryland. “did the temperature go up?”

ryland glanced at the panel beside him. “nope. holding steady.”

“huh.” you leaned back, frowning. “feels warmer.”

“maybe you’re just stressed.”

you snorted. “yeah, because inhaling unknown alien particles was such a relaxing experience.”

you tried to ignore it.

it didn’t work.

because by the second hour, it got worse. worse enough that it distracted you from doing your job.

you were restless now, shifting every few minutes, hyper-aware of your own body in a way that was getting increasingly distracting.

“okay, nope. something’s happening.” you said, standing up. you zipped down your suit. it pooled around your waist and left you in nothing but a dark green tank top you wore underneath. now you looked like a formula 1 driver walking around the garage in the middle of a malaysian heat.

except you were pretty sure that the heat in malaysia was tolerable enough and the drivers were used to it.

this, whatever this was however, was far from it.

“i'm sure it's nothing—” ryland finally turned but then paused.

“what?” you asked as you tied your hair into a ponytail.

he was sitting still. too still. his posture was stiff, shoulders slightly tense, like he was holding himself in place. his jaw tightened and his eyes that were currently fixated on you slightly dilated.

“....ryland?”

he flinched, snapping back to the present. he fixed his glasses while his eyes withdrew, focusing on somewhere else but you.

“yeah?” his voice came out a little too quick. a little too tight.

you narrowed your eyes. “you okay?”

“fine. totally fine.”

“you don’t look fine.”

he let out a short laugh that didn’t sound entirely natural. “well, looks can be deceiving.”

“you’re flushed.”

“it’s warm,” he said immediately. “i’m…. internally warm.”

“....that’s not a thing.”

“it is now.”

you crossed your arms, studying him.

“you’re acting weird.”

ryland scratched the back of his neck. you did not miss the way he licked his lips. and there was a faint flush creeping across his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears, subtle but unmistakable once you saw it.

“nothing. nothing. um—”

you frowned. “are you okay?”

“yes, yes,” he cleared his throat while still staring at a very specific spot on the floor, like he was avoiding your eyes.

“okay....” you turned, walking back to your station, trying to not let his sudden weird behaviour get to you. it's ryland. he was always a bit odd, even back on earth when you first met him on the ship.

by hour three, thankfully you finished your work quickly because the heat was no longer tolerable.

“fuck....” you muttered under your breath, standing up and started pacing around.

ryland was still busy with his duct-taped-computers, probably working on the algorithm to translate rocky's melodic language.

he stopped typing on the keyboard and grabbed his notebook, writing something there now.

your paces halted. and unfortunately your brain decided that right now was the perfect time to let your eyes wander to his arms out of all places.

you didn’t know why but it just happened.

you didn't get to stop yourself. you brain drifted, catching on the absolute ridiculous size of his biceps. since when did he work out? the thought of middle school science teacher ryland grace going to the gym and working out during the weekends got more ridiculous the more you think of it.

you should have stopped. should have sat back down and worked or went to take a nap or— oh my god his veins—

you flinched.

jesus, what the fuck?

since when the fuck did you notice that?

nope. absolutely not.

you squeezed your eyes shut briefly, exhaling through your nose like that might reset your brain.

it didn't.

you sighed, audible enough just to your ears. your gaze flicked, just for a second, and then immediately snapped back to somewhere else.

that was a mistake.

because now you knew, and knowing made it harder not to look again.

your brain, completely unhelpful, decided to supply additional commentary. since when does he have arms like that? it asked, again, like this was new information, like you hadn’t been working side by side with him for months.

you squeezed your eyes shut briefly, exhaling through your nose. get it together. this was ryland. your crew mate. your friend. the only other human being alive within literal light-years.

and yet—

“oh, for fuck's sake,” you cursed under your breath.

“what?” ryland immediately turned, ears sharp enough to hear you. he looked concerned for a bit.

“nothing,” you said quickly. too quickly.

he adjusted his glasses. “that did not sound like nothing.”

“it’s nothing.”

ryland tilted his head. a hint of amusement decorating his face.

“you were staring at me,” he pointed out.

you jerked your gaze away. “i was not.”

“you absolutely were.”

“i was not,” you insisted sharper, which would have been more convincing if you hadn’t immediately glanced back at him again.

he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “wow. okay. so it’s not just me. good to know.”

you pressed a hand to your forehead, giving up on your pretenses. “no, it is definitely not just you.”

you paced again a few more steps, trying to shake it off, but it didn’t help. if anything, it made you even more hyperaware of everything. your breathing, the air, him.

and by the fourth hour, denial was no longer an option.

“okay, that's it.” you said, pacing now because sitting still felt impossible, “we need to figure out whatever the hell this is.”

“yep,” ryland said, standing up simultaneously.

“define what you’re feeling,” you asked.

he hesitated. “uh, okay. so, scientifically?”

“obviously.”

“i feel.... distracted,” he started, frowning slightly as he tried to articulate it. “like my brain keeps derailing. and also—” he stopped.

he looked at you and held his gaze for a second too long.

“ryland.”

“....also very aware of you,” he finished.

pause.

“define 'aware'. like when you were staring at me?”

“i wasn't—” he stopped, then frowned, like he was trying to catch his own thoughts mid-escape. “okay, maybe i was.”

you crossed your arms. “why?”

“i don’t know,” he said immediately, which somehow felt worse than any actual answer. “i just— looked up and— there you were.”

“i’m always here!”

“yes,” he said, a little too quickly. “i am aware of that. conceptually. but right now it’s.... more noticeable.”

you stared at him.

“more noticeable.” you repeated.

he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “that sounded weird.”

“it sounded very weird.”

“i meant it in a normal, non-weird way!”

“there is no version of that sentence that is normal, ryland!”

“you were staring at me too!” he reminded.

you opened your mouth, then shut it again, abandoning whatever argument you were about to attempt. he got you there.

then you sighed. you realized that you both seem to be doing that a lot today.

“you know what? nevermind. just— are there any other symptoms? like what, hormones? perception? impulse control?”

“all of the above, probably.”

you exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to think. maybe it was—

“the dust,” you said suddenly, stopping in your tracks.

he went still. “what?”

you pointed at the cylinder. “it has to be that.”

“yeah,” he said, nodding slowly like he just pieced all the puzzles together now. “yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, that makes sense. mysterious alien substance, unknown effects, sudden onset of—” he gestured vaguely between you “—this.”

you raised an eyebrow. “'this?'”

“i don’t have a better word!”

“well, find one!”

“i’m a scientist, not emily brontë!”

you dragged both hands down your face. “oh my god.”

“okay,” you continued. “let's not panic. let us all calm down. so, we agreed we got exposed to an unknown particulate substance.”

“yep.”

“we’re experiencing.... thermal dysregulation.”

“yep.”

“and—” you hesitated, “—behavioral anomalies.”

he made a small, distressed noise. “that is a very scientific way to say that i cannot stop staring at your lips.”

you frowned. “you were staring at my lips?”

“and you were staring at my arms! we can do this all night!” he said defensively.

“did you just quote the sequels— nevermind. not important.”

you pressed your lips together. which, unfortunately, made his eyes drop there again.

you both noticed, and you both looked away at the same time.

“okay,” he said, pacing once, like movement might fix this. “okay, okay, okay, okay, we can figure this out. we always figure things out.”

“right,” you said, latching onto that. “we analyze.”

“we observe.”

“we hypothesize.”

“we do not panic.”

“we are absolutely not panicking.”

you were both very clearly panicking.

“let’s list everything again.” he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. “all symptoms. no judgment.”

“no judgment,” you agreed.

“elevated body temperature.” he started.

“check.”

“heightened sensory awareness.”

“check.”

“uh....” he hesitated, visibly struggling. “increased.... focus on.... specific.... features?”

you folded your arms tighter. “check.”

“compulsive attention,” he added weakly.

“check.”

he swallowed. “and a— a noticeable shift in, uh—”

“attraction?” you said bluntly.

he closed his eyes. “yeah. that.”

the word hung there, heavy but accurate.

you both went very still. because once it was said like that, clean, clinical, undeniable, something in your brain clicked into place.

not just the symptoms.

the pattern.

your mind started pulling threads together, faster now. the dust. the delivery method. the lack of any visible organism. the immediate onset being minimal, then escalating over time.

you frowned, thinking harder.

“okay,” you said slowly. “if this were any known terrestrial system, particulate exposure with delayed onset behavioral changes would suggest—”

“toxins,” he said automatically.

“but there’s no impairment,” you countered.

“cognitive function is intact. motor function is intact. we’re not disoriented.”

“right,” he said, catching up. “so not a neurotoxin.”

“and not a pathogen,” you added. “no immune response. no inflammation.”

“so it’s not attacking us.”

“it’s affecting us.”

you both went quiet again, thinking.

he ran a hand through his hair, pacing again, faster this time. “okay, so— delivery system: aerosolized particulate. effect: behavioral modification. targeted toward—”

he stopped.

you watched it happen. the exact moment the realization hit him.

his entire posture went rigid.

“....no,” he said.

your stomach dropped. “what?” you asked, even though something in you already knew but refused to acknowledge it.

he looked at you. then away. then back again, like he wished reality would swap out for a better option.

“no, no, no, no, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “that’s— that’s not—”

“ryland,” you said, sharper now. “what.”

he gestured helplessly toward the empty cylinder. “there were no organisms. no plant matter. nothing visible. which means whatever this is, it doesn’t rely on traditional biological structures.”

“okay....?”

“which means,” he continued, words picking up speed like he couldn’t stop them now, “it could be a synthetic analog. or an alien biochemical system that doesn’t follow earth-based taxonomy. something that mimics a known function without the same physical form—”

“ryland.”

he stopped and looked at you.

you held his gaze.

“say it.”

he hesitated. like if he didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be real.

“....on earth,” he started, carefully, “there are airborne particulates that influence behavior in very specific ways.”

your chest tightened.

“they’re typically produced by plants,” he went on. “released into the air. inhaled. they trigger physiological responses that.... alter attraction. increase reproductive drive. reduce inhibition—”

your breath caught.

he exhaled, defeated.

“....pollen,” he finished.

silence.

thick.

absolute.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

“that’s not possible,” you said, even as your brain was already connecting it. "that's not fucking possible. what the fu—”

“i know,” he said quickly. “i know. there were no plants. there’s no visible biological structure. it doesn’t make sense.”

“so it’s not pollen.”

“it’s not plant pollen,” he corrected weakly.

you both paused.

“but it’s doing the same thing,” you said.

“yeah.”

another silence. longer this time.

he let out a hollow laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “that’s— wow. okay. that’s just— fantastic. amazing. incredible. we got hit with alien.... pseudo-pollen that—”

he stopped himself.

you finished it for him. “that makes people.... like this.”

he nodded, looking like he wanted to walk directly into space.

you swallowed. your skin still felt too warm. thoughts still kept drifting back to him.

to his hands. arms. the way he was looking at you right now.

you dropped your hands. wanna know the worst part of this? it's that now that you understood it, it didn’t make it stop. it just made it clearer.

“we’re in trouble,” you said quietly.

he nodded, equally quiet.

“yeah,” he said. “we really are.”

“and rocky just gave it to us with no warning?”

“to be fair,” ryland said, “he might not have known humans would react like this.”

you stopped pacing. “react like what, exactly?”

“like this,” he said weakly. “he probably thinks this is how humans reproduce. like, 'here, have some breeding dust, make more crew for the mission!'” ryland continued.

“oh, jesus.”

another pause.

longer this time.

he shifted his weight. “okay. solution-oriented thinking. we just.... wait it out.”

“wait it out,” you repeated.

“yep. it’s a chemical thing, right? it’ll metabolize, wear off, we go back to normal, and we never speak of this again.”

“not even a little bit.” you agreed quickly.

“not even in a funny anecdote way.”

“especially not in a funny anecdote way.”

he removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut tight while his other hand was gripping the edge of his desk for dear life. firm, almost rigid, like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. “good plan. great plan. love that plan.”

you stopped pacing and looked at him properly.

really looked.

the flush hadn’t faded, it had deepened. his breathing was just slightly off, not enough to be obvious unless you were paying attention, but you were paying attention now. and the way he was holding himself. tense, contained, like he was actively stopping himself from—

“ryland,” you said slowly.

“yeah.” he did not look at you.

“why are you holding onto the table like it’s about to float away?”

he let out a short, strained laugh.

“because if i don’t,” he said, voice tight in a way that made something in your chest twist, “i might do something incredibly stupid.”

your stomach dropped. “define 'stupid.'”

his eyes flicked up to yours, and whatever you saw there made your breath catch.

“i think,” he said quietly, “you already know.”

pause.

you stole a look at him. ryland had gone very still, hands braced on the edge of the console, head bowed like he was trying to think his way out of this. he looked just as wrecked as you are. tense, flushed, jaw tight like he was grinding through it.

the lab suddenly felt too small, like the walls had inched closer, like the air had thickened into something you had to push through just to breathe. you were still standing too close to each other. close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. close enough that every tiny shift felt amplified. and neither of you seemed able to take that one simple step back.

you both pretended to think. which would’ve been easier if your thoughts weren’t constantly derailing.

“okay,” ryland said finally, too quickly, like he’d been holding the word in his mouth for a while. he wasn’t looking at you. he hadn’t been looking at you for a solid minute now, which somehow made it worse. “solution. we need a solution.”

you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “yeah. yeah, obviously.”

he paced once, twice, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “we don’t know the duration of the effect. could be hours, could be longer.”

“right,” you said, your voice coming out tighter than you meant.

“it might not get worse,” he said quickly.

you both paused.

“it’s definitely getting worse,” you said.

“yeah,” he admitted. “yeah, that’s fair.”

another stretch of silence followed, thick and charged and deeply unhelpful.

another beat. he stopped mid-pace, suddenly locking eyes on your lips again as you bit the lower one in concentration. a visible shiver ran through him.

you, meanwhile, were transfixed by the way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he breathed. arms. shoulders. that stupid little strand of hair falling over his forehead.

it was ridiculous. you were both adults. professionals. stuck on a ship light-years from home with an entire species depending on you not screwing this up.

and yet.

both of you looked away at the same time.

he continued pacing, then he straightened slightly, like he’d latched onto something solid. “okay. i’ve got it.”

you perked up. “yeah?”

“isolation.”

silence.

“what?” your voice came out small.

“we isolate,” he repeated, more firmly now, like saying it again would make it more reasonable. “separate areas of the ship. minimal contact. we wait for the effects to wear off.”

you stared at him. “you’re kidding.”

“i’m not kidding.”

“ryland, that’s not a solution. t-that’s— what if it gets worse? what if it doesn’t wear off?”

“then we reassess,” he said, easy. “but right now, the safest option is distance.”

you laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “distance? on this ship? we share literally everything. systems, controls, workload—”

“yeah,” he said, gaining momentum, talking faster now. “we separate. different sections of the ship. minimal contact. we only communicate over comms when absolutely necessary. reduce exposure to.... stimuli.”

“stimuli,” you repeated flatly.

he made a small, helpless gesture. “i’m trying to keep this clinical.”

you stared at him. really stared this time.

“ryland,” you said slowly, “we are on a single-crew mission with two people.”

“yes.”

“yao and ilyukhina are—”

“i’m aware.” his voice was tighter this time, jaw clenched.

“we barely manage everything together on a good day.”

“we’ll adjust.”

“adjust?” you let out a short, disbelieving breath, shaking your head. “we’re already compromised. you said it yourself. attention issues, cognitive interference. you think splitting up is going to make that better?”

his jaw tightened. “it removes the trigger.”

“it removes the only person who can help when something goes wrong,” you shot back. “we don’t have backup. we don’t have a third crew member to pick up the slack. if something breaks, and something will break, we need both of us functional.”

“we are functional,” he insisted, but it came out strained, like he didn’t fully believe it.

you took a step closer without thinking.

his entire body reacted.

it was subtle. so subtle you almost missed it. but it was there: the way his shoulders went rigid, the way his breath hitched just slightly, the way his hands curled like he was holding himself in place.

that alone made your point for you.

you gestured between the two of you. “this is not functional.”

he didn’t answer.

you softened your voice, just a little. “we don’t know how long this is going to last.”

“it could wear off in a few hours,” he said, but it sounded more like hope than certainty.

“or it could be days,” you said quietly.

he didn’t argue.

“or weeks or never at all!” you added, pushing it, because you needed him to really think about it, not just cling to the best-case scenario.

“it’s the only plan that doesn’t make things worse. it’s better than the alternative.” he replied.

you stilled. “what alternative?”

he didn’t say anything.

which, unfortunately, was an answer.

you exhaled slowly, your chest tight. “okay. no. we’re not doing this vague shit. we need to actually say it.”

“we really don’t,” he said quickly.

“we do,” you insisted. “because if we don’t, we’re just going to keep circling around it and nothing gets solved.”

he dragged a hand down his face. “no.”

“ryland—”

“no,” he repeated, firmer this time. “we are not— no. that is not the solution.”

you stared at him. you've never heard his voice went that rough. that low. “it’s the only solution that makes sense.”

“it’s not a solution,” he shot back. “it’s—” he stopped, jaw tightening. “it’s not something we should even consider.”

“we both know what this is doing to us,” you pressed, voice low but steady now. “it’s not just going to fade if we sit in separate rooms pretending we’re fine. it’s getting worse.”

“i said no,” he repeated, sharper this time.

“and what happens if it peaks while we’re in the middle of something critical?” you continued anyway. “a maneuver, a repair, a calculation— what then? we just hope we can think straight?”

“we will think straight,” he snapped. “we’re not animals.”

“no, we’re worse,” you shot back. “we’re aware of it and still can’t stop it.”

he looked away first, jaw flexing, like he was trying to clamp down on something.

“we are not going to make a decision like that under the influence of alien—” he gestured helplessly, “—whatever this is.”

“we might not have a choice,” you said.

“we always have a choice.”

“do we?” you asked. “because right now it feels like we’re both in agony and pretending that distance is going to fix it.”

he flinched. barely, but enough.

“you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said, quieter now. steadier. like he was forcing the words into place. “okay? whatever this is, it doesn't make that decision for us. you don’t—” he stopped, swallowing. “you don’t owe me anything. not for survival, not for the mission. nothing.”

your expression softened for half a second, before hardening again.

“this isn’t about owing anyone anything,” you said. “this is about reality. about what’s actually happening. we can’t function like this, ryland.”

“we can,” he insisted. “we will.”

“you don’t believe that.”

he didn’t answer.

you stepped closer without thinking. his shoulders tensed immediately, like proximity itself was dangerous.

“look at me,” you said.

he did.

“you’re telling me to isolate,” you said, softer now, but more intense. “to stay away from you, to fight this out on our own, when we both know exactly what would make it stop.”

his breath hitched. just slightly, but he held his ground. “knowing something doesn’t mean we should do it.”

“why not?” you asked. “if it works, if it stabilizes us, if it lets us actually do our jobs.... why not?”

“because that’s not a choice,” he said, the words coming out sharper than he meant them to. “that’s a reaction. that’s the pollen making the decision for us.”

“or it’s us making the best decision with the situation we have,” you countered.

“no,” he said, shaking his head, stepping back now like he needed the space. “no, that’s not the same thing.”

you followed without realizing.

“then what is?” you demanded. “we wait it out and risk compromising the mission? we split up and hope nothing goes wrong? how is that better?”

“because at least it’s ours,” he snapped.

the words hung there. then he froze, like he hadn’t meant to say it that way.

you frowned slightly. “what?”

he dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “if we— if we do this, it shouldn’t be because we’re backed into a corner. it shouldn’t be because some alien dust messed with our heads and left us with one option.”

“it’s still us,” you said. “it’s still our choice.”

“is it?” he asked quietly.

that got you. because there was something in his voice now. something deeper than just logic. something personal.

“i don’t want that,” he went on, more quietly now, but more intense for it. “i don’t want.... something like that to happen because we had no other way out. because we were trying to survive it. i don’t want it to be something we look back on and think, ‘we didn’t really choose that.’”

you stared at him.

he looked away again, jaw tight.

“that’s not—” you started, then faltered. “that’s not what this is about.”

“it is for me,” he said.

there was a beat.

“we don’t have the luxury of waiting for perfect conditions,” you said, more gently now. “we have a mission. we need each other functioning.”

“i know,” he said. “i know that.”

“then stop pretending this is something we can just outlast.”

“i’m not pretending,” he said, voice rougher now. “i’m choosing the option where you don’t wake up later and regret it.”

pause.

you blinked at him. your voice came out quieter than you intended. “you think i’d regret it.”

“i think,” he said carefully, “that this isn’t exactly a clear-headed situation.”

you opened your mouth but no argument came out. because he wasn’t wrong.

“i’m just saying that it might fix the problem.”

“at what cost?”

a beat.

he stepped closer. just one step, but it closed the gap enough that the heat surged again, sharp and immediate, both of you feeling it.

his hands flexed at his sides like he was actively resisting the instinct to do something else with them.

“you think you won’t regret that?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “you think we won’t look back at this later and realize we only did it because we didn’t have a choice?”

you didn’t answer right away.

he shook his head, almost to himself. “that’s not…. that’s not how that should happen.”

there was something else in his voice then, something quieter, buried under all the logic and resistance. something that didn’t quite belong to the situation at hand.

“if we’re going to—” he stopped, jaw tightening, then tried again. “if something like that ever happens, it shouldn’t be because we’re trying to survive some alien.... whatever this is. it should be because we actually—”

you watched him cutting himself off. the way his shoulders were locked, the way his whole body looked like it was braced against something internal, something he was refusing to let slip.

“isolating wouldn't work,” you said quietly. “we can’t do this alone. not here. not now.”

“maybe not,” he admitted.

“then—”

“i’m still not doing that,” he cut in.

you blinked. “ryland—”

“i’m not,” he repeated, firmer now. “we’ll figure something else out. we’ll manage it. we have to.”

“even if it makes things harder?”

“yeah,” he said. “even then.”

you searched his face. trying to understand. trying to find the line he wouldn’t cross.

“you’re really that set on this,” you said.

“yeah,” he said quietly.

another pause.

“fine,” you said at last, though it didn’t sound like agreement so much as reluctant acceptance. “we do it your way.”

he nodded once.

“we isolate,” you added. “but if it gets worse—”

“we reassess,” he said immediately.

neither of you moved.

just stood there, separated by a few steps and a whole lot of tension, both of you very aware of how fragile that distance felt.

like it could disappear in a second.

like he might cross it.

like you might let him.

his jaw tightened.

his shoulders went rigid again.

and for a split second, he looked like he might—

but then he turned away.

“i’ll take the lab first,” he said, voice a little rough. “you can have the cockpit.”

you swallowed. “okay.”

“we’ll.... check in. over comms.”

“right.”

—

you weren't sure what time it was, but two things for certain: you were going crazy because sleep refused to come and the ceiling was mocking you.

you had been lying in bed, tangled in your sheets for what felt like hours but was probably just twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling, flipping from one side to the other like a rotisserie chicken. the gold dust still simmered under your skin, turning every shift of fabric into slow torture. your tank top clung to your damp chest. your shorts felt too tight, too rough, too everything. you rolled onto your stomach, then flopped onto your back again, kicking the blanket off with a dramatic groan.

“this is stupid,” you muttered into the dark, dragging a pillow over your face like that might solve anything. “this is so fucking stupid. i am the pilot of the hail mary. i’ve navigated black holes in simulations. i should not be this horny because of some stupid alien dust.”

another wave of heat rolled through you, settling low and insistent between your legs. you whimpered softly, pressing your thighs together, but that only made it worse.

your brain refused to calm, looping the same thoughts over and over again.

ryland’s voice.

ryland’s face.

ryland's arms.

ryland's hair.

just him in general. the way he’d looked at you before you separated. the way his voice had tightened. the way his shoulders had gone rigid like he was holding himself together by sheer force.

you groaned softly into your pillow, pressing your face into it like that might smother the thoughts.

with a frustrated sigh, you shoved the covers off and swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor a brief relief against overheated skin. you sat there for a second, breathing, trying to steady yourself before started pacing.

“isolation,” you scoffed under your breath, pacing faster. “yeah, great plan, ryland. fantastic plan, ryland. terrific plan! it was never gonna fucking work.”

you sighed again before stopping to take a deep breath.

“okay,” you said to yourself. “it's fine. it's fine! you're okay. you're doing good. just— breathe. it’ll pass.”

you closed your eyes and tried to focus.

in.

out.

in—

“mhmmph—”

pause.

you blinked an eye open.

what—

“mhmphhh— fuckk—”

—the hell was that?

you tilted your head slightly, listening.

at first, nothing. just the low hum of the ship, steady and familiar. long enough you were starting to think that your brain was playing tricks on you.

but then—

“oh, please— please—”

it was soft and faint. slightly uneven. and came from the other side of the wall.

and the other side of the wall was ryland's room.

you froze. you heard it again. a low, muffled whimper drifted through the thin wall

unmistakenably ryland.

he was in the room next to yours.

awake.

and very clearly not handling this any better than you were.

he was trying so hard to stay quiet, really committing to the bit, but failing miserably. another whimper followed, shaky and desperate, quickly bitten off. the faint, rhythmic sound of skin on skin. a muttered curse. your name, whispered like he was cursing the universe for putting him in this position.

heat flooded your face so fast you probably matched the emergency lighting. you stood there, mouth slightly open, ears straining despite yourself.

is he—

no.

no way.

no fucking way.

another moan, softer this time, but unmistakably him. he was doing a terrible job at being stealthy. the wall might as well have been paper.

you paced faster, hands flapping uselessly at your sides like a malfunctioning robot.

dilemma time. big, stupid, pollen-fueled dilemma.

option #1: stay in your room. be responsible. respect the isolation plan he’d suggested earlier like the noble scientist he was. suffer in dignified silence until the dust wore off. maybe meditate. or count rivets in the ceiling. very professional.

option #2: march over there, bang on his door, and finally deal with whatever this is, together.

you stopped, pressing your ear against the cool wall, right where the sounds were loudest. another whimper from his side. your stomach flipped. your body voted very enthusiastically for option two.

“but he said isolate,” you argued with yourself in a harsh whisper. “he was all ‘we’re professionals, we can handle this.’ what if i go over there and he freaks out? what if it gets awkward? what if he opens the door with his dick in his hand and we both just scream?”

you frowned at the mental image. not very flattering thing to think about.

“fuck, no. i’m strong. i’m a pilot. i’ve done evasive maneuvers in asteroid fields. i'm on a mission to save earth. i can handle one night of alien-induced horniness without climbing my crewmate like a tree.”

you resumed pacing, arms crossed tight over your chest like that would somehow contain the fire. three steps. turn. three steps. the sounds from his room continued. another low moan, a bitten-off “shit” that sounded way too sexy for your sanity.

you stopped again, staring at your door like it was the airlock to certain doom.

your hand hovered near the door panel. you yanked it back like the button burned.

“no. professional boundaries. we have a mission. we have dignity. we—”

a particularly broken moan cut through the wall, followed by a muffled thump like he’d smacked his head against something.

you groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “okay, fuck it. i’m weak. i’m so fucking weak. if he doesn’t want this he can yell at me tomorrow when the pollen wears off.”

a beat.

“if.... it ever wears off.” you added.

before you could talk yourself out of it again, you marched to the door, heart hammering like a faulty thruster. you raised your fist and banged on his door, loud, impatient.

no turning back now.

inside, everything went dead silent. then frantic shuffling. something clattered to the floor. then the door finally slid open.

ryland stood there, flushed crimson, hair a disaster, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. his glasses were crooked. shorts wrinkled, barely even on, one hand still guiltily hovering near his waist. his eyes widened comically when he saw you.

you didn’t give him time to speak.

you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him forward, and kissed him hard.

he made a surprised noise that got immediately swallowed when you kissed him, the door sliding open the rest of the way as he stumbled back into the room.

for a second, he didn’t move. just froze, like his brain had short-circuited.

then his hands came up instinctively, one landing on your waist, the other tangling in your hair as he kissed you back with pent-up desperation. you stumbled forward into his room, mouths still locked, and kicked the door shut behind you with your heel.

the kiss was messy at first. noses bumping, tongues fighting. but neither of you cared. you poured every ounce of frustration and heat into it. his back hit the wall and he pulled you closer, hips pressing against yours so you could feel exactly how affected he still was.

after a long, dizzying minute you forced yourself to pull back just enough to breathe.

“wait, wait,” you said, out of air. “you were the one who wanted to isolate. if you want me to stop.... say it. we can pretend this never happened—”

“no— no, no, no, no. don’t you dare,” he said immediately.

you blinked. “what?”

“don’t say we can stop and then actually mean it,” he said, like that was a personal attack. “that’s— no. absolutely not.”

you huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “you were literally the one arguing against doing this.”

“i know,” he said. “i was wrong. past me was— misguided. naive. deeply out of touch with current events.”

“current events,” you repeated.

“yes,” he said, nodding once, very serious about this. “new data has come to light.”

“and that data is?”

“i need you.”

a beat.

“please.” he stared at you, eyes dark and glassy, lips swollen. his hands flexed on your hips like he was scared you’d vanish. for a heartbeat the only sound was your ragged breathing and the low hum of the ship.

“i tried— i really fucking tried to be good. but this dust is evil and you were just right next door and you look too good in that tank top and i’ve been losing my mind for hours. please.”

you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “oh, so that's what the staring was for earlier?”

“i.... well, i mean— yeah.” he stammered, realizing there is no point of pretending anymore.

you couldn't help but chuckled. “yeah, okay. the feeling's mutual.”

“yeah?” he laughed too.

“yeah.”

“can i kiss you again then?”

you smiled. “thought you'd never asked.”

this time it was him who surged forward, kissing you slower this time, deeper, letting the burn build deliberately. his glasses fogged up immediately, the lenses clouding over from the combined heat of your breaths. he didn’t take them off. didn’t even reach for them. just kept kissing you through the haze, like the fog made it somehow hotter. your fingers traced his jaw, his neck, the rapid flutter of his pulse. he shivered under your touch.

you walked him backward toward the bunk without breaking the kiss. when his knees hit the edge he sat down heavily, pulling you with him so you straddled his lap. the new position pressed you right against the hard line of him, making you both gasp into each other’s mouths.

slowly, you started undressing each other. your hands slid under his shirt, palms mapping the warm, flushed skin of his chest. he lifted his arms so you could tug it off. you tossed it somewhere behind you, leaving him in only his glasses. he returned the favor, peeling your tank top up inch by inch, kissing every new strip of skin he revealed. your stomach, the underside of your breast, your collarbone, until the fabric was gone.

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. you rose up on your knees so he could slide them down your thighs along with your underwear. you kicked them away. then you focused on his shorts, tugging them down slowly, savoring the way his breath hitched when you freed him.

naked now, you settled back onto his lap, skin to skin. the contact was electric. you took your time, rocking gently against him without taking him inside yet, just feeling the slide and heat while you kissed him lazily, tongues tangling in slow, filthy strokes.

you reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him. he groaned loud, head tipping back, the sound vibrating through his chest. “fuck— your hand feels so good,” he breathed, hips twitching up into your grip. “please don’t tease me— been dying for this.”

“you sure about this?” you murmured against his lips between kisses, giving him one last out even as your hips rolled in a slow, teasing circle.

“never been more sure of anything in my life,” he breathed, hands gripping your thighs.

you laughed softly into his mouth, the sound turning into a moan when he shifted his hips just right. one of his hands slid between your bodies, fingers exploring with gentle, curious touches until you were trembling.

only then did you reach down, wrap your hand around him, and guide him to your entrance. you sank down inch by torturous inch, both of you moaning at the slow, perfect stretch. when you were fully seated you stayed there for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in while your bodies adjusted.

then you started to move.

slow rolls of your hips at first, savoring every drag and press. ryland’s head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat. you leaned in to kiss along his jaw, his neck, sucking lightly at his pulse point while you rode him with deliberate, unhurried patience. his hands roamed your back, your sides, your breasts, learning every curve like it was new data he needed to memorize.

gradually the rhythm built. your movements grew deeper, harder. the bunk creaked steadily. soft gasps and moans filled the small room. his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your rhythm falter and your breath catch.

“ryland— fuck, just like that—”

“you feel so good,” he panted, voice breaking on the words. “oh, baby— don’t stop, please—”

it hit you like a solar flare. you cried out his name loud, clenching around him hard, hips stuttering through the waves. he followed right after, burying himself deep with a broken, guttural moan.

“yes— fuck— coming— inside you— god, you’re perfect— take it all—”

you collapsed against his chest, both of you trembling, hearts hammering in sync. his arms wrapped around you tight, holding you close while the aftershocks rolled through, glasses still fogged and slightly askew on his nose.

for a long moment, neither of you said anything.

you were half sprawled across him, one leg tangled with his, your arm draped somewhere over his chest like you’d both simply.... collapsed and decided to stay that way. the room was quiet except for your breathing, slowly evening out, though not nearly fast enough to feel normal.

ryland was staring at the ceiling.

very intently.

like it had just revealed the meaning of life and he was still processing it.

“....so,” you said eventually.

“so,” he echoed.

another pause.

you shifted slightly, propping your chin on his chest so you could look at him. “on a scale from one to ‘we should never speak of this again,’ where are you at?”

he didn’t look at you.

“....i’m considering faking amnesia.”

you snorted. “wow. rude.”

“i’m kidding,” he said quickly, then paused. “mostly.”

“mostly,” you repeated.

“okay, no, that sounded worse than i meant it,” he said, finally turning his head toward you, eyes wide like he was trying to fix it in real time. “i don’t regret it. i do not regret it. i just—” he gestured vaguely with one hand, which was difficult considering you were partially pinning him down, “—need a second to emotionally catch up with my own life choices.”

you raised an eyebrow. “your life choices led you to space.”

“for the record, i did not consent to that.”

fair, but you ignored him. “and then to alien pollen.”

“unfortunately, yes.”

“and then to me.”

he hesitated.

“that part i’m less willing to categorize as a mistake.”

you stared at him for a second.

then narrowed your eyes. “that was almost smooth.”

“thank you,” he said. “i panicked halfway through it.”

“i could tell.”

another stretch of quiet settled in, but it was different now. looser. like the tension that had been buzzing under your skin all day had finally burned itself out, leaving something softer in its place.

“....for the record,” you added after a moment, “your ‘being quiet’ plan earlier? terrible.”

he made a strangled noise. “oh my god.”

“like, impressively bad,” you continued. “i heard everything.”

“you did not hear everything.”

“ryland.”

he covered his face with both hands, cheeks heated up. “i would like to be ejected into space now.”

“denied,” you said immediately. “we need you for the mission.”

“please, just kill me already.”

“also,” you added, very seriously, “for future reference, the wall is not soundproof.”

“i have gathered that,” he said into his hands.

“just making sure.”

he peeked at you through his fingers. “....are you going to bring this up again later?”

“oh, constantly.”

“i walked into that one.”

“you really did.”

another quiet moment passed.

you could feel his breathing steady under you now, less uneven, less strained.

“....hey,” he said after a while.

“yeah?”

there was a small pause before he spoke again, like he was choosing his words more carefully this time. “are you okay?”

it caught you off guard.

not the question itself, but the way he asked it. steady. grounded, like he needed the answer to mean something.

you blinked, then nodded. “yeah,” you said, softer. “i am.”

he turned his head then, just enough to look at you properly, like he needed the visual confirmation to go with it.

“okay,” he said finally, the word carrying more weight than it should have. “i'm glad.”

you nudged him lightly with your shoulder, a small, grounding kind of contact. “you?”

he let out a breath that sounded like it had been stuck somewhere in his chest for a while. “yeah. i think so. which is honestly surprising, given.... everything.”

another quiet stretch settled over you, but it wasn’t awkward. not really. just calm, in a slightly surreal, post haze kind of way.

eventually, the exhaustion caught up with you. real, actual exhaustion this time. not the restless, jittery kind from before.

you shifted closer without thinking, your head settling more comfortably against him.

he stilled for half a second then relaxed. his arm tightening just slightly around you.

“also,” he added, voice softer now, almost drowsy, “for the record…. i don’t regret it.”

your chest tightened. you didn’t lift your head, didn’t look at him. just let the words settle somewhere quiet inside you.

“…me neither,” you murmured.

that was the last coherent thing either of you said.

because a few minutes later, the exhaustion finally won.

[nothxbb]

His Damn Biceps

request from @lostgirlinthewoodss !!

1.4k words, smut, headlocks

summary: Ryland discovers that you have a thing for being put in a headlock years after first doing it

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“This what you needed, baby?” His voice is rough, strained with the effort of keeping you both upright. He fucks into you slowly, letting you feel every thick inch of his length, his tip kissing your cervix with every thrust. He has your back to him, one strong arm wrapped around your neck, squeezing your face in his bicep. You scratch at his arm, eyes rolling back when he pistons his hips faster, hitting you deeper with every stroke. 

This wasn’t the kind of thing he would normally have done, but an incident back on the Hail Mary flashed through his memory when he was teaching his Eridian students about the plants you’ve been able to grow. He held a small tomato plant up and zoned out for a second, coming back to himself just in time for the students to start asking questions. 

The memory was stuck in his brain, though. Some months into your trip to Erid, Ryland and Rocky had followed you into the small area designated for your space garden. The conversation was light, you and Ryland teaching Rocky about the different plants and their purposes, what you were hoping to learn by having them in space. 

“This flower will eventually grow into something we can eat,” you point to a bloom that you’ve been carefully cultivating for weeks. “You remember how we talked about pollen?” You look to Rocky expectantly. “Yes, stamen make pollen, pistil use it,” Rocky chirps. You nod, biting your pen while you pull a small sample of yellow dust off the flower. 

“Flower like humans, statement.” That makes you pause, head turning to him with a frown. “What do you mean, Rock?” 

“Human male make pollen, human female use it.” A choked noise sounds from next to you, Ryland throws a hand over his face with a groan. “Rocky, please don’t talk about human reproduction again,” he murmurs, grinning when you let out a loud laugh. 

“Come on, Grace, we can give him another lecture about sex,” you set your notepad down and give him your full attention, “surely you still have so much to say!” His brows shoot to his hairline, eyes flashing, hands landing on his hips while he decides his approach. “Go ahead, then,” he starts, leveling you with a glare, “what do you want to know?” He doesn’t ask Rocky, he asks you. 

Rocky speaks up anyway, “Grace use stamen on mates, question?” His tone is different, he sounds grossed out. You laugh, puffing up your cheeks when Ryland drops his head and sighs. His face is red, hands still on his hips. “This is your fault,” he points at you, smiling when you turn your back to laugh harder. 

“You know what,” he laughs, stepping toward, “I’ve had enough of your teasing.” His arm wraps around your neck, bicep flexing as he puts you in a headlock. His free hand comes up to rub against the top of your head, “you’ve got a big mouth,” he chuckles against you. 

You freeze, feeling his chest against your back, his arm on your throat, his breath in your hair. Fuck, do you have a thing for being put in a headlock? You hadn’t considered it before, but when it’s Ryland’s bicep, Ryland’s voice in your ear? Yeah, that’s a new one for you. 

Rocky perks up, lifting his carapace and tilting, “her heart rate is high, is this mating ritual, question?” Your face heats up, hands pulling Ryland’s arm off of you quickly. He lets go easily, worry flashing across his face. 

You had excused yourself immediately, heading to the other room and busying yourself for a bit. Half an hour passed before Ryland came slinking in, tail between his legs, apologizing for manhandling you. You both let it go after that, agreeing to let bygones be bygones and all that. 

Until you made it to Erid. By the time the biodome was ready for you to move in, you and Ryland were well established in your relationship. He had finally cornered you in the kitchen the morning after his plant class, sliding up behind you while you sip your coffee in front of the window, overlooking the foggy beach made just for you. His arm slipped around your shoulders, bicep tightening around your throat just enough for him to feel you tense a little. 

“I was teaching about your plants yesterday,” he murmured into your hair, “remembered something like this,” he squeezed his arm just a little, reveling in how your breath hitched. “I realized that it might not have made you uncomfortable like I first thought,” he leaned forward enough to take in your profile, “I think you liked it.”

You floundered a little, debating on if it was worth it to deny it, and finally just nodded your head, movement limited by the thick arm cradling your head. 

You let him pull you to bed, let him take you apart with his fingers and tongue, let him build up to what he’d clearly been thinking about. 

And here you are now, kneeling on the sheets, Ryland behind you. His arm is tight around your throat, breath heavy on your hair. He’s practically holding you up, his other arm wrapped around your hips like a seatbelt. You can’t control the sounds he punches out of you with each snap of his hips, can’t do anything but hold on while he takes what he wants. 

“Just needed a bicep to choke you a little, huh?” God, the way he teases you never fails to make your knees weak. “Taking it so good, baby,” he groans right in your ear, “fuckin’ love this, holy shit.” 

His hand flexes beside your head, making his arm squeeze just a little bit more. The moan it rips from your throat is loud, your eyes rolling back. He feels you clench down around him, feels how close you’re getting to losing it. “Gonna come for me, sweets? Gonna let me feel you come on my cock?” His voice is deep, broken whines slipping through his rough exterior. 

He was usually so soft and sweet with you, this rugged version of him was new and exciting. Maybe there was a dom hiding somewhere under all the nerd this whole time? He keeps up his brutal pace, hips slamming into yours hard enough to make you jerk with each thrust. He’s hitting that spot inside you so perfectly, so roughly, it makes you see stars. 

“Take your time, baby,” he grunts softly, “get there when you’re ready.” There’s that care you were so used to. Never rushing you, never pressuring you for anything. “I can do this all night,” his grin is obvious in his tone, you just know he’s getting off on the power. “You can rub your clit,” he whispers, nipping at your ear, “or do you need me to do that, too?” 

He breathes a laugh when you moan, your hips rolling back into him, your head tipping back against his shoulder. He’s supporting most of your weight, holding you tightly to him, controlling both of your movements. “Y’feel so good, so warm and tight,” he leans back just a little, pulling you with him, changing the angle just enough. 

He manages to sink in deeper, feeling how your slick leaks down his shaft and sticks to his thighs. “Dripping all over me,” he grins, “sexy as hell how much you love this.” And he feels you clench, feels you shake, and groans when he feels you tip right over the edge. Your breath hitches, hands locking on his arms as you shiver through your high. “Yes, baby,” he whispers, grunting with the effort of keeping up his rhythm when you’re squeezing him so tightly. 

A few more thrusts and he slams home, holding you against him firmly while he whimpers into the side of your head. He pants for a moment, admiring how pliant and relaxed you feel under him. You grab his arm and pull, sighing when he finally eases up and lets you fall forward. You burrow into the pillows, groaning when he lays his whole body on top of yours. He kisses down your spine, across your shoulders, pushes your hair away from your neck so he can check for any marks. 

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers into your skin, “s’perfect for me.” You smile, turning your head enough to see him. “You’re really strong, Ry.” He smiles, shifting up and over so his head is next to yours, placing a sweet kiss to your lips. “I haven’t been using it to my advantage, I think,” he laughs, stroking your cheek gently. “I could’ve been throwing you around this whole time.” 

You laugh along with him, nodding with a hum, melting under his soft touch.

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this was hotttt

[smuttylittlelife]

kiss it better, baby

ryland grace x f!reader, mdni 18+

summary: you’ve been stressed at work and ryland is here to help you relax.

warnings: reader is a little bratty, fingering (for like a second, p in v, unprotected sex (please use protection), some oral f! receiving.

you’ve been really stressed out with work, with back-to-back meetings all day, and even then, still work late until the night to prepare for a big client pitch. and nothing has been helping you sleep. you've barely had any time for yourself, let alone spend any time with your boyfriend. you can't even remember the last time you had sex with him, and by the time you get into bed, he's already asleep.

you're constantly on edge, ready to snap at any moment. and poor ryland has been the victim of your attitude. anytime he asks you a question, whether it's what you want for dinner, how your week is going, or if you've seen the tie he's misplaced, he's met with a smart remark leaving your mouth.

he's been giving you grace (lol) for the last couple of weeks, understanding work has been eating you alive, but he hates seeing you like this. he knows you haven't been sleeping well, and he wants to take care of you and take your mind off of things, if only you would let him.

but one night, ryland woke up from an unexpected after-work nap, that had lasted way too long. he looks at the clock on his bedside table: it's 1:27 am. he's about to roll over and just go back to sleep when he hears you. the clacking of your keyboard, and the quiet voices of the tv in the living room. he gets up and opens the door of his room and sees you hunched over your laptop, your hair semi-wet from your shower, glasses perched up on your face.

"sweetheart, what are you still doing up?" ryland grumbles, making his way over to the couch. he stands behind you, hands resting on his hips, a disapproving look on his face. you sigh, "because i have work to do, ryland." your voice is stern. you never call him by his first name. you don't look up from your laptop as you keep making edits to your presentation.

"honey, it's 1:30. it's late. you gotta get some sleep," you can tell in his voice he's growing impatient. you don't mean to snap at him. but with the deadline approaching, the mix of anxiety and frustration bubbling in your body, it just happens. you turn to look at him and scoff, "ryland, i really don't have time for the concerned teacher act. go back to bed, and leave me alone." the words come out harsher and louder than you expected, but your growing annoyance at everything has boiled over.

maybe he's still disoriented from his nap, or a combination of your unwarranted attitude and how he's tired of seeing you kill yourself over the last couple of weeks because of this project, but the look in your eyes as the words spill out of you pushes him over the edge.

he makes his way around the couch, standing in front of you. he takes your laptop from you and places it on the coffee table. he cages you in between his arms and leans in. his face is inches away from yours. the air in the room feels heavy and charged as you cross your arms, staring at him.

"i know you're annoyed with work, but that doesn't give you an excuse to be a brat," he scolds you, and it only edges you on more. "i wouldn't be such a brat, if people knew how to do their fucking job." there something in his proximity to you that is making you dizzy. you've missed him and the way he is towering over you and is making heat pool between your legs.

"language, missy," he warns, and you roll your eyes. "you need to watch your attitude."

"fucking make me," you sit up, your lips ghosting over ryland's. and before you even know it, his lips are on yours. you melt into his kiss. it's messy and desperate. your hands reach to the back of his head, trying to pull him closer towards you. you pull away from him, breathless, and he starts kissing down your jaw to your neck.

"is this what you want? someone to take your mind off of things?" he finds the spot that makes you whimper, and he nips at it before soothing it with his tongue. one his hands runs down your body to your waist, squeezing you. "ry, please," you voice softer than two minutes ago.

ryland chuckles against your neck, "oh, now you're being nice. why is there something you need, baby?" his rubbing circles on your hips, teasing you.

"ryland, i swear to god, i need you to fucking touch me," you're growing impatient, and ryland is kissing down your chest. you're very grateful for the skimpy little tank top you are wearing, leaving much of your chest exposed for him to kiss.

"you know better than to talk to me like that?" he's lowering himself in front of the couch, your legs spreading instinctively, and his hand begins rubbing up your thighs. you're breathing heavily, the anticipation of ryland about to touch you is killing you.

ryland takes a second to take in the sight of you needy for him on the couch. the ratty and thin white tank top you're wearing is doing nothing to hide your hardened nipples underneath. your tiny little shorts like a second skin on you, and ryland sess arousal seeping through the material. he whines, you're not wearing any underwear.

he looks up at you from his position on the couch, eyes locking with yours, his pupils blown. "i'm sorry, ryland. please." you sound like you could cry, and ryland swears he's never heard anything so beautiful, making his cock twitch. he brings his mouth close to your pussy, and the feeling of his breath against your clothed cunt is enough to get you to buck your hips up towards his face.

"mmm, someone's needy," he teases, and he licks the wet patch on your shorts. he applies pressure with his tongue, circling your pussy, and you moan out, hands going to his hair. he pulls your shorts down, revealing your bare pussy to him. no matter how many times he's seen you like this, he can never get enough of you. he licks a stripe on your cunt, collecting your arousal on his tongue, and he moans into you.

"such a perfect pussy baby. taste so sweet." you could cry from the contact and pull on his hair. his nose bumps your clit, and you cry out. his lips begin kissing back up your body and makes his way to your lips.

"as much as i want to take my time with you. i need to be inside you," he pressed himself into you, and you can feel how hard he his. he grinds his pajama pants-clad dick onto your pussy, and friction feels amazing.

your hands reach down to pull his pants down, freeing his cock. he's big and thick, the tip pink and leaking with precum. you graze your fingers along the underside of his cock, and he bucks into your hands.

"i've missed you, baby," you say, taking your thumb teasing his slit, spreading this precum around. he whimpers and grabs your wrist, halting your actions.

"i've missed you too." he grabs both your hands and brings them around his neck. he kisses you, softly, while he moves you, laying you down on the couch. he grabs one of your legs and brings it up to lie on the back of the couch. he takes his shirt off, and you bite your lip watching him. he's so beautiful, and you don't know how you got so lucky with him.

he takes his cock in his hand and drags it through your folds. your eyes fill with tears as he teases you. but just as you're about to say something to him, he slips inside of you, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss.

he begins thrusting his hips at a delicious pace. not too fast or slow, but he's making sure you feel every inch of him. it burns a little getting used to his size, but he stretches you out perfectly. ryland whines in your ear as he bottoms out in you. "you feel so perfect around me, baby. pussy fucking made for me,"

you let out a loud moan, and ryland quickly covers your mouth with one hand. “it’s too late to give our neighbors a show,” he laughs, continuing to fuck you. you wrap your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, tilting your hips. he hits the spot inside of you that makes you see stars, and you clench around him.

“there it is. that’s the spot, isn’t it, honey?” ryland always has a mouth on him when he’s buried deep inside of you, and it drives you insane. you’re babbling mess, a string of moans and profanities, slipping out.  

he picks up the pace, continuously hitting that spot. his hand runs down your body, squeezing your boobs before running down to rub your clit. your grind down on his fingers, the overstimulation pushing you towards the edge. his cock twitches as he watches your face contort in pleasure.

you can feel the coil building in you, and you scratch ryland’s back. your squeezing around his cock, and ryland knows by the sounds you’re making that you're close to cumming for him.

“i got you baby. just let go for me,” his thrusts are speeding up, getting sloppier and harder. he places his lips onto your clavicle, sucking and biting down, for sure leaving you with a mark. your orgasm washes over you, taking over your body. you push off the couch, squeezing around him. that pushes ryland over the edge, cumming deep inside of you.

he slips out of you, and watches as his cum drips out of you. he takes his fingers and stuffs it back into you. you whine at how sensitive you still are, but bite your lip watching him look completely mesmerized. he pulls his fingers out and you grab his hand, pulling it down to your mouth. ryland moans as you suck on his fingers, tongue swirling around them.

he pulls your fingers out and brings you into another kiss, both of you smiling like idiots.

“you’re perfect, did you know that?” ryland says against your lips. he quickly kisses you again, and you laugh. “so i’ve been told,” you giggle. your hair is messy, fanning out below you, and ryland thinks you’ve never looked prettier.

“thank you, for taking care of me. i’m sorry i’ve been a mess,” you whisper, running your fingers through the front pieces of his hair. he looks at you with so much adoration.

“anytime, honey. you ready to come to bed with me?” he ask, his hands rubbing up and down your sides. you pretend to consider it for a second, tapping your finger against your chin.

“hmm, i don’t know,” he can tell you're starting to get sleepy, your eyelids getting heavy. he lays down on top of you, kissing all around your face gently.

“what if i promise to wake you up in a way that has been proven to be very popular in the past?” he places a kiss on your nose. he looks shy, cheeks turning pink like he wasn’t balls deep inside of you earlier.

“well i can’t say no to that.” you smile, and he kisses you deeply.

“c’mon let’s get you to bed.” ryland picks you up, bridal style, carrying you into the room. you fall asleep instantly, tangled in his arms.

and you wake up in the morning, with ryland’s face between your legs.

[sunescence]

MUNCH PROF!RY x gn!afab!reader.

contents :: professor x grad!student. no pronouns mentioned but reader is afab & is mentioned to wear lace panties. ryland takes said panties #pantythief. small refernece to this fic but you don’t have to read it to understand what’s happening. some domesticity and mentions of a foot massage but it’s not sexual. new girl mention bc im watching it rn. angst if you squint. clothed grinding. maybe ooc ryland. this fic is lowkey a flop, im so cringe at writing smut. most likely some anatomy inaccuracies because i am very sleepy as i write this. this one is for my martie baby @thisroomboring 1.4k words

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍎 ⋅ ˚✮

Ryland had been in your apartment for a total of an hour until he had your hips pinned to the mattress. The warmth of your bedroom feels distant and too much all at once. Your skin has a sheen of sweat that begins to sink into your sheets.

It was pre-determined that you’d have to wash them later, but the reminder is clearer in your head now.

A breathy moan is rung from your throat as Ryland licks through your sensitive folds. He’s been down there for what feels like hours—kneeled at the foot of your bed, one hand pressing on your pelvis to steady your twitching body still while the other grips the upper part of your thigh, fingers twisted into the soft lace of your panties.

You can feel his facial hair rubbing against your skin in a way that’s bound to leave a more pleasant version of carpet burn.

This isn’t a completely unfamiliar position. Your professor often finds himself pressing his face between your legs. He’d whisper about it being his favorite place in the world in a way that felt entirely truthful. Whenever you brought it up he’d get this shy tint of red on his face and pretends like he didn’t know what you were talking about.

He just continues to prove how honest he was when he said it.

It’s never happened here, in your apartment—he’s been here a total of once, on a night you’d gotten a little too drunk and forgotten by your friends. Him having you in such an intimate position in such a vulnerable place made each hot press of his tongue against you stronger.

When he replaces his tongue with his thumb, lightly brushing the pad against your clit, the pleasure it causes makes you blank. You twitch so hard it makes Ryland chuckle, the sound deep and breathless. When he pulls away you’re unsure if the cry is from relief or missing him.

“I can’t get what I want out of you if you keep moving, angel,” his words are thickly sweet but entirely lustful. He shifts, deciding to pull your panties fully off before wrapping his toned arm around your leg, laying his other arm fully across your hips. “Let me work.”

His mouth returns to you with a new sense of passion—one that makes him groan into your folds when you moan his name, the sound wet and choked. Before he was slow, savoring you like he’d never get a taste of you again. Now he’s drinking you up like you’re a fountain of youth, and he’s a greedy mortal who found you after years of searching.

When he pushes you over the edge, you swear you’re on cloud nine. He takes you through it, not letting up until he feels your trembling hand push at his head. You barely manage to catch a glimpse of his face as his tongue darts out from his lips, licking the remaints of you off them.

Ryland quickly climbs over you, hands starting at your hips before he glides them up your slick skin until it reaches the fabric of your shirt that’s bunched around your ribs. He pulls the fabric down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Shower?”

You don’t process his question at first, your response breathless and endearingly late. “I need to wash my bedding.”

“Let me.”

You laugh, turning to face where he’s laying beside you. You ignore how warm his gaze makes you. “You don’t know where the laundry machines are in my apartment.”

“I can find them.”

“You also don’t know where my laundry detergent is.”

“You have little faith in my detective skills. I put Sherlock to shame.”

You roll your eyes as you sit up, your heart calmer than it was. “I would need the entire student body to count the number of times you’ve lost your glasses.”

Ryland is unaware that a big reason he can never find them is because you’ve hidden them. You like seeing the frustration on his features when he can’t figure out where he misplaced them, partly because it put you on the receiving end of some pretty amazing sex. “That doesn’t count! Just let me do this for you. Please.”

His plea is compelling. You give in quicker than you should. When you guide him to the small closet beside your bathroom where you keep all of your cleaning supplies, he gives you a tender kiss that almost masks the way his hand grazes your ass.

He looks a little too smug when he retreats back to your bedroom. There’s a distant sound of running water as he strips your mattress of its blanket, then the comforter and sheets. They all lie in a pile on the floor right beside your discarded panties.

Ryland has seen similar pairs on you in a variety of colors. Some he liked a little more than others. He doesn’t think twice when he picks them up and stuffs them into his back pocket.

By the time your shower is done and you’ve changed into something that isn’t drenched with sweat, Ryland is returning from transferring your bedding from washer to dryer. Your shower was much longer than you intended.

The rest of your afternoon starts in the kitchen as he assists in making something to eat, which is more of you cooking and him offering words of encouragement and cleaning the dishes when you finish with them, then continues with you two on your couch. Your socked feet rest in his lap while the two of you watch New Girl.

It’s more of him watching New Girl as you admire him.

He pretends to be less into the show than he is, eyes glued to the screen despite his glasses dangling off his ears. Ryland’s hands have been softly massaging your foot the entire time; the gesture is domestic and ventures outside of the lust-filled box you two have built around yourselves. It makes you wonder what’ll happen when you graduate—if this will even last that long.

The sense of dread that brings is all consuming, but is washed away when he turns to look at you.

Neither of you say anything, the space filled with the sound of the tv and your rotating fan that sits in the corner of your living room. He slowly moves on of your feet so he can twist himself onto his knees, slowly crawling between them until he’s hovering over you. You’re caged beneath him as he stops, one hand on the armrest of your couch while the other cradles your face.

The kiss you share is instinct, almost. His lips are soft against your own, before he trails them all across your face, using his warm palm against your cheek as some kind of leverage to keep you from moving even when you're laughing at the tickle of his stubble against your skin. Ryland doesn’t bother to hide the way he’s smiling before he’s diving back in, kissing you with want.

He rests his body weight on you, letting go of the armrest so he can pull your leg over his hip, grinding his crotch into your own with slow rolls of his hips. When he makes you gasp he doesn’t hesitate to push his tongue into your mouth. He can taste a hint of mint from when you brushed your teeth after eating.

He suddenly misses the taste of you he’d gotten earlier.

When he pulls away, you’re trying to catch your breath. In the process of grinding and sucking in his tongue, you managed to pull off his Periodic Table of Elements shirt that fits him a little too snug.

The sight of him leaning back so he can shuffle further down your couch, shirtless with low hanging sweats, makes your core feel like molten lava. Part of you wonders if he can sense it with how desperately he’s trying to tug your pants and underwear off—which he manages to do at once.

You’re filled with a sense of disbelief as you sit up, watching him lie down between your legs. “Ryland, you were down there not that long ago.”

He doesn’t respond right away, preoccupied with tossing one of your legs over his shoulder as he guides himself closer, kissing along your groin. “I’m going back for seconds.”

The embarrassed shiver his words send through you is short-lived. He doesn’t let you process them a second longer before he’s kissing your folds, taking a long, slow drag of his tongue through them that makes you lie back down.

He doesn’t let up when you finish this time around.

[ickology]

18+ ⫶ SQUIRT LESSONS 101 ℘ requested jack abbot proves your ‘incapability’ of squirting wrong.

the moment you mention the fact of never being able to squirt to jack, he’s a bit surprised. his lips parting to utter a response, but it falls silent as he raises a hand to caress the stubble on his jawline.

“never?” he repeats, not wanting to believe the words that just came out of your mouth because there’s just no way that’s true. “never.” you say after him, averting your eyes as you feel heat trickle down your body.

“no guy has ever been able to make me squirt, and… i haven’t been able to make myself either.” the lump on your throat thickens, and you can feel the embarrassment kicking in. “and google says tha—”

“google?” abbot cuts your sentence short with a disapproving laugh, it almost sounds sarcastic. “c’mon, kid that’s your source? half the stuff on google’s written by a bun’cha people who don’t know squat of what they’re talking about.” he rises from his chair, throwing his chin back to ensure the faculty-lounge door is closed before making his way over towards you.

and you of all people should know better than to trust what a website such as google says — you’re a doctor in practice, you have the source right within the building you’re standing in.

you feel the distance between you and abbot close as he presses his chest against your shoulder, ducking down near your ear whispering. “seems like you don’t know your own body anymore than those boys do.” he leans forward to get a read on your expression, and you’re there standing still like an embarrassed pup that doesn’t know what to do which makes him smile.

“no need to feel embarrassed.” he reassures, throwing a hand on top of your head, “let me give you hand, help you learn the difference between incapability and never having learned.”

and that’s how you found yourself breaking your own code of ethics. splayed out on jack abbot’s mattress, hugging a pillow against your chest as his tongue worked at your pussy.

he’s on his stomach, his arms hooked underneath your thighs to pull you closer on his mouth. “j—jack …” a moan falls from your lips, the way his tongue glides through your folds. how he angles the tip of his tongue to flex the muscle just before he meets your clit to flick at it.

“focus on the feeling, you gotta relax.” he murmurs, pulling off for just a mili-second before latching back onto the sensitive nub. flattening his tongue as his rocks his mouth against you, he’s hallowing his cheeks causing you to grab at his the roots of his hair in attempt to tug him off.

though he’s swatting your hand away, digging his face deeper — in between your thighs with a low, drawn out groan as your toes curl at the anticipating increase of pleasure making your core tighten.

“oh m— i’m gonna cum, jack- i’m gonna—“

he’s pulling his lips away from your pussy with a wet pop, soaked and glistening by his saliva mixed with your slick — as the tightness in your tummy slowly loosens. “that was damn, close.” jack breathes, wiping his mouth off with the backside of his hand before propping himself up in a position comfortable for his right amputee.

he reaches out, hands wrapping around your hips to drag you towards him. you don’t even resist, not when your own pleasure was stripped from you — you needed anything that could bring back that euphoric feeling.

your hips grind upwards, grinding against nothing but atoms. “see, that’s it— now you know what your body’s wantin’.” his slides a hand from your hips to below your navel, before slowly dragging the pads of his rough fingers down near the mound of your pussy.

carefully grazing over swollen pearl as you whine to the almost there sensation. jack watches the way your body reacts to his touch — pressing his index and middle finger into your slick folds, soaking his fingers in your mess. “‘s a good sign. you’re fuckin’ drenched, sweetheart .” he groans, dragging his digits further down to meet your entrance.

you claw your nails into the pillow your clutching as the tips of his fingers prod at your hole. he’s teasing, intoxicated by the way your hips are still rolling against his hand while you let out little moans as he gently presses his thick fingers inside you.

“m—mngh fuck, jack…” you sighs, tilting your chin up to the ceiling, “yeah? that feels good doesn’t it, kid?” he cooed, flicking his eyes up to trace your expression only to be met with one of his pillows before he’s tugging it away from your chest. “there we goo.” he sings, glossing over sweets features with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, making him click his tongue.

“uh-uh, it feels better when you let it out.” he shakes his head, stuffing your hole with his fingers until he’s knuckles deep — angling his fingers in an upward direction that rips a moan from your throat as he curls his digits inside of you.

and the action shoots right through the nerves within your sensitive bud. “i can f—feel it in my clit.” you stammer, brows furrowed as indescribable pressure builds against your badder and swells your nub. “mhmm, that’s right.” he hums, pressing the pads of fingers deeper against that spongy wall inside of you, as your toes curl.

“the g-spot, you’re jackpot, baby.” he rasps with a lopsided grin — shifting his position to lie down on his side, right besides you as his nose presses into the side of your cheek. “the more pressure you add…” he murmurs as his breath warms your skin, pressing with cruel precision that makes the place between your legs run warm.

“j— jack.” you mewl, eyes shut tight with a hand reach at his. “the more you get that peeing feeling.” he demonstrates, feeling your soft walls close in around his fingers.

you can feel the way your bladder fills with each nudge of his movements — like he’s milking the sensation out of you. as if he’s adding fuel to the sensitive nerves bundle inside you as your clit twitches to the repetitive motion.

“and if i press my thumb righttt against this pretty fuckin’ clit.” he groans, darting his thumb upward before pressing the pad flush against your clit. “nnnnmg-my god!” you gasp, back arching off the mattress while squeezing your thighs around his hand.

his fingers and thumb stimulating both pleasurable points at once has your mind blanking. eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you’re choking on a plethora of moans.

“‘m gonna cum— m’gonna cum, i’m—” you can feel a surge of warmth flood your nerves as you slur your words. “theree you go, melt into that feeling for me.” he groans, as your walls choke around his digits stuffing your pussy full with his thumb working circles against your overstimulated clit.

you feel your tummy tighten, vision flash white as the sensation completely overrides your body. “cummmingg!” you inhale breathlessly, holding your breath as your clit throbs with a dangerous amount of pleasure before you’re gushing everywhere.

“atta girl.” jack whistles with satisfaction — and you can’t even respond, still too busy making a mess all over yourself and jack’s arm. you’re body’s tenses against his chest as he continues milking you dry, letting you ride the feeling out while pressing his mouth against your ear. “gotta few more things ‘m sure your body’s never done.” he murmurs.

[dirtygir1]

honestly, reader cheating on robby bc she work nights with him and robby is always shrugging of her attempts to FUCK and jacks just being a good friend by taking care of her every night >_<

this was supposed to be small. i had a lot of fun with this i got reeeally carried away. multiple positions, kinda referenced his quinn audio?? sue me. downtalking Robby, cheating obviously, Jack finished in you. fuck that Robby guy tho he can’t fuck you like Jack does

venting to him one day about it between patients on like your break, “he just..i dunno he won’t touch me anymore, i think it’s because of what’s happening up in that head but he won’t talk about it with me either..” you’re all pouty, Jack can’t help himself. “i’ll talk to him slugger, you wanna catch a bite with me after work?”

a bite turns hanging out at home after work, which isn’t anything crazy, because you’re all friends. known each other for years. and Jack isn’t a pushy guy, but you notice the way he rubs up your knee, or how he looks at you when you change into comfy clothes.

“is robby still..dodgy?” Jack asks, rubbing at your leg that’s slung over his thigh. your smile fades and you sigh. “yeah. i mean..i just don’t know how to talk to that guy anymore. he feels so far all the time.” “and you’ve been initiating, right? like we talked about?” “yes! i wear fucking sexy, expensive lingerie, i-i touch on him, rub him. nothing.”

you’re closer now, arm to arm with your body turned into his. his brows furrow, rubbing at the growing stubble on his cheek. Jack wraps his arm around you now, palming at your hip lovingly and allowing you to lie on his chest. “and toys don’t..i mean is that still on the table for you?” “i use them..but it just..gets boring after a while. tiring. i wanna have sex, not just..play with myself all the time.”

the image of you with your legs spread, using a dildo or wand on yourself is front and center of his mind. he sees you whining with frustration, bucking your hips needily. jesus. “i mean is it me? did i do something, am i just not sexy anymore? you’d tell me if he told you that, right, Jack?” you’re looking at him with big, tear brimming eyes while you paw at his chest. Jack is a weak man, sweetie.

“of course i’d tell you sweetheart, he’s..Robby’s somewhere else right now. don’t blame yourself you’re..you’re so sexy. sexiest girl i know, that’s for sure.” he gives you a gentle smile, but you’ve still got that pouty, needy look on your face. “really?” “yes really honey, robby’s bein’ real stupid…”

he’s gazing into your eyes, mind racing as he licks at his lips. “he’s being mean too.” “real mean. i’d..never be mean to you.” he can’t help himself when he closes the gap between you two, pushing his lips onto yours. you moan upon impact, fisting his shirt as he grabs at your body, rubbing down your hips before hoisting you fully onto his lap.

he feels how much you need this in the kiss, pushing your tongue in his mouth, your hands snaking up his neck and into his hair, yanking it slightly. the way your body arches into his, legs raising slightly to kiss him harder, pushing him deeper into the couch. you moan when you feel your clothed cunt drag along his bulge, brows furrowing hard before grinding down, getting a sound out of him.

“fuck.” he whispers, still messily kissing you, hands now grabbing at your warming love hands under your big shirt. your ring twists into his curls, making him wince, which makes you pull away. “are you ok??” you pull your hand away, letting him take it softly in his. “your-your ring, got my hair.” your ring. your wedding ring.

“oh my god. Jack i..” you put your hands on his chest, scooting down off his lap, though still straddling his thighs. “i can’t do this with you, oh my god..” you rub your hands down your face, the cold metal against your hot skin feels like a zap. “wha..why not?” he breaths, brows pinched with confusion as he pulls your hands away from your face.

“Robby, Jack. i..he’s my husband i can’t do that to him! i’m so terrible!” you scoff, eyes wide with fear. “you’re not terrible, what’re you scared of? betraying him?? what the fuck has he been doing to you, then?” he pulls you back closer, so close your hands roughly land on his chest.

you pull your head from his gaze, keeping your hands down for distance, but he doesn’t let you. “that’s different Jack, he’s..disembodied right now he’s just distant..” “that’s still neglecting his wife. shutting you out, which is the last person he should be doing that to. i never once shut out my wife. you said it yourself. he’s being mean.”

you pout, whining at the words that sting to your heart. Robby is being mean. he’s being mean to everyone, but you especially. “Jack i..” you scoff, you can’t even find the words, “it’s not right, i mean i love him too much.” “you can still love him, it’s not like im some guy. you know me, sweetheart..” you don’t fight when he kisses down the shell of your ear, trialing slowly down your neck in a way that makes you shiver.

your arms end up at his shoulders, eyes shutting in his touch. “i just wanna help you. been so long for you.” his stubble tickles your neck as he speaks low, almost a whisper. you’ve only heard this sugary tone once before. “been wanting this, right? to be touched like this? kissed like this?” he moves slowly down your comfy shorts, cupping your ass as the cotton slides off at the knuckles of his huge hands.

“yeah..” it comes out more pathetic than you could control, but your heart was pounding out your chest. “yeah..” he nods, kissing back up your jaw and taking your lips in his. “i know. let me do this for you.” you raise up to let him pull off your shorts, and the heat turns up in an instant. the kiss turning passionate, moans and groans trading under tongues as you lift his shirt over his shoulder, “can’t..” you pant, eyes hooded.

“cant happen again,” your hands move faster than you can think, untying and pulling down his scrub bottoms. “only one time. this time.” “this time.” he repeats, and you squeak when his big hand cups your pussy over your underwear, a throaty hum exiting him as he feels how fucking wet you were.

you can’t remember the last time you were so fired up to fuck. grabbing at whatever you could while he fingered you open, accidentally scratching at his biceps as your hips move greedily against him. “you’re so fuckin’ wet sweetheart, want this real bad.” he pants, eyes locked in you as you moan into the air. “please just…Jack please.. need it.” it almost comes as a sob, and he couldn’t ever refuse you. not like this, especially.

“lemme take it out. gonna get it sweetie, promise. gonna give it to you.” there’s that sugary tone again, and you find yourself moving at his command without a second thought, throwing your shirt off your sweaty body and reaching for his leg. you help him pull off his boxers and then his prosthetic, hearing a sigh of relief above him as you set it down.

he moves you back over him, and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of his hung, veiny dick. “jesus you’re..so big,” and he wants to say something cocky. he really does. but he just thumbs at your hip, nodding with a small smirk. “you can handle it.”

your eyes are big on his as you lift yourself over his cock, letting him guide you onto his tip, then his girth. he goes slow, gripping your hips as he rocks you lower and lower, drinking in the little gasps and squeals you let out. “Jack you’re-fuck you’re so big, you’re so fucking big,,” you whine, shaky breaths as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“you’re taking it.” his voice is rasped, quiet watching your pussy engulf him. “you’re taking it baby i promise, you’re fuckin’ takin’ it. so good too, holy shit.” he wants to let all his greedy, jealousy induced thoughts out. can’t believe robby’s missing out on this, fuck. should’ve bagged this pussy forever ago, clearly Robby wasn’t putting it to good use. but it doesn’t exit his mind, not wanting you to feel worse about it all.

“oh yes, oh my god yes,” you moan out, head thrown back as your hips take over, his hands guiding you ever so gently as you bounce on his cock. “fuck you’re..fuck Jack it’s so good,” he moans under you, your pleasure making the butterflies dancing in his stomach as you fuck yourself on him.

“that’s it sweetheart, there you fuckin’ go. y’like that? yeahhh baby, feels soo good.” his eyes roll back, hands grabbing at every curve he could before the moment was over. pawing at your tits, smacking at your ass, squeezing at your belly. you’re everything to him, sweetie.

he can’t help but let himself submit to you in this time of need, in this sweet notion of helping his friend. because that what it really was. just helping his friend blow some steam, she’s just pent up. losing the same amount of calories as if he took you boxing. nothing wrong with it. “yeah sweetie, let it all out. just like thaat, fucking god,” he feels dizzy watching you hump him. your body’s consumed with greed, with a mission in mind.

latching onto him, filling your house with high shaky moans. and he was doing so much for you, and more. grabbing you, holding you lovingly close to him as you ride him into the couch cushion he was leaning his back into you. letting out sweet words to you, praise, helping you through riding him. groaning loudly into the room, the sounds alone coming from him fueling you, swelling your head.

sounds Robby never made. never talked you through it unless it’d been a long time, or till he was close. barely made noise either, no matter how many times youve told him you liked it. you were jelly in Jacks touch. he was pushing you steadily over your edge, whether he touched you or not. he filled you completely, inside and out.

his left hand started shoving you down on his cock, your moans coming out in sharp, quick gasps of air, eyes wide watching yourself slam on his dick and feeling his tip kiss that sponges spot in you. his right hand sucks on his thumb, getting it nice and wet before bringing it to your puffy clit, flicking it in a way that makes you suck in a harsh breath, dragging your nails down his shoulder, a high moan exiting you as you throw your head back.

“fuck ohmygo-Jack!” your moans are bordering on pornographic. and you look fucking delicious. hips bucking up to his touch all jittery, sweat gleaming your tits as they bounce with every move. your nose is scrunched slightly as the side of your mouth sneers upturned, and your brows sitting hard and tightly pinched, so overturned with pleasure you can’t control how loud you are. and Jack is straight up drinking it in.

“you’re so good, you’re fucking me so good Jack, better than i’ve ever fuckin’ felt..!” your words come up high, it’s music to his ears. to get that out of you, to know you’ve been with Robby almost half a decade, and Jack barely moving his hips is the best you’ve felt in that long?

“you’re fucking me, sweetie, and you’re doin’ so good. look at you, takin’ it from me..” his eyes are hooded over your body, his soft puppy eyes working over you in your vulnerable state. “keep using me baby, just fuckin’ take it. haven’t gotten dick like this before, haven’t had this in so long, right? you deserve this. say it.”

it’s barely getting through your ears honestly. your stomach is heaving, your ears are almost ringing, eyes rolling back as you fuck yourself on his thick cock like a toy. “i deserve it..” you slur in heavy pants, eyes rolling back as you feel your heated orgasm approach. “yeah you do. yeah you fuckin’ do sweetheart,” he’s quick to hold you in his grasp when you collapse into him, mushing into his shoulder while you grind lazily.

his arm wraps around you, turning in his place to keep you close, keeping his pace on your throbbing clit as you shudder against him. “there we fuckin’ go, cmon you can do it. been talkin’ about gettin’ fucked for weeks i know you can do it. use me sweetie, use me like you fuckin’ mean it,” there’s a rough, almost degrading tone in his words, and your body submits to him at the impact.

he fucks into you from the side, your leg coming up immediately to let him in deeper, and as he groans in your ear, your dam breaks. “ohhh Jack, oh god, Jack!” it’s one big breath before you’re gasping out again, shrinking into him as your pussy flutters around his dick, stomach so tight as you practically burst under him.

“don’t stop, please don’t stop im..im—” you can’t even finish your words, and Jack doesn’t mind a bit. nodding to your words, his mouth echoing yours, agape with his own groans as his eyes roll back. “let it alll out baby, take it fr’me it’s all yours..” you feel you leg cramp up from how hard your orgasm had hit you, your body falling limp on Jack as he continues fucking into you, removing his hand from your shaking pussy to hold your leg up.

his lashes feel weighted, glittering as he takes in the sight of you, your fucked out face as your eyes rest, down your sweaty body, to where you two met, the creamy ring around his cock glistening and cresting rather nasty strings of cum as he thrusts into you. heat builds in his chest, his cock twitches inside of you and his hips stutter. that cold sweat rolls over him, and he looks to the ceiling with an oh god before back at you.

“that’s it baby, that’s it, that’s fucking it,” his praises to you turn into revelations of the immense pleasure weighing on him. hunching over you and pushing you on your back on the couch, finding the balance to slam into you. you moan in tandem at the new position, the way he lays all his unbalanced weight on your thighs he’s keeping up, slamming into you like it’s beyond his control.

with your back arched off the cushion and your hands fisting st it from the side, you watch his face as he loses his composure, bitting his lip before letting groans spill from him like a music box, eyes rolled to the ceiling as his brows flex to the hairline. “oh my god, can’t even..aghh can’t fucking believe you gave this pussy to Robby,” he rolls his eyes, “did so fucking good, scratching me up and shit you-you’re fuckin’ everything..”

his mouth moves faster than his mind. poor guys lost in the sauce, chest heavy as it turns that familiar red you’ve only seen a few times in the sun. “god you’re so good, gimme a kiss sweetie, so prouda’ you,” you practically yank him down onto you, kissing so sloppily you think drool is getting everywhere because of how over the moon you guys are.

you gasp sharply, feeling his tip kiss at your cervix. you dig your nails into his neck, a high, almost pained moan exiting you through his lips. “Jack you’re—Jack hold on,” you mewl, though feeling him shake his head frantically. “i know sweetie i-im sorry i just-fuck i can’t, icanticanticant,” he moans, and his following groans come up higher, weaker as if he’d been yelling all night (which..he probably has).

“can’t stop, fuck you’re so good, m’gonna cum, baby m’gonna cum,” he doesn’t even try to kiss you anymore, “you’re so good, doin’ so fucking good baby i..” you hear the slapping of skin from between you, feeling impossibly split open as he slams into you, groaning like he couldn’t breath.

with a final loud groan he grabs at the cushion next to your head, eyes tightly screwed as his hips come to a halt, and you feel his dick twitch into you as he finishes hard, the following groans coming out as weak whines. Jack lets his body collapse over you, reaching behind himself to caress at your shaking legs, still panting into each other’s mouths.

“did i..hurt you?” he whispers, you feel his lashes against your crows feet. “no, no. just..was a lot. is your leg ok..?” look at you. all the more worrying. all the more caring, loving. it makes Jack chuckled breathily, shaking his head as he kisses at your cheek. “i’m ok, sweetheart. been through worse.”

he pushes himself off you, giving you a once over for any damage before pulling out, sitting upright next your body. speeding your pussy with his thumb and pointer, in the blink of an eye he’s watching his cum seep out of you and onto your ass, and almost onto the couch cushion had he not cupped his hand under the leakage, stuffing it back in you. “fuck i..i didn’t mean to uh..just got carried away.” he gives you a remorseful look, that he also looks away from to gaze at your beat, puffy pussy.

“are you on birth control?” “no..i stopped a few months ago. we wanted to try for a baby.” your cheek quirked to the side before you pout a little, and Jack feels his heart break a little. “ok. i’ll get you plan b, then.” you nod and lift on, crawling into his lap once again, but this time, you give him a slow, gentle kiss.

“thank you..Jack..” you sigh, feeling him wrap his arms around you. “don’t gotta thank me. just wanted to help you, sweet thing. s’what friends are for.” he joked, making you scoff a chuckle. you nod, “yeah. what friends are for.” for fucking so hard you see stars. of course. “lemme get my foot awake, then we’ll clean up.”

if you’ve sent be a Pope Cody request, trust me i have it, i’m not neglecting! i pushed this forward bc i haven’t formally written for Jack in sooo long, and this was so fun. thank u for the ask!

[scarletmika]

Fly Me To The Moon : ̗̀➛ Ryland Grace x Reader

Pairing: Teacher!Ryland Grace x Teacher!Reader

Summary: The entire school knew how close you and Ryland Grace had become since you'd joined Grover Cleveland Middle's staff a year prior. That knowledge only fueled the rumor mill, that one that ran between the staff and students alike, on just how close the two of you were. It didn't help that you were definitely head over heels for the slightly awkward and endearing science teacher.

Warnings: pre-Project Hail Mary and should not include spoilers but caution anyways just in case, pre-movie storyline, tooth-rotting fluff, idiots in love, workplace romance, friends to lovers, slightly suggestive-ish comments but no smut, female reader but no characteristics described, definitely some incorrect science information but I am not a scientist so apologies, I am also not a teacher so I am sorry for any inaccuracies there lol, lightly edited so apologies for any mistakes

Word Count: 14,596 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“Can anyone tell me why it was that Penelope asked her suitors to string Odysseus’s bow?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your eyes shut for half a second, a tiny sigh escaping through your lips. Reopening your eyes, not a single one of your students had dared to raise their hands. No one except for Olivia, your star student, who waved her hand repeatedly in the air from the back of the classroom. A single glance to the clock told you all you needed to know.

11:55. These kids were already in lunch mode, and there was zero way you were getting them to listen to you.

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you gave Olivia the okay to answer the question. She happily took your permission and ran with it, always the first to answer any questions you posed in class. If only the rest of these damn middle schoolers were as eager as she was.

“Penelope didn’t want to marry anyone else, so she gave them an impossible task,”

“Why does she always know everything?”

Marcus thought his comment was whispered just low enough that you wouldn’t hear him in the first row, but he was never quite that lucky. He quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere but in your direction the second he caught sight of the disapproving look you were casting directly at him.

“You are exactly right, Olivia. Thank you for answering my question,” there were a few chuckles in the room at the obvious sarcasm laced through your words, as you hopped up onto your desk to relax and get a better look around the room full of kids. “Penelope knew the only person that could string her husband’s bow, was her husband himself. She needed to buy time, especially when these suitors only really wanted to be the ones to inherit Ithaca-”

There was a loud knocking on the door to your classroom that had been left open for the last 20 minutes of class, interrupting your words. You weren’t surprised in the slightest to meet the eyes of none other than Ryland Grace, the science teacher.

“Uh- sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt important book talk stuff. Super important, you uh-you never know when Shakespeare will come up at your future desk job,” the cringe that Ryland physically did at his own comment was easy to see, even from across the room. He gave you a sheepish smile, his glasses barely hanging onto his face from their unconventional spot hanging off of one of his ears. The blonde held up the brown bag in his hand, and you could practically smell the food that rested inside. “I’m early, I’m sorry. Didn’t think you’d want to have a cold burger for lunch.”

“I told you!” Marcus still didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, leaning over to his best friend Jason at the desk beside him, slapping him on the arm. “They’re totally dating!”

“As if Mr. Grace could pull her,”

There was a chorus of snickers and laughter through the class, any semblance of order you might’ve had descending into chaos as every single one of your loveable, little shits just kept casting looks between you and Ryland, who still stood awkwardly in your classroom doorway with reddened cheeks.

Your face was surely no better, you were sure you could feel the heat that was emanating off of your skin, as you ran a hand down the burning skin of your face and wondered why you chose to teach these little menaces for the rest of your life. The world decided to be kind to the pair of you though, for once, letting the lunch bell save you from any further embarrassment from a group of 13 year olds.

“Please come to class prepared to actually answer questions tomorrow!” you called out over the hustle and bustle of the class as they grabbed their things, eager to scurry off to their lunch hour and finally eat. “Your unit test is at the end of next week, and I would prefer not to fail all of you.”

They weren’t listening, but by this point in the day you were hungry and didn’t have the energy to try and argue with them.

Any of that tiredness they brought to your bones? It disappeared the second you watched the way they all interacted with Ryland on their way out the door.

Big smiles, every single one of them excited to see the school’s favorite science teacher lingering in the doorway to their English class. You could just barely hear the tail end of one of Ryland’s terrible science puns, something about a hungry planet needing a ‘light snack’ that got a groan out of Marcus. All it did was bring a soft smile to your face, though, one that somehow softened even more at the quick, secret handshake Olivia shared with him before she was out the door.

Then, it was just the two of you, smiling like idiots as you locked eyes across the room again. And god, did you want that fluttering group of butterflies in your stomach to calm down for just a moment.

Having a crush on Dr. Ryland Grace, the former molecular biologist turned San Francisco middle school science teacher, was inevitable from the moment you turned up at the school for your first day over a year ago. Incredibly smart, amazing with kids, and so incredibly handsome you thought your heart stopped beating the first time you saw him–hell, Mrs. Doyle, the math teacher for over 5 years, said there were at least 4 other young teachers that absolutely had crushes on this man. You were far from the first.

He broke that perfect vision of himself you were building in your head within 5 minutes of meeting, tripping over his own two feet and knocking the stack of papers a mile high from the Principal’s hands, but you had only found it even more endearing.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologized again, long legs striding across the room and reaching your desk in a matter of seconds. “I had a free period before this, a-and you mentioned this morning you forgot lunch so I grabbed some for both of us-”

“Sal’s?” you questioned, pointing to the bag of foot now sitting on your desk with the familiar logo. “They’re, like, 10 blocks away. Why’d you go that far?”

“Because I know they’re your favorite,”

The flare of heat in your cheeks was instant. Ryland Grace, who rode a damn bike to the school every day, used his free period to ride 10 blocks away and pick you up lunch from your favorite spot, all because you mentioned offhandedly at 7 a.m. about forgetting your lunch for the day.

Well, he certainly didn’t do that for the four fresh out of college teachers that had crushes on him. You’d mentally consider that a hefty win in your book.

“How sweet of you to remember,” Ryland simply waved you off, head turned away as he passed your wrapped burger into your hands, taking up space on your desk chair while you stayed comfortable on top of your desk. “You even remembered tomatoes this time!”

“I forgot them one time and I never hear the end of it,” laughter was shared between you both for a moment as Grace took a bite of his own burger. “I caught the tail end of that discussion. Olivia answering all your questions like a champ?”

“Isn’t she always,” you shot back with another laugh, turning slightly on your desk to better face him. “I swear she’s the only one that I can ever get to answer any of my questions. She might be the only one that does any of my assigned readings.”

“To be fair, can you blame her?” Ryland’s words were muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. You couldn’t even contain the slight smile that grew as he managed to just barely catch the ketchup dripping off his burger before it could smear itself on the stack of papers that needed graded at your desk. “Shakespeare was just…so interesting. Couldn’t get enough of his stuff. Don’t know why your kids don’t want to read it.”

There was silence for a moment, your eyebrow quirked in his direction. The blonde stopped mid bite of his burger, looking back at you quizzically, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.

“You know we’re currently learning The Odyssey, right?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll let you think about that for a second,”

He did, just slowly blinking in your direction. He glanced at the chalkboard behind you, covering in little notes you’d made throughout the class discussion, before they flickered to the copy of the book that sat on your desk. That was finally when you saw the light bulb flicker on above his head, Ryland’s eyes shutting as he let out a loud sigh.

“...that wasn’t written by Shakespeare, was it?”

The laughter that bubbled out of you practically had you throwing your head backward.

“No, but I’m sure Homer won’t be too offended,” feet landing on the ground as you hopped off your desk, you gave Ryland’s shoulder a quick squeeze as you moved past him. “The attempt was cute, though, it was a good try.”

Cute. Why in the world did you let that one slip? You were practically cursing yourself in your head for that one, taking another bite of your burger as you worked to erase the whiteboard to prepare it for your next class. You didn’t dare steal a glance over at Ryland, in fear that your little slip-up was going to ruin everything.

There was only quiet for a moment before the single moment of awkwardness was gone.

“I promise you I know Homer wrote that. I swear!”

The desperation to believe him drew another laugh out of you. Sparing a glance in his direction, Ryland was giving you his best, exaggerated puppy dog eyes, begging you to believe him, as a smile just barely squeaked its way onto his lips.

“Right, of course you did. My mistake. Whatever you say, Ryland-”

“I mean it!” It was his turn to laugh this time, a sound that had those butterflies rattling around once more. “I was just…distracted.”

“Uh-huh, distracted,” as if you were preparing to scold one of your students, you turned to face him fully with a hand on your hip, eyebrow raised expectantly. “By what, exactly?”

If a human being could buffer, Ryland Grace always seemed to be constantly buffering. Your eyebrow remained raised, waiting for him to piece together his response. All he could do was open and close his mouth like a fish, before looking away and taking another bite of his food.

“Nevermind that, just finish your food before it gets cold. I did bike, like, three miles to get that thing,”

With a roll of your eyes that held zero malice what-so-ever, you made sure the blonde could see your next bite of your food, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Back to the previous topic,” you steered the conversation in another direction, wiping off the last bits of chalk on the board and writing down your next period at the top so that you could start the discussion on the reading over again. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard to get some of these kids to just read the content. They all pay attention in your class!”

“I heard Jason make a comment yesterday during class that Marcus has a crush on Olivia. Maybe they’re too distracted to read,”

You shot him a skeptical look.

“Marcus, crushing on Olivia? He was just making fun of her before you came in the room,”

Ryland averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in his ID badge hanging around his neck from his school issues lanyard.

“W-well, maybe he just doesn’t…know how to express his feelings,” he spared a glance up at you, seeing you were still watching, as he tripped over his words again. “It can be hard for boys–and men–of all ages, to…tell someone how they feel.”

“Well, I don’t know where he’s learning from, but making fun of the girl you like isn’t the right way to go about things,” you shot back.

“Then teach them!” Ryland sounded absolutely ecstatic, that light bulb over his head going off again as he looked like he’d come up with the world’s greatest idea. “Classic literature, there’s plenty of great love stories in there. Get his interest by teaching them about that, so he can learn from them.”

“Alright, give me an example then, Mr. Suddenly an Expert in Classic Literature,”

“Romeo and Juliet,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world, balling up the remnants of his finished food and tossing it in the bag it came in. “Greatest love story ever told, so great Taylor Swift wrote a song about them.”

“Except they don’t run off and get married and live happily ever after, Ryland. Romeo thinks she is dead and kills himself with poison, and when Juliet realizes he’s dead she stabs herself,”

Ryland’s excitement fell slightly, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape.

“...oh,”

“Don’t think that’s what I want to teach young, impressionable pre-teens about love-”

“Daisy and Gatsby, then! He loved her so much he stood on that dock staring at the-the bright yellow light of a stoplight for her,”

“It was a green light and it was the dock light, first of all. I’m not even sure how you could be that off. Secondly, Gatsby is murdered at the end of the book and Daisy doesn’t even attend the funeral, she and Tom move away and pretend it never happened,”

Ryland’s eyes are shut at this point, his fingers massaging his temples and those glasses just barely hanging on from their place around his neck.

“...does anyone not die in these old books?”

The sound of your laughter permeates the room and you sweep over, collecting his trash and combining it with yours. You never even spared him a glance, though you could feel his eyes on you, as you swept the trash away with you to the other side of the room, his voice echoing across to you.

“I’m going to get lucky on one of these guesses!”

What Ryland Grace was really lucky about was how adorable you found him, and how head over heels you were for him, because his lack of literary knowledge was astounding.

❤︎

“I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me that aren’t currently fucking the eye candy that is the science teacher in room 305?”

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn Doyle was in her late thirties, married since she was 18, and already had three kids with her high school sweetheart. Since you had transferred into Grover Cleveland Middle, you’d become fast friends and she had become a great mentor.

She had, sadly, caught onto your pathetic crush on Ryland Grace before you had even fully realized it, and was now ‘vicariously living through you’ as she always said.

“There’s not a single child left in this entire school right now,” she shot back, gesturing around her empty classroom, as she finished cleaning up anything her students had left around at the end of the day. You rolled your eyes at her excuse, perched on the edge of her desk. “Please, I’m tenured, what are they going to do?”

“I’m more so yelling at you for butting into my love life, once again,” was your reply through laughter. “Ryland and I are good friends, that’s it.”

It was her turn to laugh, finishing up her cleanup around the room before she joined you at her desk, packing her things away into her shoulder bag.

“Oh please, you keep denying that little crush of yours-”

“I never said I was denying that,” you cut her off. “Lord, you realized I liked him before I even did. But he and I aren’t anything besides friends. I’m not lying.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, like they typically did when you were around Evelyn. She simply waved your statement off, tossing her bag over her shoulder as you followed her out of her room and down through the quiet of the school hallway. The quietest the hallway ever was, in the hours right after students were sent home for the day. You’d rather be anywhere else, preferably at home, but these mandatory once-a-month staff meetings were unavoidable.

“Whether you’re telling me the truth or not, you have to understand why everyone thinks so–teachers AND students. I think even some parents think so!” The only response she got was an eyeroll, her shoulder bumping into your’s playfully. “He brings you lunch at least once a week, meaning he rides that dingy bike to get whatever you’re craving that day.”

“It’s usually just something random-”

“Constantly in your classroom, or vice versa,” she cut you off, and you quickly realized you weren’t getting a single word into this conversation. “I’m pretty sure Principal Marshall has considered, somehow, moving your classroom closer to his just so he’ll stop being late to classes because he’s busy talking to you.”

Okay…yeah, you didn’t have a retort for that one. Your classroom was on the opposite end of the school building from Ryland’s own, and yet every time he had even a split second he was somehow always leaning in your doorway. Even if it only resulted in a conversation that lasted all of a minute.

Many times those ended with your students having to remind him that the bell rang and he definitely had students in his own class unattended, waiting on their teacher. More than once he’d slipped as he tried to sprint back to his classroom from yours. It didn’t matter how short those little conversations were, though, because every second around him was precious to you.

“Awe, look at you blushing about it-”

You slapped Evelyn’s hand away, throwing her a look of disdain that didn’t really hold any true malice to it.

“Look, all I’m saying is the ball is in his court,” was the response you finally settled on as Evelyn propped the door of the small auditorium open for you to enter. “Ryland is nothing but friendly to me, so if he’s interested then he’s got to show me.”

“You’re acting as if you’ve made your own feelings clear, honey,”

“No, but I clearly don’t do a good enough job of hiding them,”

Speak of the devil: there he was. Ryland’s head shot up the moment the pair of you walked into the auditorium. Those damn glasses hanging down from one side of his face, framing his stubbled jawline perfectly. A smile lighting up his face the second those blue eyes found yours, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

A packed auditorium, as you and Evelyn were the last ones there. Every seat up practically filled, and yet Ryland Grace sat among a crowd of people, eyes trained on you and a single seat saved for you amidst it all.

All you could feel was the heat in your cheeks, and the touch of Evelyn patting your back as she laughed, voice low but loud enough to hear as she shifted past you to find a seat of her own.

“Doesn’t have interest in you my ass,”

Her words swam through your head with every apology you muttered to the other teachers as you snuck past them in the cramped rows, happily taking the empty seat beside Ryland.

“You didn’t have to save me a seat, you know,” your voice held a hint of teasing to it, but it was soft. Filled with an adoration that you knew you were terrible at hiding. Luckily, Ryland was terrible at picking up on it.

“Wanted to sit next to you,” he whispered back as Principal Marshall began to drone on about updates neither of you particularly cared about. He leaned in close, a hint of his breath wafting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You make these slightly less boring.”

Close proximity to this man was your worst nightmare, and the cramped auditorium wasn’t helping. That single touch of his breath against your skin was enough to send a simultaneous shiver down your spine and another round of heat to your cheeks. His suit jacket covered arm rested on the shared armrest between your seats, the edge of his bicep ghosting against the bare skin of your arm with every little shift he made, tapping incessantly against the armrest.

The slight action made you smile. He never could sit still in these meetings, always hated them.

“Did anything fun happen in class today?” you kept your voice low, eyes trained on the principal, as your head tilted slightly over to Ryland so he could better hear you.

“Uh, if you count Madison telling me that she thinks the sun orbits the earth, then sure,” you had to stifle your laugh at that, casting Ryland a side glance as he grinned at you, doing a terrible job of whispering back at you as usual.

“How could she possibly think that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Ryland leaned just a tad bit closer, the side of his arm pushed up fully against your own. You could almost hear the smile in his voice without even having to look over at him. “The National Science Foundation estimates that 26% of Americans still think the sun orbits the earth.”

“Jesus, that many?”

“Well, 100% of them are stupid, so,”

Nasty looks from other faculty were shot your way that second you choked on your own breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. You gave them the most sympathetic look you possibly could, learning how to breathe normally again before mouthing sorry at them all.

Ryland didn’t care in the slightest for the warning look you shot him, a bright smile on his face as his eyes seemed to trail over every inch of your face.

“If you keep doing this in every faculty meeting, they’re going to separate us, Ry,”

“I met Madison’s parents for the first time last month for parent-teacher conferences,” he continued, ignoring your plea. Instead, he leaned in even closer, eyes locked on yours, and god it was impossible to look away. “They are, 100%, undeniably, part of the Flat Earth Truthers Club.”

You shook your head, a smile creeping back up on your lips. Ryland’s gaze could still be felt on the side of your face as you turned back to face the front, eyes focused back on the principal again in an attempt to pay attention to the meeting.

“Flat earthers are ridiculous. They’re just scared of science,”

“Well, you know what they say…the only thing they have to fear is sphere itself,”

There simply wasn’t enough time to clap your hand over your mouth and conceal your laughter, a split second of it breaking through the quiet of the auditorium. And Ryland? His smile was somehow even brighter than it was before, still locked onto your face, never having strayed once.

“Dr. Grace, is there something you feel needs to be shared with the rest of your fellow faculty?”

Principal Marshall’s voice was enough to knock Ryland out of whatever trance he seemed to have put himself in. Eyes wide as if he’d just seen a ghost, hands barely able to catch his glasses as they almost fell right off of his ear where they dangled, a burst of red spread through his cheeks instantly as his deer-like eyes locked onto the unamused principal.

“I-I uh, no. No, nothing, Principal Marshall,” he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling up his already messy hair, a nervous tick you’d picked up since the moment you’d met him. You simply buried your head in your head, eyes trained on your shoes and Ryland out of the corner of your gaze, terrified to look up at your fellow faculty that you’d already apologized to once. “Just getting super jazzed about faculty updates. Hard to keep it in here. I’m like a mushroom, getting all…hyphae…”

A collective groan sounded through the auditorium at the terrible biology pun that rolled off of him with ease. All you could do was smile into the palm of your hand.

“Please just…pay attention to the meeting, Dr. Grace, before I separate you and your other half,”

Other half. That’s not how she meant it, but it was impossible not to let your mind wander to the idea.

Early mornings. Coffee, the smell of eggs and toast burning in the kitchen. Ryland and his hair that was surely even more unkempt that early in the day. The guarantee that he definitely had about 120 science puns ready to go at any moment.

Late nights. Curled up on a couch. A movie, a shared blanket, warm in the embrace of his arms. The quiet of just being with someone that made you happy in ways you’d never felt before. The promise of another day with them on the horizon.

It was becoming increasingly harder not to think about Ryland Grace like that every day, of what a life with the awkward, endearing science teacher could be.

And as Principal Marshall continued her meeting, and your eyes met the blue ones that were already looking at you: soft, kind, a hint of something you couldn’t understand in them, you could only dream he thought the same thoughts when he looked at you.

❤︎

“Alright, who can tell me the day of the first human space flight?”

Not a single middle schooler, packed into the building’s planetarium, raised their hands at first. Many of them started whispering to each other, confused looks on their faces, but Ryland just waited with a smile on his face. A brave soldier from Mr. Harkin’s class, Damien, finally raised his hand.

“Uh, Mr. Grace? Wouldn’t that…be today?”

“Excatly!” Grace’s clap echoed through the room as he pointed toward the young kid sitting in the front row of seats. “International Day of Human Space Flight, commemorating the first human space flight by Yuri Gagarin. It was a trick question, and you passed my tiny friend.”

Were you excited about losing a chunk of your day to escorting your class to the planetarium, along with other classes in the building, for a special science presentation? Absolutely not, especially not with how terribly your class did on their last The Odyssey assignment.

When you found out that Ryland was giving the presentation during your allotted time? Suddenly, The Odyssey meant nothing to you. Not when you could watch Ryland teach, something he did so effortlessly.

The way he captured every single child’s attention with ease. That glowing smile on his face every time they answered a question right, and simply the way he seemed to love what he taught. You were captivated every time you got the chance to see him teaching the thing he loved so much.

“Yuri Gagarin was a Soviet cosmonaut who became the first person in space in 1961 aboard the Vostok 1,” the planetarium was lit up with the night sky, little stars reflecting down. You could almost see them in the students eyes, in their bright smiles as they looked up into the vastness of space. Your eyes trailed to Ryland, already looking at you with a soft smile of his own, before he cleared his throat and moved throughout the room, focusing back on the kids. “Over the course of 89 minutes, his ship traveled to a maximum altitude of 187 miles, as it orbited the Earth.”

“Wait, so we weren’t the first people in space?” one of your students, Lydia, called out. Ryland laughed, pointing over at her.

“No, we kind of sucked,” you rolled your eyes with a grin at Ryland’s statement, though it drew a laugh from all of the kids. “No, America had actually scheduled its first space flight for May 1961, so this was a huge blow to us. It really heated up the space race.”

“He really is good with them, isn’t he?”

Glancing over, Mr. Harkin had saddled up beside you on the edge of the room, head tilted toward you and voice low so as to not disrupt the lesson the kids were being taught. Your gaze drifted back to Ryland as he continued his lesson, eliciting more laughter from the kids. It only brought another soft smile to rest on your lips.

“He is, in a way that I just don’t understand,”

Those blue eyes you’d become so fond of met yours for a moment across the room, face illuminated by the light projecting onto the planetarium’s dome walls. The little grin he wore seemed to drop just slightly, gaze still locked on you but flickering every moment over to Mr. Harkin as he spoke to the students. Harkin’s elbow dug lightly into your side.

“Careful, you’re giving him major ‘heart eyes’ across the room right now,”

You did your best to conceal your laughter, shooting Harkin a look, Ryland’s gaze still felt on the side of your face even as you looked away.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to find out that every teacher in this school has a secret betting ring going on when it comes to Ryland and I?”

“I mean, it’s not a secret. Principal Marshall runs the damn thing,”

“Mr. Grace?” one of the youngest girls in the grade, Aurora, called out, raising her hand up to get Ryland’s attention. “My mom told me the other day that there’s 8 planets in our solar system. What happened to Pluto?”

Ryland went to answer when Mr. Harkin beside you laughed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, as he shook his head at his young student.

“No, honey, scientists a couple years ago decided that Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore,”

Your eyes flickered to Ryland, who was already staring at Harkin from across the room as he tossed his little crochet earth back and forth in his hand. His response was a bit of a forced laugh.

“Well, your teacher isn’t wrong. Scientists classified Pluto as a dwarf planet a couple years ago,” he explained to the kids, eyes trained on the little crochet sphere in his hands. “But there’s 8 other very important, even closer planets that we should focus on. I mean, who really cares about a tiny, slow planet that takes 248 years to orbit the sun–honestly, he should just accept that he’s slowly falling into obscurity and stop trying to steal the spotlight.”

The room got quiet. Your eyebrow raised slightly, head tilted, as everyone just seemed to stare at Ryland, who had yet to look up.

“Uh, Mr. Grace?” some student in the back called out. “Why did you call Pluto ‘he’? Are the planets boys and girls like us, too?”

Ryland’s head shot up, as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of students. His eyes shot to you, his mouth opening, then closing, before he quickly looked away.

“I–well…planets don’t really…I’m not trying to misgender the planets, you know? That’s not for me to decide, that’s for them to–you know what, does anyone else have any other questions that aren’t related to Pluto?”

You really didn’t want to laugh at Ryland, but only he would be able to accidentally turn a lesson about space and planets into almost a lesson on bodily autonomy. He caught your eye, his widening just slightly and you could almost see his cry for help written across his face, but it only made your laughter worse.

It was little Madison that raised her hand next, speaking before she’d even been called upon.

“Are you sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe?”

Ryland hung his head in shame, the shaking of his head evident from across the room as a few of the kids around laughed at the young girl’s comment. You were quick to shoot them a warning look, not keen to hand out any detentions today.

By the time your gaze turned back to Ryland, he was already looking at you. His gaze flickered to Harkin, then back to you, and it was like a light bulb had just flickered on the way his eyes lit up.

“Yes, Madison, I’m sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe. And I can show you,” his long legs crossed the room in seconds, his body sliding between you and Mr. Harkin as his hands landed on your shoulders with a tiny little squeeze that sent your heart leaping through your chest. “But to do that, I’m going to need this volunteer that I’m not quite giving a choice.”

“It’s not volunteering if you didn’t ask, Ry!”

You exasperatedly tried to whisper to Ryland as he steered you across the room to stand before all the kids. He only shook his head as a bunch of your own students started cheering for you around the room, only worsening the red that coated your cheeks the second his hands had landed on your body.

“I need you for this,” he shot back hastily, positioning you in the middle of the room, standing in front of you. His body blocked the students from your vision, blue eyes boring down into yours, hands gently squeezing at your upper arms as you begged the blush in your skin to not be too obvious. “You trust me?”

A ridiculous question, because the only answer was yes. You gave him a nod, and Ryland’s smile only widened as he turned back to the kids in the room.

“Alright, kids. Your gorgeous teacher here is the Sun,”

Little oohs and awes sounded from the kids around the room at Ryland’s little slip in of the word ‘gorgeous.’ There was a sting in your bottom lip as you bit into it with your teeth, trying to contain your own smile. Marcus spoke up from across the room without raising his hand, as usual.

“Then what’s Mr. Harkin?”

“Oh, he’s Pluto,” Ryland shot back immediately, nodding his head. “Suits him.”

Laughter rang through the room, the young boys as rambunctious as ever. Ryland met your astonished look with a tiny wink of his own, one that forced a small laugh to tumble from your lips. Then, he began to slowly spin, walking around you in a circle.

“And I am the Earth,” he called out to the kids, and you could only hope he didn’t trip over his own two shoelaces. “The Sun holds 99.8% of the mass in our solar system, which means it’s packing some massive gravity.”

Ryland stopped spinning himself, still moving around you in a circle. He held his hand out toward you, and you slipped yours into it without hesitation, spinning in that circle slowly with him.

“Because the Sun holds such intense gravity, it’s actually pulling Earth into it. But, Earth has such high forward velocity that it actually keeps us moving sideways. Put these two together, and it keeps Earth moving in an almost perfect circle around the sun. Can anyone tell me another fun fact about our movement around the sun?”

The words went in one of your ears and straight out the other. There was no paying attention, not when Ryland’s hand held your own. Soft skin, just slightly rough around the edges, and those blue eyes were so soft, locked onto you as if there was nowhere else he wanted to look.

“Our speed changes!” Olivia called out from somewhere in the back, but you didn’t even try to look and find her. “When we’re closer to the sun in our orbit we move faster, and the further away we are, the slower we move.”

“Very good, Olivia!” Ryland called out, sparing just a quick glance over to the kids in the room as his hand held yours tighter, still spinning slowly together. “Madison, we also know this works because there’s other sun-like stars out there that are also orbited by planets. Like Tau Ceti, which has four Earth-like planets orbiting it.”

“Is the sun important for other things, besides just being the center?”

Ryland’s eyes flickered to you, and you watched as he paused. The slight hesitation on his face, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple for a moment, before those blue eyes locked onto yours and refused to look away.

“I-It is…for a lot of reasons. The Sun is the Earth’s entire reason for existing. The Sun gives the Earth life. The Sun is the reason the world is beautiful,”

Your breath hitched, eyes still trained on Ryland. There was something in his words, something in that earnest, raw look that he had written across his features as he looked at you that added a weight to his words. A weight that sent a tiny chill across your skin, raising the hair on your arms.

“Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing,”

There was quiet across the room. Then, a couple snickers, followed by Olivia’s smug little voice.

“The Sun sounds beautiful the way you talk about it,”

“She is,” his voice was lower, softer than it was before. Until, he seemed to realize what he said, the red on both of your faces spreading further than before as his eyes shot wide. “THE SUN I mean! I-I’m talking about the sun, obviously, b-because this is a science presentation!”

Laughter rang through the room, little chants of your names mashed together coming from some of the kids as the bell rang and saved either of you from further embarrassment.

Ryland, being Ryland, chose that moment to finally trip over his own two feet. You pulled on his hand as hard as you could, saving him from plummeting to the ground as he instead just landed on his one knee.

“Make good choices,” Ryland commented lowly as some of the kids walked past the two of you, still snickering and giggling to themselves. You let go of his hands finally, simply resting it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Don’t uh, I don’t know, blow up the world during lunch or anything. Or pop those chip bags and give kids heart attacks, whatever you kids do these days.”

You laughed, stepping around Ryland as your kids lined up outside of the room, waiting for you. He shot you a sheepish smile from the floor, and your skin still burned with heat at the memory of his words as you looked at him.

“Every time I think you’re doing well with those kids, they manage to knock you down a peg,”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?”

When you met your class outside, you didn’t let them get a word in before you warned them not to say anything. You could still hear little comments talking about ‘shipping’ their English and Science teachers the entire way back to your classroom.

❤︎

Ryland Grace didn’t understand how he had ended up here.

Well, he did. Calling the leading scholar in his field a “staggering waste of carbon” at a UNESCO conference in Denmark was an easy way to get blacklisted from the field he’d studied in for many years in college. It was an easy explanation for how he ended up teaching middle school science at Grover Cleveland Middle in San Francisco.

Not that he had a problem with teaching! He actually loved it. Loved his kids, loved talking about science. He loved teaching the future little scientists of the world about why every facet of science was awesome. The pay wasn’t great, though.

Especially when it was the reason he rode a bike to school daily.

And there was currently the equivalent of a monsoon raining down from the sky onto the pavement, the reason he’d been standing at the front doors for the last 20 minutes hoping that the rain would simply let up. The heavens didn’t take pity on him, though, and it only rained harder and harder. His rain coat and bike were not meant to withstand heavy rain and damaging winds to this extent. 

Best cast scenario? It takes him a little longer to get home on his usual 20 minute bike ride than normal. Worst case? He crashes and dies, dead in a ditch covered in mud.

“Ryland, please tell me you aren’t thinking of riding your bike home in this?”

Then there was you. You were probably the single greatest reason why he loved teaching at Grover Cleveland Middle. If he ever had the unfortunate chance to meet that scientist from the conference again, he’d thank him this time for being a staggering waste of carbon, because it led him down a path to you.

“I can’t be that bad,” he tried to joke, waving you off as a crack of thunder seemed to shake the entire building, and his fake confidence faltered for a second. He glanced back at you, coat wrapped around your bag instead of yourself in order to keep its contents dry. “Just, you know…the slight threat of bodily harm.”

He really wished the path that led to you was less bumpy and full of himself looking like an idiot, but at this rate he’d take what he could get from the universe.

“Yeah, absolutely not,” was your immediate reply, head shaking as she fished your car keys out of the bag still covered with your coat. “I’m giving you a ride home, can’t risk the best science teacher’s life over a dumb storm.”

Ryland immediately shook his head, turning to face you beside him. He was not letting you risk your own life in the storm for him. If it really came down to it, he’d sleep at his desk. There was a change of clothes he kept in the bottom drawer, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it.

“I can’t let you-”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Ryland snapped his mouth shut as you cut in once again, dangling your car keys up in front of him with a little shake. “I…care about you, okay? I want to know you are home safe.”

There was no stopping the immediate heat that filled Ryland’s cheeks, and he knew it. There was red blooming across your own, but Ryland shook all wishful thinking from his mind. The AC unit in this school was unreliable, you were definitely just flushed from the heat. No other reason.

Ryland decided he wasn’t going to put up a fight at this point, but he wasn’t going to let you do this without anything in return. He shrugged the yellow raincoat hanging over his own shoulders off as he kicked the glass door in front of him open, the muffle sounds of the torrential downpour now louder as droplets of water splashed into the front door. He held the jacket out, hanging it above your head to protect you from the rain.

“At least let me save you from getting drenched,”

“You’re going to look like a dog that just had a bath by the time we reach my car,” Ryland only smiled at your joke, and the little giggle that fell through your lips. The close proximity didn’t help as he held the jacket up around you.

“Actually, it’s not windy today,” he shot back with a grin, nodding out the propped open door into the rain. “That means if we run, I’ll be drier than if we walked, because the rain that’s hitting us from above is proportional to time. Though, the rain hitting us from the front is proportional to distance, and when running-”

“Ryland Grace, you are adorable when you get all science-nerd, but if we’re going to run…we should run,”

Ryland was thankful that you couldn’t see the renewed heat flooding his cheeks, as you were both too busy sprinting through the torrential downpour to the staff parking lot.

Being a gentleman (who was head over heels in love with you and too terrified to say a damn thing) was thrown out the window with how fast you were booking it to your car, the idea of shielding you from the rain with his jacket abandoned after just a moment booking it across the lot. He could feel the coolness of the water settling against his skin as it soaked through every layer of clothing he had, every few seconds having to furiously wipe at his glasses in hopes of seeing through them.

None of it really mattered in the end, not when he heard your laugh. The little shrieks of laughter as a particularly big drop happened to fall right in your eyes. Or the laughter as Ryland managed–in his signature fashion–to slip on the final step into the parking lot, and you had to double back in laughter to help haul him to his feet.

He’s spring clumsily through the rain a thousand more times if he got to see you smile like that. And that is why his kids always told him that he was definitely ‘whipped’ for you. Whatever that meant.

The second you had both jumped into your respective seats of your vehicle, doors slamming shut, there was only a moment of silence between the both of you. Ryland felt like his chest was going to explode, remembering why he always hated gym class, his heavy breathing mixed with yours as you both caught your breath, before you locked eyes over the center console.

Then the laughter resumed.

He held his hand to his stomach, feeling an ache settling in as he couldn’t stop his own laughter. Your’s grew slightly louder in his ear as you leaned over, trying to help him wipe at his glasses that were still covered.

“I was right, you look like a wet dog,”

Ryland’s only response was to shake his soaking wet hair like one, a simple reaction that earned yet another shriek of laughter from you and a light slap to his shoulder. You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, but Ryland found himself unable to tear his gaze away from your lips as you started the car and began to pull out of the staff lot. How soft they looked, the way the little beads of water running down your cheeks fell over them.

Whipped. He still didn’t get it, but he agreed wholeheartedly with his kids at this point.

There was no driving fast in this rain, especially when the windshield wipers were moving at their highest programmed speed and it still wasn’t enough. It was quiet in the car for just a moment as you pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryland broke it the second your phone had connected to the car’s bluetooth, music filling the space between him and you.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.

“Frank Sinatra,” Ryland couldn’t help the growing smile on his lips as the familiar song flooded through the car speakers. He kept his eyes trained on the side of your face, watching the little smile grow on your own lips, eyes focused on the road conditions in front of you. “Old books and old music. Didn’t know you had such an old soul.”

“You calling me old, Ryland?”

“N-no!” Ryland immediately back track, hands flying up and shaking back and forth as his eyes went wide. “I might say some stupid stuff some–okay, most of the time–but I know better than to comment on a woman’s age.”

“I’m just teasing you,” he could thankfully hear the sincerity mixed in with the teasing lit to your voice. “But yes, I do enjoy some old music. Always been a big fan of Sinatra, especially this one.”

“It’s a nice song…just not scientifically accurate,” he caught the side eye that you threw his way for just a moment, another crack of thunder banging across the sky and almost shaking the car. Ryland couldn’t help but jump slightly. “Jupiter only has a 3.13° tilt to its axis, so it doesn’t experience seasons like we do. Mar’s would, though, because its axis is tilted at 25°, only 1.5° more than our own tilt…”

Ryland trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he caught you fully facing him this time with a bemused expression written across your face. His smile dropped just slightly as he let out a sheepish laugh, adjusting his glasses as they slid back down the wet bridge of his nose.

“...I went full science-nerd again, didn’t I?”

Your laughter drowned out the rain beating against the roof of the car as your attention returned to the road once more.

“You always do, but I happen to enjoy it very much,”

If only teaching paid more, because the commute to Ryland’s apartment was a lot shorter than his bike ride home every day from work. 

Parked in an open space across the road from the dimly lit apartment building, Ryland Grace hesitated with his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes swept out over the area around the vehicle, still being hounded with rain. The top of his road looked like the beginning of a river, the way the water was rushing down the small incline to pool at the bottom.

“Thanks…for this,” he gestured toward the weather right outside the card.

You moved to respond to him, when the weather alert on your phone propped up on your dashboard sounded out. Ryland could just barely make out the headline: FLASH FLOOD WARNING.

The roads were far too dangerous, and Ryland already knew from various conversations that you lived on the opposite end of town from him.

He…could ask you to stay for the night. Just for safety reasons, obviously! He was quickly trying to work through the pros and cons list in his head.

Pros: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be safe and not driving in this storm.

Cons: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be inside his tiny little apartment that looked like it had been hit by a separate hurricane than the one it felt like they were currently suffering through.

“I should probably get home-”

“Stay,” Ryland cut in, quickly continuing his words after his vague statement. “I-It’s just, the roads are bad, and you live on the other side of town. This storm is just going to get worse, and I-I’d hate to know something happened to you.”

You hesitated, he could tell, shaking your head.

“Ryland, I couldn’t ask you to let me stay,”

He hesitated himself for a moment, every feeling he’d kept bottled up for a year now threatening to escape past his lips. Instead, he settled on echoing your own words.

“I…I care about you. I want to know you’re safe,”

Moments later, he had his rain coat draped over your head as he rushed you inside his apartment to shelter from the storm.

Ryland’s hands shook the entire time as he put his key into his front door’s lock. The last time he had guests over…was never. His apartment was built and designed for him and his brain, scattered with notes and books and piles of arts and crafts that he worked on in order to decorate his classroom. It was not meant for visitors, especially not ones as pretty as you.

“Don’t, uh, mind the mess,” he mumbled, holding the door open and motioning after you, allowing you to take a step inside his apartment as he let out the small breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Chucking off his sneakers, little puddles of water forming below them on the ground, his jacket found its way into a pile with them. Ryland wiped his hands nervously against the thighs of his jeans, the action doing nothing against the soaking went material, as he watched you take in his apartment.

The apartment that looked like it had been ransacked, at least partially. Stacks of books relating to a thousand different topics were stacked on the ground by the tv stand, on top of the coffee table along with the coffee cup he’d abandoned there early in the morning in a haste to get to the school, and and by his desk that had a stack of papers scattered around it after her strewn them about in order to find one specific slip of paper at 11 p.m.

It was a mess, and Ryland regretted everything.

“It’s not messy, it’s homey,” your reply sent a burst of heat through his skin as you turned to him with a bright smile, leaving your own bag and coat by his pile of wet items before gesturing to your own soaking wet clothing. “Do you maybe have something a little less…wet?”

He scurried away into his bedroom, trying to ignore that little section of his brain that took your comment in a MUCH different way.

His bedroom was worse. Ryland wasn’t letting you sleep on the couch, but he surely wasn’t letting you see his room in a state like this.

Clothing was thrown across the room and Ryland quickly ran about, shoving piles of clothing away into corners where he was certain you wouldn’t be able to see any of it. Throwing it into his closet and slamming the door before it could fall out, pushing it down in his laundry basket, kicking it under his bed so it was out of sight and out of mind, whatever he could think of.

“Great idea, Ryland,” he muttered to himself, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants and a tshirt for himself, trying to shake the remaining water out of his hair as he rummaged for something you could wear. “Almost get the woman you’re in love with killed by letting her drive you home in a monsoon. Invite her to stay the night in your apartment that makes you look like an even bigger loser than you are. Amazing idea. A doctorate in molecular biology and this is the best you can do.”

You were waiting by the couch in his living room, just glancing around at everything with a smile, when he reappeared. Sheepishly, he handed the folded clothing over to you, hand running through his soaking wet hair as he pointed down the hall.

“You can take my bed for the night. Uh, just leave your clothes in the bathroom, I can throw them in the dryer in a bit. I can scrounge up something to eat in the meantime,”

“Thanks, Ry,” your hand reached out, squeezing his upper arm lightly, and he felt the heat in his skin instantly bloom under your touch. “For all of this.”

If it wasn’t for the giant crack of thunder that flickered the lights of the building for a moment and made Ryland jump out of his skin, he would’ve forgotten how to breathe again.

He rummaged through every part of his kitchen, desperately trying to find something that he could make the two of you to eat that also wouldn’t make him seem pathetic. All he could come up with…was a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly.

Yesterday. He’d stayed late after the end of the day to help in tutoring. He forgot to go grocery shopping. Ryland let out a sigh at his realization, back to his fridge door and head banging back against the stainless steel, hand running down his face and dragging against his skin as his glasses were knocked off, hanging off of one ear.

“Great,” he muttered into his palm. “Just absolutely freaking great, Ryland.”

Ryland Grace desperately wished he had the guts, the bravery, to just simply tell you how he felt.

From the moment he met you, when you had arrived for your first day at Grover Cleveland Middle, he was a goner. It had been a long time since he’d had a partner, his last one certain that he was too busy with his head in the clouds to pay attention to her, and she wasn’t wrong. But from the moment he looked at you, waving and smiling as you introduced yourself to all of the teachers that had gathered to welcome you, you were suddenly the only thing his brain wanted to focus on.

He had been so focused on you, too busy admiring every inch of you in silence, that in his typical clumsy fashion he tripped over his own two feet and knocked Principal Marshall’s papers out of her hand, spreading them five feet across the floor. But you’d joined him on the ground, laughing lightly to yourself, as you helped him clean up the papers, and Ryland knew he was a goner for you.

It only continued every single day, getting worse, and you somehow became his friend. His only friend, if he was being quite frank. So he tried to hide the way he really felt, too scared to mess anything up. He’d rather have you in his life in any way he could, then mess this up and lose you forever.

Keeping those feelings in was getting increasingly harder in the last few months. Which explained why he’d traveled cross town just to get lunch from your favorite place, or compare you to the sun and basically called you his entire reasoning for living in front of a bunch of children-

Either Ryland was going to blurt it out at some point, or he was taking these feelings to the grave with him.

“Peanut butter and jelly? Sounds like we’re eating like royalty tonight,”

He shouldn’t have looked over at you. He really, really shouldn’t have. Leaning against the opposite wall of the kitchen, hair still damp and dripping onto the cheesy “I had potential” shirt he’d been gifted by one of his students the following year. Sweatpants that were bunched up around your ankles so that you didn’t trip over the length, waist tied in as tightly as possible so they didn’t just slide right off your hips.

Ryland Grace had never thought it possible that you could look more gorgeous than you did every day, but he stood corrected. He felt more in love than he ever had just looking at you right in this moment.

“Sorry, I don’t exactly…live a life of luxury,” Ryland awkwardly laughed as he spoke, pulling out two sad paper plates from the cabinet next to him and flashing them in your direction, shaking them lightly in the air. “Hope this doesn’t ruin my perfectly curated image.”

His eyes followed you as you brushed past him, humming to yourself with a little grin. You fumbled through every drawer in the kitchen, looking for something, when Ryland quickly popped open the one right next to him, showcasing his small selection of utensils. You flashed another heart-stopping grin at him before digging out two knives from the drawer.

“That image cracked a long time ago, Ry. Like that time you let Marcus perform some chemical reaction and got the fire department called to the school,”

The tall blonde groaned to himself, rubbing at his temple as you pushed past him to throw some of the bread down onto the plates and crack open the jars of peanut butter and jelly set out.

“That was one time!” he tried to defend himself, saddling up beside you as you passed him one of the knives. He almost completely missed the opening of the peanut butter jar, eyes too transfixed on the sight of you in his clothing. It was still up in the air if his heart was actually working correctly yet. “I learned my lesson very quickly not to let him handle any more chemicals.”

“Don’t worry. I made the mistake of doing popcorn reading when we were working on The Outsiders. Marcus seemed to end up with every single instance of profanity in the book, which he would yell at the top of his lungs,”

Ryland snapped his fingers, glancing down at you at his side with a teasing smile.

“You know what? That explains that really loud ‘HELL’ I heard across the school a couple months ago. I was so sure that it was going to shatter the windows of my classroom,”

“Oh, shut up! It wasn’t that bad!”

Your laughter permeated the air, elbow digging into his side as you spoke. And when your eyes locked with his, and Ryland got the perfect look at every square inch of your face, he could see it so clearly in his head.

Mornings just like this, where you’d both struggle to get out of the warmth of the blankets. The way he would surely annoy you with his very disorganized morning routine, but he’d make up for it with coffee already set out for you, just as you liked it. The lingering moments by the door, too wrapped up in each other because you didn’t want to leave the peace of this space, even though you were going to the same place.

Late nights, curled together on the couch with some movie playing on TV that neither of you were particularly paying attention to. Whispered words, laughter shared. Kisses that lingered, hands that trailed-

Thunder broke Ryland from his spell, thoughts gone in a flash. He was back in his dingy kitchen, with you just inches away, staring up at him as the picture of true beauty.

“T-This is nice,” he cleared his throat, turning back to his sandwich as he spread his toppings along the bread, heat blooming across his cheeks again. It always did around you. “Making dinner with someone…no matter how sad the dinner is. I haven’t done this in awhile.”

“Right,” your voice responded after a momentary pause. “Sarah, wasn’t it? You were dating her when we first met. What, uh…what ever happened to her?”

“Oh, we broke up a long time ago,” Ryland waved the comment off, shaking his head. “She just, uh, thought my head was too far in the clouds. Didn’t think I wanted to be down here on Earth. She wasn’t wrong. It was for the best, though. She hated…all of this. The rundown apartment, the lack of a car, my love of science. She just never understood it. I was just…too much for her. But she’s with Mark now, so I’m sure she’s happy.”

Ryland chose not to mention that his last relationship had been dead long before it officially ended, the pair not having seen each other in well over a month by that point. If his math was right, which it usually was, Sarah had started dating Mark before she’d even broken it off with him.

He also failed to mention the relief he felt inside when she had called it off, knowing his heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had locked with his.

Fingertips just barely ghosted over Ryland’s cheek, and he froze in place. Eyes trained on the plate in front of him, he could feel the way your hand curled around his cheek. The way your thumb glossed over his skin, back and forth, and the way your other fingers barely grazed over the shell of his ear. He couldn’t help the way he instantly leaned into the touch, a touch he hadn’t felt in so long.

Ryland turned his head, still resting in the palm of your own, to look you in the eyes. You gave him the softest smile, hand trailing across his cheek and ghosting over his jawline. His eyes watched it move, the way your fingers gently curled around the frame of his glasses dangling precariously from his face, and placed them gingerly back where they belonged, resting on the bridge of his nose.

His breath caught, your body so close to his, as your hand trailed back down and rested on his chest for just a moment, your own gaze flickering to its resting spot while his gaze stayed on your face.

“You are never, and will never be, too much, Ryland. Not for the right person. They’ll love every part of you. The clumsy parts, the nerdy parts, every part that makes you…you,”

The Sun. That’s what you were to Ryland Grace. He meant every word he had said in that planetarium that day, driven by the rare jealousy of seeing Harkin that close to you. 

The Sun was the reason Earth had life. Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing.

Without you…well, Ryland Grace had accepted long ago that he didn’t understand what it was like to truly live until he’d met you.

Your eyes flickered for just a second, and Ryland took in an audible breath, swearing they settled on his lips for just a second. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the pattering of the rain against the living room windows.

The moment shattered with yet another terribly timed clap of thunder, your body jolting away from his, focus turned back to the counter in front of you, face hidden from his wide eyes.

“Y-you know…I can’t tell you the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,”

Ryland shook his head, smiling slightly to himself at the little stutter in your own words, turning back to finishing his own food as well. But the moment still lingered in his head, the heat that bloomed from where your skin touched him still lingering.

“Since peanut butter is banned in school for allergies, probably awhile,”

“I almost forgot that rule a couple weeks ago and almost packed peanut butter crackers,” you joked back, before Ryland heard you snap your fingers. “Oh! Speaking of work, did you put yourself down to volunteer for the school dance next week?”

Sandwiches finished off, Ryland packed the ingredients away and stashed them back in their appropriate spots, laughing awkwardly to himself.

“Hah, uh, no I didn’t. I chaperoned last year and kind of left covered in punch, became the kids’ favorite ‘meme’ for a week afterward since one of them got a picture of it,”

He turned back to you. Leaning against the island counter, holding your sad little sandwich in your hands, face still lit up red as you smiled toward him.

“I think so far it's me, Doyle, and Harki, plus Principal Marshal and I think Katie and Dawson from the front office. We could really use another teacher,” he swore the fluttering of your lashes was on purpose just to kill him and his resolve. “Sign-up? For me?”

Well, there was no universe in existence where Ryland said no to a request like that.

Rejoining you at the counter, he held his own sandwich in his hand, reaching out and tapping it against yours as if you were sharing a toast.

“For you? Totally,”

Even as you both took a bite of your sandwiches, eyes still locked together, Ryland felt as if something had shifted in the air. Your eyes were still as kind, your smile still bright, but it felt like there was a new weight to your gaze as you looked at him.

And he swore–and hoped–for just a split second, that your eyes had just flickered down to his lips again.

❤︎

The student council had outdone themselves with this end of the year dance.

As you stepped through the main doors of Grover Cleveland Middle’s building, the smile on your face grew immediately at the sight before you. The walls were lined with little fairy lights, little styrofoam planets hanging down from the ceiling at various lengths, glow in the dark stars right around them and glowing. Silver streamers hung around the fairy lights, with the check in desk decorated with tons and foam and lights behind them to look like twinkling lights in the clouds.

“A space theme?” you called out as the two kids in front of you ducked away from the registration desk. Evelyn Doyle finally looked up from the sign-in sheet, grin growing as she took in the sight of you and rounded the desk. “I hadn’t heard anything from the student council on the theme, but they did well.”

“Nevermind the theme, you’re finally here!” you laughed as you threw her arms around you, reciprocating the hug, before her hands landed on your shoulders in order to get a good look at you, eyes trailing you up and down. “And look at this dress, oh my god!”

The deep yellow dress fell right around your knees, the fabric light and airy as it swooshed through the air with every move you made. Buttons lined the front down to the tie around your waist, leaving just enough room for the little gold necklace resting against your collarbone. You thanked yourself for choosing a short sleeve option, already feeling the heat in the building from how many kids were all packed in and dancing together.

“Thank you,” was the sheepish reply you gave your friend as she let you go. “I’m sorry I’m late, I caught one of my student’s parents in the parking lot and they turned it into a mini parent-teacher conference, sadly.”

“Not a problem,” she waved the comment off, gesturing toward the doors of the gym just off to the left of you both. “Just get on in there, have some fun, and keep those slow dancers at least 12 inches apart at all times.”

If the hallways were gorgeous, the inside of the gym shone even brighter. Bathed in blue and purple, even more little lights twinkled around the room, hung off the walls, the ceilings, and on every surface they could possibly find. Moon and star decals, made by the art students, hung off the walls and from the ceiling, almost glowing under the lights.

Your eyes trailed over all of your children, scattered throughout the room, already having been dancing for at least thirty minutes. The smile on your face grew as you watched each one of them, gathered with their friends as they danced together in groups, or even stood off to the sides and just observed from beyond the dimly lit dance floor.

Mr. Harkin had been stationed at the punch table, and you could hear him from across the room warning these middle schoolers not to try and spike the punch. You could only giggle to yourself, shaking your head at his antics, before your eyes swept over the crowd once more-

The music seemed to stop in your ears, breath hitching, the second you laid eyes on him across the room. Ryland Grace.

He wasn’t in anything fancy. A nice pair of jeans, the worn pair of black dress shoes you’d seen by his apartment door that night. A dark green shirt was tucked into his jeans, adorned with a worn, navy blue suit jacket overtop, and those same glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he spoke animatedly to Olivia.

Ryland looked good. Too good, in your eyes.

For just a second, he looked up, and his eyes happened to meet yours across the room. You thought for sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Whatever had happened that night, in the silence of his apartment with only the beating of the rain against the windows and the roof as a witness, had shifted something. From the moment your fingertips had ghosted along his skin, your hand had rested against his chest, and you’d been close enough to see the specs that danced in those ocean blue eyes of his up close, nothing had been the same.

Like the little bubble you had been existing in with your harbored crushed had finally popped. Like a toe had dipped just slightly over a line, and there was no going back from then on.

You always blushed around your friend, every time he’d manage to fumble his way through a comment that borderlined on a kind-of-not-just-friendly compliment. But since that day just a week or so ago, every time he has been within a few feet of you, your face lit up like a hot summer’s day.

Moments where he’d find a second to linger in your classroom door, held a new weight to them. Sharing lunch together, fingers just barely brushing for a second as you both reached for your food, to moments when you’d simply be walking together down hallways, back of hands brushing along each other’s but no one making any moves to stop it from happening.

Something was different, and you weren’t sure you wanted to go back to how things were before. Not after touching his skin, or existing in his orbit like that. Not when you’d seen the side of him beyond these school walls.

You were in love with Ryland Grace. You had been for a long time. And, finally, you were done trying to pretend that there wasn’t at least a small chance that he felt the same.

“I need your help,”

The heated staring contest between you two was broken by the sound to your right. You turned, just to see Marcus standing directly beside you and reaching up to pull on the sleeve of your dress. His hands wrung together, foot tapping incessantly on the ground, and you immediately knelt down in front of him to get a better look at his face that he was trying to hide from you.

“Marcus? Honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently, hands coming to rest on his arms as you tried to get him to look at you.

“I…I like Olivia,”

Oh. It was one of those problems. The anxiety you felt in that moment finally washed away, an easy smile falling to your lips as you took a quick glance over in Ryland and Olivia’s direction, the former’s eyes still locked onto you from across the room.

“I did hear a rumor about that. Olivia is a great girl,”

“She is,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His nerves were basically written across his face. “I-I’ve been really mean to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“I know, honey. Sometimes feelings can be confusing,” you stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him with a smile. “Do you want to dance with her?”

“I do,”

You held your hand out toward him with a smile.

“Then why don’t we start by going and apologizing to her?”

With Marcus’s hand in yours, you confidently led him across the room, eyes locked back onto Ryland’s as you approached. He stood with Olivia at his side, who was talking his ear off, a dopey looking grin on his face as he nodded to whatever she said as he continued to watch as you approached him.

“Dr. Grace, I’m sorry to interrupt you and Olivia,” you announced yourself to the pair with a grin of your own, hands on Marcus’s shoulders and you lightly pushed him forward. “But Olivia, there’s something that Marcus here wants to say to you.”

The young boy shuffled awkwardly forward, hands wringing together again as he stood in front of his crush.

“I, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry. For being really mean to you. I didn’t mean it,”

Olivia’s eyes went wide, as she too shuffled uncomfortably for a second. Ryland saddled up to your side, the pair of you sharing a glance as you watched the interaction happen right before your eyes. His hand graced over yours lightly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and lock your fingers with his.

“Oh! It’s, um, it’s okay. Thank you,”

“Say, Marcus?” Ryland called out to them both, catching the boy’s eye and gesturing toward Olivia with a wink. “What do you think of Olivia’s dress?”

“I…I think she looks really beautiful,”

That comment finally seemed to catch Olivia off guard, her eyes wide in shock as she giggled nervously.

“Oh! I…thank you, Marcus. You look really nice too,”

“Thank you,” his posture seemed to straighten out at Olivia’s reaction, like seeing her accept his compliment gave him the confidence he needed. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Olivia shot you and Ryland a look, and you both immediately gave her a thumbs up. Then, your happy eyes could only watch the two pre-teens awkwardly shuffle away together to the dance floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the other.

“Look at us, playing matchmaker for middle schoolers,”

“I think they did that for themselves, we just helped,” you laughed, turning your head. The laughter died on your lips the second your eyes met with Ryland’s, voice low and breathy as you whispered to him through your smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispered back just as breathily. His hand came up to the back of his head, running through his hair for a moment, and you could see the red and pink hues that lit up his cheeks. “I got worried when I didn’t see you. I was ready to call you.”

“You could’ve,”

“I’ll remember for next time,” he shot back, hands finding their way to rest in the front pockets of his jeans. His eyes moved back over the crowd, finding your two young students once more. “I’m proud of him for that. That…must have taken a lot of guts to do.”

You followed his gaze, landing on the pair as they danced together, laughing and talking like old friends.

“Like you said before, it can be hard for boys to express their feelings. All he needed was to pull up his big boy pants and ask her,”

Ryland laughed beside you.

“Yeah…I should probably follow in his footsteps,”

You glanced back to him, seeing him already watching you. A single eyebrow raised toward him quizzically, even though your heart felt like it was ready to beat directly out of your chest.

Ryland’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were trying to force out words that he couldn’t quite seem to get right. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, hoping inside that whatever he wanted to say would address the weight that seemed to be hanging between your gazes.

“Stay here,”

There wasn’t even time for you to respond before the tall blonde rushed away, almost tripping as he dashed over to the DJ booth across the way from the makeshift dance floor. He whispered something to the DJ, and you could see the thumbs up he got in return, before he rushed back over to you, panting slightly.

“Ryland?” you questioned softly, the man who held your entire heart without knowing it standing just a foot in front of you with a nervous grin on his face. “What did you just do?”

As if on cue, the song changed, and familiar lyrics floated through the room, bouncing off the walls.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars

“I’m pulling up my big boy pants,” he responded with a nervous laugh, his hand outstretched toward you. “And asking you to dance with me.”

Nothing else existed the second that you slid your hand into Ryland Grace’s without hesitation, letting him pull you in. You weren’t in the school, not in a room decorated for a middle school dance, and certainly not surrounded by middle schoolers and a bunch of faculty that had placed bets on you both.

It was just you and Ryland Grace. That’s all you wanted it to be.

Your arms found a place to rest around his shoulders, fingertips just barely brushing past the strands of hair that tickled the back of his neck. There was a fluttering in your chest the second that his hands made their way to your waist, curling around the divet just above your hip bone, pulling you into him just by another inch.

In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my life with song, and let me sing for ever more.

"I didn't tell you yet…,” his voice was soft, words whispered just between the two of you in a crowded room. “But you look beautiful,"

"You don't have to flatter me, Ryland,"

"No, really, you look-"

"Like a banana in this yellow dress?"

He paused. His tongue poked out, running along his bottom lip, and you could see the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple before he spoke again.

"...like the sun,"

You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.

Oh. That fluttering in your chest was back, and suddenly, you weren’t at a middle school dance anymore. You were back in that planetarium, spinning in circles. And this time, there were no doubts in your mind. You were the Sun, and he was the Earth. And what was the Earth, without its Sun?

"Ryland-"

"I wasn't lying,"

You cocked your head.

"...about what?"

"That I knew Homer wrote The Odyssey,"

That drew a short laugh from you, but you could still see the nerves that were laced through Ryland’s smile.

"Right, you were just distracted,"

"I was. By you. I'm always distracted by you,"

In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.

You took a deep breath. He’d crossed the line for you, thrown himself onto the other side, and was waiting for you with open arms. It was just a leap of faith.

“I’m always distracted by you, too. Since the day we met,”

The song faded away, melting into the next. There could’ve been eyes on you both, either from students or from faculty, but nothing would break either of your gazes away from the other.

Ryland took a quick look around the room, before his hands took hold of your own, bringing them down between you both. He gave you a grin, one filled with more happiness than you had ever seen–and you knew your own matched his perfectly–before he tugged you toward the doors of the gym.

“Come with me,”

“Ry, we’re supposed to be chaperoning!”

“I don’t see Principal Marshall anywhere. What’s the worst she could do, fire us?”

“Quite literally, yes!” you shot back with a laugh.

Ryland only shrugged his shoulders, tugging you again, and you didn’t even try to fight back. Your feet simply moved with him.

“Worth it,”

Hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, your laughter echoed off the walls of the empty hallways as Ryland Grace ran you down them, a destination clear in his mind. Every few seconds he’d look back, just smiling at you as his eyes trailed over every single inch of you, before you’d yell at him to look at his own feet before you’d both be sprawled across the linoleum floors.

The door to his classroom was open as you flew inside, hand slipping from his as you caught yourself on the projector cart sitting in the middle of the room. Spinning on your heel, you caught his eye just as he shut the classroom door behind him, and the silence enveloped you both once more. Finally alone, no prying eyes to watch.

The momentarily confidence that seemed to seize hold of Ryland dissipated in that moment. He wiped his hands against the front of his jeans, chuckling awkwardly as he took a few steps toward you.

“What was your plan here, Dr. Grace?” you teased, taking a couple steps toward him as well, too high on the feeling of everything you’d just finally realized. High on the feeling of finally not denying what your heart knew long ago: you and Ryland Grace were never just friends.

“I’m not going to lie,” he shot back, coming to a stop just in front of you, barely an inch or two separating you. “I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”

“Then stop thinking,”

No one had leaned in first. It had been both of you, as if drawn together like two magnets, as your lips finally found one another's.

Goosebumps rose across your skin as Ryland Grace’s mouth moved against yours with an ease that shouldn’t exist between two people that have never kissed before. It was like a perfect dance between two partners that knew each other better than anything.

Your lips never left his, moving against his as if you couldn’t believe you had deprived yourself of this for so long, as your hands wound around his shoulders. Fingers curled into his hair, finally carding themselves through the blonde strands that felt so soft between your fingers.

The slightest little moan, enough to send heat coursing through your body the second you heard it, slipping from Ryland’s mouth into your own. His hands grasped at your hips, winding around your back to press into your lower back and tug you as close as humanly possible, as if he was a starved man that craved to touch you in any way that he could.

His lips were soft, a feeling that you knew you were going to crave for the rest of your life now that you’d had a single taste of them. You pressed further into him, a small mewl tumbling from your own lips and swallowed by his mouth as you pressed every inch of yourself into him, desperate to hang onto the moment in case the world would be cruel and wake you from this dream moments later.

The need to breathe was what finally separated you, but not far. Ryland’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning out across your skin. His hands still gripped at your hips, holding him to you, as yours stayed carded through his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as you chest heaved as it tried to level your breathing back to normal.

“If I haven’t made it clear already, you’re my best friend,” his words were breathy, accented by the way he was still trying to catch his breath. But his smile was bright, his eyes almost shining, as he looked down at you. “And I’m completely in love with you. Literally, since the moment we met.”

You laughed, trapped in this little bubble with him, as your hands slid from his hair to instead cup his cheeks. The tip of your nose just barely brushed against his, and he bumped his right back against yours without hesitation.

“I’m completely in love with you too, Ryland Grace. Since the moment you tripped over your own two feet,”

The sound of your laughter filled the empty, dark science classroom again as Ryland’s hands came to scoop you up around your thighs, spinning you in relentless circles. All you could do was hang onto his broad shoulders and smile, his lips peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin he could possibly reach.

The Earth needed the Sun, like how Ryland said he needed you. The person that makes it all worth it, that makes the days brighter, that makes this short little life worth it.

The Sun needed the Earth too.

[nothxbb]

On the topic of Ryland being called his name in bed and drinking every last bit he can

Him getting turned on when you call him doctor/dr grace. In that tone.

Like the first time it happens you’re teasing him about some random shit.

Then later, while he’s kissing your neck and pounding into you, it’s “yes doctor” or something.

YEP I literally spent the afternoon writing this, thank you for your contribution to keeping me sane

Dr. Grace ~ ryland grace x reader

2.5k works, smut, dirty talk, fingering, oral m and f receiving

---------------------

You weren’t snooping, honestly. Ryland invited you over to his apartment for the first time under the guise of watching a movie together while he finished grading papers, something you jumped at if only to spend a little time with him. You’d been dating for a few weeks, figuring each other out slowly, not wanting to rush anything. All of your nights together had been spent at your place, Ryland claimed your was nicer than his, that you would hate how he decorated. 

This week, though, had kicked his ass. He sent you a text before he left the school, asking if you’d want to come over to keep him company while he finishes the pile of work he’s bringing home. You said yes, of course, and headed his way when your shift ended. You offered to bring food but he turned you down, having already picked up takeout from a place down the street. 

So now, food eaten, movie playing, Ryland plugging away at his laptop, your eyes wandered. The tour he gave you was as short as the one you gave him of your place: here’s the living room, the kitchen is five feet away, there’s the bedroom and a small bathroom. It was simple, but that made sense for him.

He had art on the walls, paintings of scenery, photos of landscapes, very nature-inspired for someone who spent most of their time inside. Your eyes flickered across the room, pausing briefly on the diploma hanging in a far corner. Several diplomas, actually. Stacked from bottom to top: undergrad, masters and PHD, the last of which had the fanciest frame. 

You nudge him with your toe, your spot on the couch putting you slightly behind his hunched form on the floor. He looks at you, paper hanging from his mouth as his fingers fly over the keyboard. “Dr. Grace?” You raise your brows in question, pointing to the diplomas. He chokes on a breath, face turning red. 

“You didn’t tell me you have a doctorate,” you push, wondering why he would hide something so big. His eyes dart between the frames on the wall and your face, like he’s embarrassed by his own success. “I didn’t - uh.. It didn’t really come up, no one calls me that,” he stammers, folding his hands in his lap. “You don’t talk about it?” You ask noncommittally, leaving room for him to be vague if he chose to. 

He shakes his head, knowing that you won’t push. “Still, it’s impressive,” you smile at him, poking him with your toe again. He grabs your foot, placing a soft kiss to your ankle, and leans back against the couch with a sigh. “You think so?” He’s quiet, like your response is important to him. You hum, “of course. What’s it in?”

“Molecular biology,” he’s still whispering. You make him say it again louder, wanting to make sure you heard him right. “Ryland, that’s insanely impressive, you don’t think that’s impressive?” You’re incredulous, he leans his arm on the couch and rests his head against his hand with a smile on his face. “Well, I’m using it to teach twelve year olds about tectonic plates and sound waves, so…” he trails off, trying to deflect a little. 

You shrug, biting your lip in thought. “I don’t know, still feels impressive to me,” your smile has him ducking his head, trying to dodge the praise. 

By the time the movie ended, Ryland had finished his work, having flopped down on the couch next to you and pulled your legs over his. Gentle fingers massaged your calves, his head thrown back against the cushion and his eyes closed. “You tired?” You ask quietly, flexing your feet when he presses a thumb down a little too hard. 

“M’ always tired,” he mumbles, rolling his head to look at you. He looks so soft like this, weight fully relaxed into the sofa, glasses long discarded so he can rub his eyes with no barrier. And that was it for a few more weeks. You didn’t push, didn’t bring it up, didn’t say anything at all. Until he cornered you in your kitchen one evening.

Big hands settled on your waist, his chest pressing into your back and his breath in your ear. He’d been teasing you all afternoon, sending texts about how much he missed you, how much he wanted you, how hard you made him all the time. It was new from him but you loved that he was coming out of his shell, it made your patience so worth it. 

“I’m just saying, I think the honey carrots you made last time were better, sweeter or something,” his grin is obvious in his words, “thought you valued honesty in relationships.” He nips at your ear, laughing when you spin around in his hold and point a finger in his face. “You listen here, Dr. Grace,” you jab, not missing how his breath hitches, “the carrots were fine, you’re just addicted to sugar!” 

He looks at you with heavy lids, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Maybe I am,” he murmurs, pulling you in for a lingering kiss. His hands slide down to your ass, pressing you against him while he licks into your mouth. When you finally have a moment to breathe, you take in his flushed appearance. You were used to him blushing when you flirted, but this was something different. You knew it was the title, knew it was doing something for him that he’d never admit out loud. 

He’s not trying to hide how turned on he is, all but grinding his half hard length against your body. It clicks for you then, and you run a hand along his throat, feeling the way he swallows harshly. “You like when I call you that, doctor?” You’re teasing, but he did it the whole day so you don’t feel bad. 

He drops his head forward with a choked groan, nodding against your shoulder and pressing kisses to your neck. You tilt your head to give him more access, smiling when you feel his dick twitch between you. With a quick turn, you pin him against the counter, waiting until he makes eye contact before you sink to your knees. 

His eyes go wide, hand flying to your hair before you even reach for his pants. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he whimpers, mouth falling open when you free his length and give him a few slow strokes. “This okay?” You’re so close, your breath fans across his skin and he swears he could come right there. He nods quickly, “yes, yeah, of course,” and his free hand flies to the counter, looking for something to keep himself upright. 

You lick the vein running along the underside of his cock, letting your tongue swipe over the tip before you open your jaw and take him in. The moan that falls from his lips is broken, his eyes locked on yours as you bob up and down. Your nails scratch his thighs, digging in when you suck him lower and swallow around him. 

He throws his head back, breath coming out in heavy pants. “B-baby, oh my god,” he whines, fingers pulling your hair until you release him, twitching when he sees the string of saliva connecting his tip to your lips. You smile up at him, “too much?” You make to stand but his hand on your shoulder stops you.

“I’m good,” he pants, “keep going.” And he feeds his cock back into your mouth, both hands tangling in your hair as he gives a little testing thrust. You moan around him, relaxing your throat as much as you can and letting him take control. He’d never been this forward with what he wanted, you wonder if you accidentally woke up a side of him that even he didn’t know about. 

He’s a little reckless above you, using your mouth however feels best, until you gag around him. “Sorry, sorry!” He pulls out and wipes your tears, checking that he didn’t hurt you. “Sorry, I got a little excited," he mumbles, helping you stand. “I can keep going,” you start, “I’m not so delicate, you know.” 

His hands smooth down your hair, his teeth sinking into his lip as he looks at you. “Mm, I was about to come,” he laughs softly, “wanna come in you.” It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to lean up and kiss him. He moans at his taste on your tongue, sucking in a breath when you give him a few more pumps for good measure. “Where do you want me?” 

He moves fast, grabbing your hand and rounding the kitchen counter. But he moves too fast, because of course he does, and slips, landing on the rug in the living room. He’s bright red but he pulls you down on top of him, trying to pretend it was on purpose. “How about right here?” And he kisses you deeply, hands roaming your thighs and ass. You can’t help the laugh that tumbles out, sinking into his kiss and resting on his lap. “Yeah, here works,” you grind down on him, eating the moan he lets out at the friction.

“Need to feel you, baby, please,” he tugs your shirt up, letting you yank at his until you’re both free of the fabric. Everything feels frantic, suddenly. Like he couldn’t possibly wait to be inside you, to fuck you how he knows you like. You think he wants you to ride him, so you roll to the side and start working your pants down, trying to allow him access. 

He pulls you against his chest and flips you to the floor, his hand cushioning your head as your back lands on the rug. Hurried hands pull your pants off, not wasting any time before he’s slotting himself between your legs. You watch him pause, see the conflict on his face, and then he’s shifting back a little, letting his fingers slip through your folds with a low moan. 

“I can take you, Ry,” you try to convince him, but he just shakes his head. “Want you wetter, sweetheart, you’re gonna need it.” He winks up at you, biting his lip when he adds, “you can’t call me that and not pay for it a little.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to ask what he means before he pushes two fingers in, scissoring them to stretch you open. You scratch down his arm, gasping at the intrusion. He leans down and sucks your clit into his mouth, grinning when you roll your hips into him. “So what do you like to be called?” He asks, looking up from between your legs with raised brows. 

“What?” You can’t quite keep up with a conversation when he’s rubbing that spot inside you, making your legs twitch. “You’ve gotta have something,” he flattens his tongue and licks a broad stripe, “I’m gonna find it.” 

He brings you right to the edge, feeling how you clench on his fingers and pulling out just before you reach your peak. He drinks down your grumbles, promising that he’ll make the wait worth it with a laugh against your lips. A shudder rolls through you when he lines himself up again, moans pulling from both of you when he presses in. He drops his head to your shoulder, letting you hear all of the quiet noises he can’t keep back. 

You hook your legs over his back to encourage him, feeling how your walls make room as he pulls almost all the way out and pushes back in. He whispers praise against your ear, gauging your reaction to each new nickname he throws out. “Baby,” he gets a small moan from you, “sweetheart,” he gets a smaller moan. 

“So fuckin’ sexy,” he groans, brows furrowing when you clench around him a little. He lifts your leg to his shoulder, cock hitting a spot so deep inside you it makes your eyes roll. “What about pretty girl?” He asks, smirking when your nails scratch down his back. “Mm, that’s the winner so far,” he murmurs into your cheek. 

You feel him suck in a breath, feel him hesitate before his next words. “Good girl,” he whispers it almost as a question, pulling back to see your face. Your nose scrunches and you shake your head, earning a laugh from him and a kiss as an apology. “Noted,” he grins, picking up his pace. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, you can tell that he’s thinking of more names to try. You wonder if he multitasks like this to keep from coming too soon, but you won’t ask him that yet. 

“I jumped right over the basics,” he pants, hand sliding down to palm your breast. “Honey, darling, beautiful,” he lists each with enough time in between to see if there’s any reaction. He huffs and whispers, “mama,” in your ear, laughing when your hand flies to his mouth to shut him up. 

“Ryland, please, I’m close,” you choke out, fighting your own grin at his antics. His face goes serious, eyes boring into yours. “Yeah? You gonna come?” His stare is intense enough to make you flush, heat rising to your cheeks. “You can, baby,” he starts, “just say it one more time for me.” His voice is strained, like he’s holding back his own orgasm too. 

It takes a second for you to realize what he’s asking for, fighting against the building pleasure to form a coherent thought. The coil in your core tightens, your moans flowing freely while he pounds you into the floor. “Please, Dr. Grace,” you whisper, groaning when he abandons your breast to rub tight circles on your clit. He lets out a broken whimper, nodding his head and breathing against your cheek. 

Your orgasm rips through you, starting from your center and working out in waves. You clench down and his movements stutter, he slams home one final time and tenses above you. The moan he lets out is wrecked, his face pressed to yours while you catch your breath. When the fog clears, he shifts so he’s hovering above you. “You sure mama didn’t do it for you?” 

You scrunch up your face again, biting back a laugh, “no, god.” You push his face away, giggling when he kisses your palm and moves your hand to his hair. You ruffle the strands, admiring how he melts into your touch. “What about, like… sunshine?” He flashes you a bright smile, “or bunny?”

“Ry, they’re getting worse,” you gag, pulling a laugh from deep in his chest. He leans back, taking you in, naked and satisfied on the floor of your living room. “Pretty girl got the biggest reaction,” he runs his hands up and down your legs, “but that strikes me as something you wouldn’t like outside of sex…” Oh, he’s trying to find a nickname for you now? Something for everyday use? 

“I don’t mind ‘baby,’” you say as he helps you up and follows you to the bathroom. “Or my name,” you smile at him sweetly. He kisses you, landing a small slap to your ass, “no, I’m gonna find the right one, just give me time.” He nods resolutely, like he’s devoting himself to the experiment.

---------------

guys I swear i'm gonna write for someone else soon lolol

[smuttylittlelife]

my ovaries rn are screaming dad!ryland grace

ryland is obvi meant to be girl dad.

and uhm if you think ryland is whipped for you. that man did not stand a chance once you guys had your baby girl.

he reads to her every night. even as a newborn and she can’t understand what he’s even saying he’s reading to her every night. “we’re in a literary crisis! i want her to be well versed.” he whisper-yells one night when you ask, hoping not to wake her up.

she’s such a daddy’s girl. you bottle feed her, and she only ever wants ryland to feed her. “you know i make the milk that feeds her,” you pout, sitting across from ryland as you pump. “maybe she just wants you to take a break.” he makes little faces at her while holding her bottle. your baby smiles and laughs looking at him. and you admit your heart does swell watching them.

of course, her first word is “dada” and ryland cries when he hears her. you snap your head towards her. of course you wanted her first word to be mama, but you’re just as excited to hear her talk. he runs over to her, picking her up from her high chair. “can you say it again, honey? dada. say dada.” she starts giggling and she repeats it. he’s now fully sobbing. you walk over wrapping your arms around them. “i’m so proud of you baby girl,” he says kissing her chubby cheeks. he turns to kiss your forehead, “thank you for making me her dada.”

once she’s a toddler, she is a yapper, just like her dad. the two of them get into long conversations about everything under the sun. why the sky is blue, why does the moon follow them at night, why do trees grow so tall? and he answers every one in as much detail as she can comprehend.

when he takes her to to her first day of kindergarten, he’s a fucking mess. she keeps looking at him asking him why he’s crying and he’s just like “you’re a big girl now sweetie. you’re daddy is so proud of you.” you have to drag him out of the the classroom, and he sobs the entire way home. “you don’t think we could home school her?” he asks, trying to wipe away his tears in the car.

when he picks her up she is so happy to see him and tell him all about the friends she made. he takes her for ice cream and asks her if she’s sure she wants to go back the next day.

but i could also totally see him having a little boy who is basically his exact clone in every single way.

bye. i could cry thinking about this.

[s4turnsb3st]

Working with Ryland wasn’t much of a problem. In fact, it was the opposite.

He was so likable it was hard to get upset at the guy if he made a mistake, even if he could get a bit bratty, none of it came from the heart and he’d spit out a small apology later.

However, only one thing comes to mind.

He had no concept of personal space.

He constantly complains about Rocky invading your shared living space in the Hail Mary, but he doesn’t even realize they are so much more similar than he thinks.

If you’re looking through the microscope, he’s hovering behind you, heat radiating off his body as he leans over your shoulder, as if he was able to see what you were seeing.

If you’re trying to show him something, he’s rolling his stool over next to yours and practically leaning against you to see what you are showing him.

More than once, he’s helped put things away or grab things off high shelves, reaching over you and practically trapping you under his arms.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, or even how he’s affecting you at all.

Over time it keeps evolving as you two get closer to one another.

A hand on the small of your back as he moves past you.

Putting his hands on your waist as he peers over your shoulder.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder nonchalantly while you both watch some movie in the ‘don’t go crazy’ room.

Putting a hand on your thigh while you sit near him.

He just wants to be all up in your space and you’re not too mad about that anymore. He’s warm, comforting, something to ground you in these stressful moments in space.

[yearningforsolitude]

fwb with ryland but he falls hard

he pushes it down, tries not to make it too complicated. the two of you agreed on something casual, something to blow off steam when life gets too stressful, but god does he want to make it complicated. he wants to love you—he already does—and be able to show it.

he so badly wants to hold you afterwards, to kiss your temple and tuck you up under his arm and into his chest. grab dinner with you in the evening and hold your hand as you walk to the restaurant together. hear the rhythm of your heartbeat when he presses his ear to your chest. open your car door for you and never let you pump your own gas. run his fingers through your hair and press kisses against your knuckles. wake up to your awful bed head and morning breath and still kiss you silly anyway. make funny faces at you in the mirror just to make you laugh while the two of you are brushing your teeth. know your coffee order by heart and surprise you with it. listen to you tell him your secrets and pinky promise you that he will never tell another soul.

sometimes his body aches with how badly he wants you.

but he can’t have you that way, that would be too complicated. so he settles.

instead, he fucks you in the backseat of your car after you text him that you’ve had a particularly rough day and need him. he presses your little pink vibrator to your clit and watches you squirm. he fucks you with his fingers and licks them clean after he’s made you cum all over them. he circles back to that pretty picture you sent him of you in the blue lingerie he likes when he jerks off. his fingers press light bruises into your skin as he guides your hips while you ride him. he asks you to suck him off and you let him cum down your throat. he sticks his fingers in your mouth to give you something to focus on when he’s already made you cum too many times but is working you towards another one. he grunts into your mouth and you swallow the sound down when he cums inside of you.

loving you and truly showing it would be too complicated, so ryland grace will take what he can get.

[effortlesslysweet]

grace bad as hell statement

[s-writing-s]

𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐗𝐗𝐈 ⚕ 𝐉.𝐀.

summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?

tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, fluff

word count: 4.4k

a/n: thank you all for still being here! we're nearly at the end :(( but it's been so much fun!! i appreciate you lots and LOVE reading your comments <33 i hope you enjoy! <33

i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!

Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist

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You wake to the sensation of soft kisses brushed against your skin—your forehead, your cheek, and your chin. It's the best sleep you've had in months, muscles warm and at ease. The feeling grows with each kiss as you're reminded of the fact that last night was real.

Jack loves you.

It wasn't just a vivid dream; the tender kisses he places on your skin confirm that. You're tempted to pretend to stay asleep just to enjoy more of this, but you instinctively scrunch your nose as his lips land on it, his scruff tickling you gently.

"Morning," he murmurs warmly, his voice husky with sleep, as he breathes against your cheek. You can feel his smile before your eyes fully open as he presses another soft kiss to your face.

Jack rests on one elbow, his hair tousled, with the soft morning light catching the strands that are more white than grey. God, he's handsome.

Yesterday, you might have convinced yourself that this look of adoration he’s giving you is just a figment of your imagination, but today, you know it’s real. He’s actually gazing at you like this, as if nothing else matters—not your messy morning hair nor yesterday’s mascara remnants around your eyes. He simply looks like he’s glad you’re here with him.

"Morning," you grin back, stifling a yawn into your hand.

His smile broadens. "Hi."

You chuckle softly. "Hi."

He keeps staring at you with a smile on his face. His other hand finds your waist, and your cheeks flush in response as he drags you closer. Although his touch isn’t new, the familiarity feels different now—seeing as you now know the intent behind it means what you want it to.

"What?" you ask, a bit self-conscious, rubbing your eyes in hopes of wiping away the stubborn mascara stains.

"Nothing," he shrugs, yet the grin on his face suggests otherwise.

"Jack." You pout at him and watch as his gaze drops down to your lips.

"I just..." he laughs lightly and shakes his head. "I can’t believe this is real."

You know exactly how he feels, and you hope he's able to see it in your eyes. If he doesn't, then you hope he feels it as your hand brushes through his wild strands. His eyes flutter shut under your touch, and when he opens them again, you’re convinced he does.

You both lock eyes for a moment before he leans forward. At the last moment, you turn your head, and his kiss lands on your cheek instead. He makes a comically disgruntled noise.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," you lament, though unable to suppress your laughter at his pouty face.

"I don't care," Jack says, placing a kiss against your jaw.

"Jack," you giggle louder. "I’m serious. My breath stinks."

"I've wanted to do this for months," he says, pressing another kiss to your cheek. "A little morning breath won’t stop me. Honestly, you could have rotten teeth, and I’d still kiss you."

"Ew," you grimace, but he just laughs and plants another kiss at the corner of your mouth.

You debate it for a second, then your cringe morphs into a grin as you lean in, stealing a quick kiss from his lips.

When you pull back, Jack stares at you with wide eyes. You can see when realisation hits him; his eyes darken, and he leans in quickly, giving you no chance to dodge him again. His mouth meets yours, soft yet persistent, each kiss lingering a bit longer than the last. He swallows your giggles with his lips, but he can't help but laugh, too.

Eventually, he presses his forehead against yours, and you stay there for a little while, wrapped up in each other, letting the reality of last night fully settle. The room is quiet except for your breathing, and for the first time since yesterday, the silence feels comfortable.

"I missed waking up next to you," Jack confesses, his voice low in your ear.

You press a kiss to his cheek before resting your head against his shoulder. "Me too."

You breathe in, nose buried deep in the crook of his throat, and his arms tighten around you when he realises what you're doing—breathing in the scent that's purely him. You've never been able to do this freely, and it feels surreal to be able to be this close with no excuses needed.

The moment's broken when your alarm rings softly. Jack shifts to turn it off while still holding you close, and makes no move to let you go or get up.

"We need to get up," you say after a minute, trying to pull back.

"Says who?" he answers cheekily, pulling you in even closer.

"Check-out, for one," you reply, pushing gently against his chest. "And I’d like to shower before we have to sit in an enclosed space for two hours."

"What if I like the way you smell?" he says, and usually, your stomach would be fluttering at a sentence like that, but you know him too well—

"—Fritos are my favourite chips," he continues. His chest bounces a bit as you playfully swat him.

"Rude," you grin, and this time he allows you to slip out of his grasp. "And you’re a liar. I know your favourite isn’t Fritos."

"Says who?" he repeats with a grin as he watches you sit up. You move to the edge of the bed, and he sits up to be able to see you better.

"Says the several bags of Doritos in your cabinets," you counter with a raised eyebrow. You move to slide off the bed, but he catches your arm, pulling you back over to him.

"Ja-ack," you laugh as you land against his chest.

"Those are for Robby," Jack says, and before you can argue, his mouth captures yours again. He keeps you there for another five minutes before your alarm blares again.

"Fine," he concedes when you pull back again. "Just leave me all alone here."

You shuffle forward, but pause at the doorway to the bathroom, meeting his eyes with a mischievous smile. "You could always join me."

Jack freezes, and you can see him process the offer—the way his eyes darken and the slight swallow as his gaze trails over you.

"Or not," you shrug, stifling a grin as you turn away.

He's got his crutches in his hands before your sentence finishes.

The checkout line is ridiculously long, and under normal circumstances, you’d complain about it—after all, how hard can it be to hand over a keycard and walk out? But with Jack’s arm wrapped around your waist and soft kisses peppered onto your hairline, you just can’t find the energy to care.

Even as Jack offers to give you his car keys, so you can wait in the car, you shake your head. You want to stay close to him despite the line barely moving. The lobby is crowded, and it really makes no sense for both of you to be standing here. Still, after spending weeks keeping your distance, torturing yourself, the thought of being apart now feels absurd.

Jack doesn’t push the issue; he simply nods and pulls you closer again. You're plastered to his side for the ten minutes it takes before you finally reach the desk.

"Hey," a warm voice greets you just as Jack hands over the keycard. Jeremy stands off to the side, a bag slung over his shoulder, sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

"Hi," you respond with a smile, stepping out of the queue to approach him.

He returns your smile. "I’m glad I caught you—you left before I could tell you how nice it was to see you again yesterday."

"Oh, sorry about that," you start, embarrassment flaring at the reminder of your jealous outburst. "I had—"

"We had some stuff to do," Jack interjects, slipping an arm around your waist again. He gives Jeremy a tight smile.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Jeremy responds. "Warren was asking about you, but honestly, I’m not sure she even remembers anything now." He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I had to extend her hotel room for her—she got pretty wasted after you left. The ushers had to escort her to her room after she threw up in the plants in the hallway."

"What? Really?" Laughter bubbles out of you. "Well, that's very professional."

Jack squeezes your waist admonishingly but still huffs an amused breath.

Jeremy grins. "Anyway, it was great to see you again. You’ve really done well for yourself, Sleepy." He nods at you, then glances at Jack, offering him a nod as well.

"You too," you say, and you mean it. Jeremy was a great guy in med school, even if he wasn't the best at relationships back then, but you're sure he's grown up more. You certainly have.

You're more certain of what you want, more certain of what you deserve, and somehow, that has landed you with Jack.

"Maybe we'll see you around," you finish. Presby isn't that far from PTMC after all.

"Yeah, I hope so," Jeremy replies, pulling his sunglasses down. He smiles at you one last time before he walks off. "Get home safe."

Jack grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'yeah, I hope so' as he steers you towards the exit. He keeps a neutral face until you're outside, where it turns sullen. A laugh escapes you the moment you’re near the car, and away from prying eyes.

Jack narrows his eyes at you as he pops open the trunk. "What’s so funny?"

Another laugh leaves you. "You're just a silly, jealous man."

"I'm not silly," he replies immediately as he places your bags inside the trunk before shutting it again.

"That's the part you focus on?"

"I'm not jealous," he insists, crossing his arms.

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not."

"Hey," you say, stepping closer. His arms drop the moment you gently press down on them. You curl your fingers into the front of his t-shirt. "You have nothing to be jealous of."

Jack huffs, staring at your hands.

"Jack."

His eyes lift to yours.

"I love you." The words still feel new in your mouth, but no less right.

His eyes search yours, still checking after everything revealed yesterday that you mean it. The tight line of his mouth softens when he finds a satisfying answer.

You draw him in closer. "Okay?"

"Okay." His hand slides to your cheek and you meet him halfway, your lips pressing together in a tender kiss.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he pulls back. "Let's go home."

Coming home feels strange.

Not in a bad way, but it feels different than it did when you left. The air has shifted inside, the furniture moved without being an inch out of place, and the smell is different, and yet everything is exactly the same.

Jack's sweater still hangs over the back of the dining room chair. Your blanket is still draped across the couch, unfolded in that way Jack always grumbles over, but never does anything about.

Everything feels new and somehow the exact same. The only different thing is you and Jack. There's finally nothing unspoken between you, with all cards on the table. No uncertainty, no wondering, no pretending.

There's still the question of what this means for you, but it doesn't feel pressing. It's just there in the background, waiting until the moment feels right. There's no rush to speak.

You're free to enjoy this moment for what it is. The pleasantness from the drive, where Jack spent the entire trip with his hand firmly planted on your thigh, carries into the house.

The bags get unpacked together, clothes thrown into the washer by four hands rather than two. You follow Jack to the bedroom when he puts the bags away; he follows you into the bathroom when you put your toiletries back. You make lunch together, hips nudging, shoulders brushing—a task that normally takes ten stretches into thirty because neither of you can stop talking and laughing.

He keeps looking at you like he still can't believe it's real. You can keep leaning in close to prove to him that it is.

The day settles eventually as you both curl up on the couch with books. The laundry tumbles quietly in the background as warm sunlight spills in through the living room windows.

You're leaning against his chest, reading, but more focused on the hand that's trailing slowly up and down your arm. Every so often, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the scruff on his jaw that's slightly longer than usual, the way he scrunches his nose at passages in his book, and how his face is relaxed in a way you haven't seen before.

As if sensing you, he glances over at you. His mouth immediately curves into a smile when he catches you swiftly looking away. He huffs a little cute sound, squeezing your shoulder.

You grin into your book, nudging his leg with your hand. You try to refocus on the pages, but it doesn't take long before you're blinking heavily. Without even really thinking about it, you slide down until your head is resting on his lap instead.

Jack's hand follows soundly, petting your head softly and lulling you to sleep.

By evening, neither of you has spent more than a few minutes apart.

Dinner comes and goes. The dishes get washed. The laundry gets folded. Around you, the house gradually darkens, shadows stretching across familiar rooms. You try to stay awake as long as possible, hoping to drag your sleeping schedule back toward something resembling normal before your next shift. By the seventh yawn in under a minute, Jack gives you a look.

"Okay," he says with an amused huff. "Time for bed."

You grumble half-heartedly but still let him steer you toward the bedroom. Blearily, you grab at clothes in the closet. Jack doesn't comment on the fact that you grab one of his shirts, just glances at it with a pleased smile before he heads into the bathroom.

When he's done, you brush past him in just his shirt and underwear that he can't see, biting back a smile at when he swallows harshly. You don't fight the grin once you're alone in the bathroom, letting the giddy feeling take over.

Your phone vibrates against the counter, just as you've put your toothbrush into your mouth.

>> Hello??? Are you alive?!

It's Olivia. Fuck. She's already texted you three times earlier today, and you'd ignored her, unsure of what to say that won't reveal everything immediately.

<< Yes

>> That's it??

<< Yes, I'm fine <3

You add the heart, toothbrush hanging loosely from your mouth as you try to act normal.

>> Uh huh. How did it go?

You can picture her narrowed eyes when you read it. Your thumbs hover over the screen for a minute, thinking of what to say.

<< It was fine. Nothing worth mentioning.

You can see her typing, deleting, then typing again several times.

>> And what about Jack?

<< He's fine, too.

You pause before adding:

<< We're fine. Things are okay again.

>> What does that mean??

You take too long to answer her, but her following text shows that it doesn't really matter anyway—she knows you too well.

>> oh😏

When you reemerge, you've decided to keep this to yourself until the morning. No need to reveal to Jack that the plan has failed immediately. This can still be just yours tonight.

He sits against the headboard, prosthetic off, and duvet covering his lap. He looks nervous. "Are you gonna—?" He gestures vaguely toward the empty side of the bed before clearing his throat. "I mean..."

The uncertainty in his voice surprises you. You'd just spent the entire day together, and he's unsure if you want to share the bed. It's kinda cute.

"Yeah," you say softly. "If that's okay?"

His answer comes fast. "Of course it's okay." He pauses. "I just didn't know if—" he shrugs, trailing off.

You climb into bed, into the arm that was waiting for you. You both sink down until your head settles against his chest, listening to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat.

You guess this is as good a moment as any other to finally have the conversation.

"I...uh—" you start. "I have the divorce papers printed on my desk."

Jack goes very still.

"I also still have that apartment viewing on Thursday." You stare at a loose thread on his shirt. "I know we've done this in a weird order. Getting married, moving in together, and then confessing."

You force out a laugh. "If you want to do this properly, we can."

The room goes quiet. Jack's arm tightens around you. "Properly?"

"You know." You shrug. "Dating. Separate places. Normal people stuff."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything; then, he says: "Do you want that?"

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate but answer truthfully. "No."

Jack lets out a breath. Just a small exhale that sounds suspiciously like relief. "Oh."

You lift your head. "Oh?"

Jack's mouth twitches. "I don't either." He rubs the back of his neck. "But I don't want you staying because you think you have to."

Your chest squeezes. "Jack."

"You've spent months trying to make decisions based on what you thought I wanted." His fingers trace idle patterns against your arm. "I'd rather know what you want."

You stare at him for a second. "I want to stay. I want to stay here."

His eyes soften immediately. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "We don't have to rush to figure things out. I like having you here. We can't figure the rest out later."

"Yeah?"

"Mm," he hums, his grip tightening around you. "I slept like shit when you weren't here. I'd prefer not to do that again."

You huff a breath. "Me too."

Even though the apartment had been nicer than the others you'd looked at, you really didn't want to move. You're happy he feels the same as you do. Maybe it doesn't matter if you do this in an order that doesn't make the most sense—as long as it makes sense to you, that's all that matters.

The room quiets again until Jack speaks again. "Can I ask you something?"

Your chest tightens, but you still nod.

"Why Lily?"

You knew he was going to ask eventually, but it doesn't make it any less embarrassing. You sigh into his chest. "That day—" you don't have to specify which, he already knows. "The way you ran inside looking terrified—"

You swallow. "And how you yelled at me after..." The memory of it still stings now, even after his countless apologies. "It was the difference in how you treated me and her."

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"I know."

"No." His voice is quiet. "I need you to understand what happened."

You lift your head enough to look at him.

"I got there seconds after—" His jaw tightens. "I barely managed to pull you away. I was already petrified when I heard the code being called. I could only imagine you—" he stops, breathing heavily. "...I can't explain what that felt like."

He continues, "When I realised it wasn't you, I was relieved. And then I felt guilty for being relieved because someone had still gotten hurt, but all I could think about was how happy I was that it wasn't you."

The confession lands heavily between you.

"I was scared out of my mind. Angry at the patient. Relieved that you weren't hurt. Guilty that I was relieved. All at once. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

You squeeze his hand.

His eyes find yours. "It was never about Lily."

You believe him. Now, you do. But back then? Back then, you'd been drowning in uncertainty.

You shrug helplessly, revealing more of how you felt. "After that, I started noticing every little thing. The way you talked to her. The way she made you laugh."

"You make me laugh," he says firmly.

You roll your eyes at him, a slight smile tugging on your lips. "I think I was trying to make peace with losing you. If I wasn't the one for you, then she could be. She could be better for you. Kinder than me. Easier than me."

Jack's face falls. "Sweetheart..."

Your mouth twitches sadly, looking down at his shirt again.

"You genuinely thought that?"

You nod.

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, lifting your gaze back to his. "Do you have any idea how much time I spent wishing you'd look at me the way I looked at you?" His thumb brushes across your skin. "It was always you."

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. You sigh. "We wasted so much time."

"Yeah."

Moments stolen by fear and assumptions and bad timing. You think about every dinner that could have been a date. Every movie night spent pretending not to notice how close he sat. Every almost-confession. Every chance that slipped away.

But now, everything's finally out in the open. The conversation drifts after that. You talk about everything. The first dinner. The first kiss. The kiss cam. The bar. Every misunderstanding. Every moment one of you had walked away convinced the other didn't feel the same.

Sometimes you laugh until your stomach hurts. Sometimes you bury your face in a pillow because neither of you can believe how oblivious you've been. Sometimes there's silence while you mourn all the things that could have been.

By the time the conversation finally slows, pale morning light is spilling through the curtains. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, but your chest feels lighter than it has in months.

You don't know what happens next.

You don't know what being married and newly confessed and hopelessly in love is supposed to look like. But for the first time, that uncertainty doesn't scare you. You'll figure it out together.

Beside you, Jack shifts closer beneath the blankets until there's barely any space left between you.

His lips brush your hair. "I love you."

You smile immediately. The confession still feels unreal. "I love you too."

The smile you feel against your forehead is warm and content. And wrapped in his arms, with the future still unwritten and endless possibilities stretching ahead of you, sleep finally finds you both.

The next evening finds you faster than you'd like.

As you step in through the door to the hospital, side by side, it reminds you of the first time you walked in carrying a secret on your shoulders—only this time, your shoulders are light, and your stomach is fluttering with happy jitters.

Somehow, you manage to make your way to the lockers without meeting anyone. With your bags dropped, you sneak a brief kiss against the door before you reenter the Pitt. Jack's hand brushes yours, your pinky catching his for a second, before you take a step apart.

You try to bite back the smile that threatens to break through. If you want this work, you need to stop acting like a lovestruck teenager. It's incredibly hard, though.

Robby stands at the hub, tablet in hand and a frown on his face.

"Rough day?" Jack says, clapping his back. He leans against the counter as you trail closer.

"Yeah... Good luck." Robby rubs his face, dropping the tablet on the counter. When his eyes open, they narrow in on the space between you and Jack—or rather the lack of it.

You shift to the side, trying to act nonchalant, but Robby's a hound. His eyes follow the movement immediately, nose twitching as he tries to sniff out everything you're trying to keep quiet.

"How was the conference?"

"Fine," Jack replies, glancing up at the board. He taps his fingers rhythmically on the counter.

"It was?" Robby raises an eyebrow, staring at him. Jack nods at him, shifting his gaze away quickly. Robby watches him for a moment, then turns to you.

"Mm," you nod, offering a tight smile. "The usual."

Robby stays silent, shifting his gaze from Jack to you, and then he grins widely. He chuckles, "If you so."

"Yeah," Jack nods with an awkward smile.

"Well, that's good." Robby keeps grinning as he pats the counter twice. "I'll see you later." He salutes you, still smiling, then walks off without any further questions.

You stare at his disappearing figure with a sense of dread. With a hand around Jack's wrist, you pull him into a quiet corner, hissing: "He knows."

Jack frowns. "How could he? We were acting normal."

You stare at him. "Normal? If you call 'you not looking at him at all' normal, then yes. Very normal."

"I did look at him."

"For two seconds. Normally, you don't look away at all," you counter.

Jack crosses his arms. "Well...You gave it away to Olivia."

"I didn't—I told her nothing."

"Exactly!" Jack points out. "That's not normal for you."

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows and then sigh. "...Yeah, okay. Maybe I did."

Jack sighs, too. "I guess I did, too." He shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips as he leans closer. "But to be fair, I think we forgot that they've spent months dealing with our sorry asses. Of course, they know. They knew we were in love before we did."

"—Abbot, there you are! Stop hiding in corners with your missus—trauma incoming," Lena interrupts with a wink. She doesn't even look back as she disappears down the hallway.

Jack squeezes your hand briefly on the way out, sending you a soft smile. "See you on the other side."

You watch him disappear around the corner before you head after him. The familiar knot of anxiety never comes. For weeks, every shift had felt like walking a tightrope. Every glance from Jack had meant something, and every action had been dissected. Now, the uncertainty is gone.

The Pitt is still loud. Still chaotic. The same as it always was. It's you who is different.

Across the department, Jack glances back. Just for a second, but long enough to catch your eye. Long enough to smile, and then he's gone into a trauma room.

And for the first time in a very long time, you're looking forward to the shift ahead.