lili🐆

here 4 the plot ⭐️

[futurebillionairee]

( lili. 17. she/her. italy. infj . scorpio. #manifesting . rma )

masterlist

hey there!!

welcome to my blog, I hope you'll have the best time here!

I’m lili, and this is one of my endless attempts to maintain a cute little tumblr’s account; i literally yap about anything and i swear i’ll try to write some fanfics stuff😽

FREE PALESTINE🇵🇸

[beatusdymphna]

In the bathroom of a store and can faintly hear the “whoop there it is” coming from the speakers outside, I miss you Ryland Grace

[harebrainedhare]

last chance (Ryland Grace x Reader)

When Ryland remembers his life on Earth, specifically his love life, he finds that it’s not as impressive as yours. You decide to change that.

(2.3k word count, fluff, no use of y/n)

thank you to @sleeplessdreamer14 for the inspiration for this one! Hopefully you enjoy the tooth rotting fluff! ^^

————————————————————————

Ryland Grace has had his fair share of weird romantic experiences.

Sure, there was that one awkward date with his lab partner in his graduate school days. The one where they went to get coffee and he was so nervous that his hands trembled where he gripped the paper cup. Then, of course, he spilled his coffee down his white button down shirt in the middle of a conversation. It stained the front a deep brown, and she had just looked at him with a pitying expression. She left him sitting alone right after that, spouting some flimsy excuse about a project that she forgot about.

He didn’t even get her number.

You’ll find the right person, his mom had said to him when he visited home, giving him that look that only parents could conjure. The I love you but where are my grandkids? look. 

So he took his mom’s advice. He’d wait, get the right moment, and it would happen. Just like in the movies and books. They meet, sparks fly, and they kiss and live happily ever after. 

It was a good plan. A great plan, in his opinion. Why rush? He was still a young man in his 30’s, he told himself. He just watched as everyone he knew got married, settled down, had kids. It was fine. Everything would work out.

Until he woke up in the middle of space, barely remembering his own name.

He could convert feet to meters in an instant, calculate the gravity of something by using a centrifuge, and chart his way back to Earth with complicated tech attached to the ship. But it took him longer to remember how he got here, shipped off to some distant solar system.

You were the one thing that stayed constant in the one place that gravity definitely wasn’t. You became his anchor, his dry land in the sea of confusion as he tried to drag his drowning mind out of the effects the drugs had on him. You helped explain your mission, watched him handle the Astrophage like a pro, and laughed when you both vomited during that time you experienced zero gravity for the first time.

Eventually, the memories came back, though. His thoughts were like a trickle, slowly filling up a cup in his mind before it overflowed with emotions and specific facts that left him reeling. You even hugged him when he sobbed about how badly he wished he were back on Earth, back teaching his 8th grade class, without making it awkward or worse. You just rubbed his back through the fabric of his science pun t-shirt, letting his tears soak your hoodie. 

Ever since then, you had kept an eye on him.

You’d watch him in your peripheral, listening for that pause in his scientific rambling, watching for the unfocused look in his eyes. Like he was here, but his mind was somewhere else. 

Today was once of those days where his mind had finally decided to reveal a portion of memories he had forgotten.

Specifically his love life.

He found out that there wasn’t much to remember in that aspect, though he still shared the stories with you. To your surprise, Ryland wasn’t embarrassed at all about his bad luck in romance. He merely found it hilarious.

“It was so awkward, I wanted to just crawl into the floorboards!” He flailed his hands, accidentally knocking his glasses off his face. He snagged them before they floated too far away. “I mean, I think I just froze. And stared at her. In the middle of our…date? If you can even call it that.” Ryland pushed the brown frames back up the bridge of his nose with a knuckle. “It was a disaster. I’m telling you, I’m not meant for romance.”

You nodded along to the story, still fiddling with the computer. You were trying to get your mind off of the fact that you two were responsible for saving the human race. When you woke up before him and spotted the mummified remains of the rest of your crew, it hit you pretty hard. You even thought that he was dead too, and you nearly cried from relief when you saw him actually breathe despite being in a coma.

Ryland had suggested watching a movie, and somehow you settled on rom coms. “Something light that won’t make me cry or have an existential crisis.” was what he said.

“Aha! I got it!” You exclaimed, finally managing to pull up the stash of movies that were downloaded onto the ship’s computer. It’s one you’ve seen a thousand times, one you can quote by heart.

“So…I’m sure you have some stories too, right?” He asked, perching precariously on the edge of your bed. Keeping a respectful, crewmate distance while still being close enough to see the screen. 

“What?”

“You know. Disaster dates? Or maybe you’re a lot better at it than me,” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. 

The romantic strings swelled as the title appeared on the small screen. The familiarity of it leaves a warmth in your chest instead of a pit.

“Oh, yeah,” You shook off the nostalgia and turned to him. “One time I had this guy stick me with the check at a restaurant after he ordered like, the biggest thing on the menu. He just insisted that he’d cover the next date, but I never heard from him after that.”

“Oh, yikes,” He cringed in empathy. “Like a dine and dash but somehow worse.” Ryland shook his head, his eyes trained on the screen. “I’d never do something like that.”

That hit you square in the chest. 

Because of course he would never stick someone with a check. He’s probably the type of guy to insist on opening every door for you. He’d make sure you got home safe. He’d probably even bring you flowers.

What hit you even harder is that he never got the chance.

Ryland never got the chance to take someone out on a date that he enjoyed. He never got the chance to buy someone chocolates or roses for Valentine’s Day, or even have a wedding.

And now he never would.

Ryland noticed the silence after he said that. The movie chattered on in the background, something about a famous actress and an average guy, but he’s not even paying attention anymore. All he saw was the way your smile faltered, the way your eyes were focused on the screen but you weren’t really watching it.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, tilting his head at you. His eyes are focused on yours, and you swear you’ve never noticed how blue they were before now. Like the skies back on Earth that you missed so dearly.

“Yeah,” You nodded and offered a small smile. “Of course.”

It only got worse after that.

When the couple finally kissed on screen, you felt him stiffen beside you. His eyes darted away from the screen, a small blush spreading across his cheekbones in the low light of the dormitory. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You teased as you nudged his shoulder. 

“Nothing!” He claimed. Ryland adjusted his position on the bed, his navy crewneck shifting against the smooth bedding.  “Just a shift in the temperature control. I’m sure of it.” He nodded while his fingers tugged at the worn cuff near his wrist.

That wasn’t convincing. The temperature hadn’t changed from a steady 21.1 degrees Celsius—or 70 degrees Fahrenheit—since you had woken up. There’d be no reason for it to shift now.

“Right. You’re acting like you’ve never seen someone kiss before. I thought you liked rom coms,” You watched his blush grow further, the pink color infecting his ears now too.

“I’ve seen people kiss before! I’m not that much of a sheltered scientist. Microbiology, remember?” He gestured to himself, and scoffed as if it weren’t affecting him, however, the color remained on his face.

It clicked then. He’d never been kissed before. Or if he has, it’s been a long time.

It should have been so obvious from the way he  talked about his failed dates. From the way his tone shifted, barely perceptible, from amusement to longing. From the way he paid attention to your past romantic experiences like he’d been experiencing them himself. 

You fought with yourself for nearly five minutes after the epiphany. The thoughts ranged from This could compromise the whole mission to he deserves someone that takes care of him.

You decided to make your move. Slowly, subtly, like approaching a skittish animal, you slid your hand over his. The moment your fingers brushed his knuckles, he stiffened all over again. 

Then his hand turned over, and his long fingers intertwined with yours. They slid into place like they were always meant to be there. He let out a shaky breath beside you, and when you dared to look up at him, his eyes were still trained on the screen.

“Ryland?”

“Hm?” He hummed, his palm clammy with nerves against yours. He was so nervous that he couldn’t even look at you. 

“Breathe,”

“Right. Breathing. I can do that.” His voice trembled as he spoke, but he managed to take a deep breath. When he let it out, his shoulders sank from their tense position.

When he finally turned his head and looked at you, it was your turn to be a little nervous. Especially when his eyes flicked down to your lips before snapping back up to meet your gaze. A move so obvious, so endearing, so him that it made your heart stutter in your chest.

“I’ve got you,” You said softly, offering a small, gentle smile when you felt his hand tremble in yours. 

Then you leaned over and kissed him. 

He froze at first, unmoving and so warm against your lips before he took a long, deep breath in through his nose and kissed you back. 

Ryland realized that the movies could never quite do it justice. There weren’t any fireworks or frantic moves. There was just the steadying softness of your hand on his stubbled jaw while a quiet warmth spread through his chest.

He clutched your intertwined hands like they were a lifeline, like he was drowning in you and needed something to pull him up for air. 

When you finally parted, he didn’t go far. He rested his forehead against yours, and just looked at you through fogged glasses like he couldn’t believe that you would actually kiss him.

“Are you okay?” You smiled at him and tilted your head. How could one man be so impossibly endearing?

“Okay? Yeah. Yeah I’m good. Great. Fantastic, even,” He rambled out, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. He smiled back at you, a small, shy thing that made him look younger. “Are you? Was that okay? It’s-it’s been a while since—”

You cut him off with another kiss, and you heard him gasp against your lips before returning it. Your hand slid from his jaw into his hair, your fingers carding slowly through the blond strands. 

Ryland swore he was melting from the inside out. When your fingers ran through his hair, softly scratching his scalp, he felt his stomach swoop like he was experiencing zero gravity for the first time all over again. 

After that kiss, he never really separated from you.

He’d find you staring at the ship’s control screens, lost in your thoughts. You never noticed, thank god,  that he would stand there for a long time, trying to hype himself up to finally slide his arms around your waist.

Ryland would hover near you whenever you went to one of the other levels of the ship. He followed you around like a puppy, helping where he could before you shooed him back to his lab. He’d retreat with a guilty smile, saying something about just wanting to help. He got used to having you around not just as a crewmate but as someone who really, truly cared for him.

He never really got used to the kisses, though.

There were the simple, small pecks to his cheek that you’d share before bed. Where you pressed your soft lips to his stubble before wishing him sweet dreams every time you two slept. Where his cheeks would never really cool before he fell asleep.

There were the ones you had when you couldn’t get enough of each other. When he’d catch your eye from the other side of the Hail Mary’s small lab and smile giddily at you. So of course, you had to stand up from your chair and deliver. “One more, then back to work,” You’d say, and he’d just grin like he knew you couldn’t stay away for long.

But Ryland’s favorite?

The ones where you’d kiss him in artificial gravity. Where you would fist your hands in the collar of his shirt and pull him into your lips. When his hands had finally learned what to do, where to land on your waist. One hand always stayed gripping the closest piece of furniture, though, since you made his knees feel like jelly every time you tilted your head to deepen it. 

He’d pull away with clouded glasses and the biggest, dorkiest grin on his face. “Could you do that again?” He would ask in the smallest voice, his heart still pounding against his ribcage where he was sure you could hear it in the quiet of the ship. Of course, who are you to deny him? 

After a while, you ended up sleeping in the same bed. When he got used to being close to you, he could barely take his hands off of you. The same goes for when he slept, where he pressed his cheek against your chest just to hear your heart beat. He would cling to you like a barnacle, pulling your body to his, trying to get as close as possible. It felt like he was trying to merge you two into one being, despite his extensive knowledge of physics that told him it wasn’t possible.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[bokuwaboku-datte]

Eridians must be absolutely amazed that Grace can be woken up before his sleep cycle is finished. They take advantage of this and fit the biodome's bedroom with a remotely-triggered alarm system, so if something ever goes wrong with the life support systems while Grace is asleep, they can wake him up and have him move to safety. But, being that their sleep is more like a deep dormancy, they WAY overestimate what it takes to forcibly wake someone up.

The first time they have to use it (over something stupid like a tiny ammonia leak), Grace wakes up to like three different foghorns and a hundred camera flashes going off at once and is like HOLY GEEZ THE APOCALYPSE IS UPON US

(eta: check out the multiple wonderful arts of this made by cosmo-vostok, goodieprocter, scrambled-aegis, and couponsfortherapyplz! you all are awesome :D)

[futurebillionairee]

the science of staying a little longer

genre: third part of ‘the science of staying a little longer’ ryland grace x oc

summary: they say gravity is a weak force, but tonight, it's completely undoing me.

what happens when a chaotic evening and a rain-soaked street force two opposites to share the same small space? you get caught in the science of staying a little longer.

author’s note: hi there!! so so sorry for the wait but i try to write chapters as long as possible and my brain does NOT help me. anyway, enjoy!!

If you had told me a week ago that I’d spend almost a whole week text-flirting with a guy who uses the periodic table as a personality trait, I would’ve laughed in your face and told you to seek medical attention.

Yet, here we were.

It started with a post-gala debrief at 2 AM where I complained about my literal foot amnesia, and somehow snowballed into a non stop marathon of absolute nonsense.

We talked about everything and nothing. And honestly?

It was perfect.

It wasn’t a stress or a duty.

I actually wanted to text him and felt the urge to answer his texts as soon as i read them.

Which brought us to Saturday morning.

I was sitting across from Maddy at our usual brunch spot, pretending to deeply analyze the avocado toast menu while my phone buzzed in my lap. I was trying so hard to play it cool, but keeping a secret from Maddy was like trying to hide a firework in a glass box.

"You're doing it again," Maddy said, pointing her fork at me like a weapon.

I didn't even look up.

"Doing what?"

"Smiling at your lap like a crazy person. Honey, you haven't looked at a single human being since we sat down, and your thumbs are moving at the speed of light. Spill. What is it?"

I swallowed hard, realizing my master plan of total secrecy had officially crashed and burned.

I sighed, flipping my phone face down on the table.

"Fine. Okay? It's Ryland. We've been... talking. A lot."

Maddy froze, her jaw literally dropping.

"I knew it! But, hey, first of all, you had to tell me asap. I should be genuinely mad at you right now."

"Oh, I know, I know,"

I groaned, hiding my face in my hands.

"But it’s just so surreal to me. Like, I did not see this coming at all."

"Girl," Maddy smirked, leaning over the table, her eyes gleaming. "You are down bad."

"I am not!" I shot back, though my burning cheeks and absolutely involuntary smile were totally betraying me.

"It's just casual. We're literally just texting."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's skip the boring denial phase," she waved her hand dismissively,

"How is he? Like, what's the vibe?"

"He's... surprisingly witty, and sweet” I admitted, a small, involuntary smile tugging at my lips again.

"And he's just really easy to talk to."

Maddy stared at me for three seconds straight, analyzing my face like a hawk. She immediately grabbed her own phone.

"That’s it. We are not wasting this momentum. I’m throwing a party tonight."

I blinked, my heart dropping into my stomach. "Wait, what? Maddy, no. Do not—"

"Oh, it's already happening," she beamed, her thumbs already flying across her screen at lightning speed.

"My apartment. Tonight. And, a lot of cheap alcohol. I'm texting people right now."

She looked up, giving me a pointed, wicked smirk that made my hairs stand on end.

"And you are making sure your Professor shows up. Let's see how he handles you when he's not behind a phone screen."

Oh god. I actually have to invite him.

Slowly, I flipped my phone back over. The screen lit up with my saved contact: Ryland .

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, suddenly feeling completely clumsy.

What was I even supposed to say?

‘Hey, my best friend is forcing me to invite you to an apartment party to test you out?’

“Four minutes,"

Maddy chanted, taking a loud sip of her iced coffee.

"Shut up, I'm thinking," I muttered. I swallowed my pride, and just decided to go with the honest, slightly sarcastic approach. It was our brand, after all.

Honey: So, Maddy has officially lost her mind and decided to throw a last minute party at her place tonight.

Honey: Any chance you want to leave your couch for this saturday night?(There will be alcohol, if that helps sweeten the deal)”

I pressed send before I could overthink it, shoving the phone under my napkin like it was a live grenade.

"Well?" Maddy asked, eyebrow raised.

"Sent," I groaned, leaning my forehead against the cool edge of the table. "If he ghosts me, I am legally changing my name and moving to a different state, and it will be entirely your fault."

“He won't ghost you," Maddy waved her hand dismissively, though her eyes were glued to where my phone was hidden.

"Now, give it a second... wait for the typing bubbles..."

We sat there in agonizing silence for two minutes.

I was convinced I had ruined everything.

I mean, he’s a middle school science teacher, not a teenager who wants to party all night and- the table’s wood shook.

I practically knocked over my orange juice scrambling to grab the phone.

Ryland : Honestly, my couch is throwing a bit of a tantrum about me leaving, but for alcohol and a chance to see you without a 10-minute countdown? Sure”

A breath I didn't even know I was holding escaped my lips.

"He's coming," I whispered, looking up at Maddy.

Maddy clapped her hands together, a massive smirk on her face. "Perfect."

I set my phone down, that heavy weight that had been crushing my chest finally lifting.

But then, another buzz vibrated against the wood.

Ryland : And, since I’ve officially committed to leaving my couch, do you want a ride? I mean, it’d probably be way less awkward if we walked in there together, right?

My face must have completely shifted into pure panic, because the second Maddy looked up from her screen, she snapped.

"What? What happened? Tell me right—"

"He offered me a ride. To the party."

After i pronounced those words, there were a few seconds of pure silence, where we, or at least i, could not think straight.

"Damn. Okay. I'll take my thank you speech now," Maddy said, looking incredibly proud of herself.

Still completely thrown off, I looked up from my phone, practically offended. "A thank-you?"

But honestly? A small, really tiny part of my subconscious knew that she was right. I should’ve been thanking her. Because even though the anticipation, the nerves, and the sheer terror of ruining everything were lowkey destroying me, somehow i felt like I was on cloud nine.

By 8:23 PM, my bedroom looked like an actual war zone. Literally. Clothes were scattered everywhere, music playing in the background to get into the party vibes and I had a glass of wine in my hand just to give myself a quick shot of confidence and peace of mind for the night.

spoilers: the wine was not enough to get me bold, indeed it wasn't working.At all. My thoughts were still spiraling, and they were loud.

What if the drive is just twenty minutes of agonizing, dead silence? We had talked about so much over the past few days that I was genuinely terrified we’d run out of things to say. I mean, at the party, I could easily pull a disappearing act if things got weird. But in a car? My only escape route would be jumping out of a moving vehicle.

He told me he’d be here by 8:30, and by some miracle, I was actually done preparing on time.

Thank god about that because the absolute ultimate irony would be making a guy wait when I’m supposed to deny maddy’s description about my inefficient clock reading abilities.

I was just finishing dousing myself in approximately three gallons of perfume when—Buzz.

There it was. That weird feeling in my stomach that instantly turned my legs to jello. The same feeling when you’re on a deadly rollercoaster and you’re in the peak time of the ride.

Ryland : I'm here. No rush, but there's a highly illegal parking situation happening right now, so my car might get towed by the time you get here.”

I couldn't help the stupid smile that took over my face. I didn't even waste time replying because I’d probably be down in a minute, or less, mostly because I was already trying to sprint down the stairs in my kitten heels.

(Note to self: I seriously need to stop wearing heels of any kind for casual hangouts.)

I threw open the heavy glass door of my building and there he was. As soon as he saw me, he leaned over the passenger seat, stretching to unlock the door for me from the inside.

After a two second reflection on whether I should go back up the stairs and avoid subjecting myself to a possible panic attack, I practically lunged into the car, slamming the door shut behind me, panting like I’d just completed a marathon instead of running down three flights of stairs.

For a second, the only sound in the car was the low hum of the radio and my own ragged breathing. Then, I turned my head.

Ryland was watching me, one hand still resting on the steering wheel, his glasses reflecting the dashboard lights.

He looked exactly like he did in my head: messy hair, faded denim jacket, and that incredibly grounded vibe. I

didn’t regret inviting him. At all. He looked at my breathless state, then at my face.

"Wow," he murmured, "I mean, I know I said no rush, but I didn't think you'd take a dive into my passenger seat."

"Are you seriously judging a polite person who just didn't want to keep you waiting?" I shot back, leaning my head against the headrest.

"And besides, I just saved you from a parking ticket. You're welcome."

"My hero," he laughed, shifting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb.

For the first couple of blocks, the conversation flowed like we hadn't skipped a beat from our texting marathon. Ryland started rambling about his day, complaining about how one of his eighth-graders tried to convince him that rocks were technically alive, and I told him about a minor crisis involving work.

It was easy. It was normal.

But then, as he pulled up to a red light, a sudden lull fell over the car and the silence hit.

This is it.

The agonizing, dead silence has officially arrived. We've run out of material. I must have been visibly tense, practically burning a hole in the radio display with my eyes, because Ryland turned his head to look at me, shifting his weight against the driver's seat.

"Hey," he said, "You're doing that thing again."

I blinked, looking over at him.

"What thing?"

"Your shoulders are up to your ears and you look like you're mentally preparing to escape this car."

"I am not,"

I was.

How did he guess my plan?

He looked at me like he knew i was lying, then it hit me. He worked with literal kids every day, of course he knew when someone was lying.

Even though i should be having better lying skills than kids, but whatever.

"Okay, fine. If you must know, I was just having a minor existential crisis about the silence. We talked so much this week, Ryland. I was genuinely terrified that once we got into a small space without a screen, we’d just run out of words."

Ryland scoffed playfully, a low chuckle escaping his chest as the light turned green. He accelerated, keeping one hand loose on the wheel.

"Honey, please," he said, turning his head me,

"We spent three hours yesterday debating whether a hotdog qualifies as a sandwich. I think our ability to talk about absolute nonsense is scientifically proven at this point."

"Besides," he added, the words falling out of him with what seemed ease, even if you could say he totally thought about it before saying it.

“Quiet with you it's just a pause. I don't need you to entertain me. I'm just glad you're in the car."

We managed to find a parking spot that was only mildly illegal, walked up the steps to Maddy’s building, and now here we were.

Standing right outside apartment 4B.

Even through the heavy wood of the door, the bass of the music was practically rattling my teeth.

"Ready to face the music?" Ryland asked, tilting his head down to look at me, his hands shoved back into his jacket pockets.

" Only if you promise not to abandon me the second Maddy tries to make us play some sketchy drinking game," I warned, adjusting the strap of my bag.

"Deal. I’m your safety net, remember?"

I reached outnand knocked. The door flew open almost instantly, and there stood Maddy, holding a half-empty red plastic cup and looking like a mastermind who had just successfully executed a world-class heist.

Her eyes darted from me to Ryland, and a massive, smug grin stretched across her face. "Well, well, well," Maddy beamed, stepping aside to let us in. "Look who actually made it out of his natural habitat."

"Thanks for having me, Mads," Ryland smiled easily, stepping past her. I looked at her only to receive a smart and enjoyed wink. Something told me it’d be a long night.

The next couple of hours had actually been enjoyable. Even though while I wanted to stay glued to Ryland's side, my PR instincts unfortunately kicked in. I got sucked into three different conversations, one with Maddy's college friends, another helping someone clean up a spilled drink in the kitchen, and a third listening to a girl who probably told me her whole ex relationship’s story (which if i have to be honest, was actually pretty fun).

But the best part of the night? It was the check-ins. Every twenty minutes or so, I’d catch Ryland’s eye across the crowded living room. He’d be standing by the snack table, trapped in a conversation with someone, and he’d look over at me and pull a slightly strained face, or give me a subtle thumbs-up to ask 'Are we alive?' It felt like our own little private joke in a room full of people.

Moving from one group to another, I somehow found myself talking about zodiac signs with three or four people. I had literally zero knowledge on the subject, but I kept nodding like I was deeply invested. It might have been the alcohol talking, because I have to admit, I’d been drinking a bit.

Okay, maybe a little more than a bit, but listen, I needed it.

Then, I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder and rest there. I knew who it was before even looking.

"How are we holding up?"

There he was. I looked him dead in the eyes before my gaze quickly flicked over his features; and I might have stared at his lips a second too long, but hey, we can't be sure about that.

What I did notice tough was that I wasn't the only one who’d indulged a bit, judging by the almost empty cup in his hand.

"Hey," I smiled. "Hi."

"Do you want something to drink? I can stretch over to the kitchen table and grab us something."

"Uhm—I—"

Before I could say anything else, one of Maddy’s friends, a girl holding a half-empty vodka cranberry, looked back and forth between us. She pointed a finger from me to him, her eyes widening.

"Wait, hold on," she said, her voice easily carrying over the thumping bass. "Are you guys together?"

The first thing I did was whip my head toward him, pure panic setting in before I could even try to deny it.

"Oh! No, no, we're not—"

A sudden, deadly silence fell over the circle.

Safe to say, no one was buying my weak-ass denial.

"Oh, god, really? Sorry!" the girl gasped, waving her cup around. "I mean, I just saw you two and immediately thought—"

"Maybe it's the zodiac energy," a guy next to her joined in.

"You guys have got that insufferable 'we’ve been secretly dating for six months' energy."

"Exactly!" Vodka Cranberry girl squeaked, her thumbs already flying over her phone screen. "We need to do a full birth chart compatibility reading for you two right now. You, what’s your sign?"

Ryland took a slow sip from his cup before crossing his arms, “Oh, absolutely not," he said, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m a science teacher. Pretty sure attempting to predict my love life using planetary alignments violates my department's code of ethics."

"Come on, don't be a buzzkill!" the guy whined.

"Honey, tell your man to give up his birth time!"

Your man. I could have murdered this guy on the spot. And then committed immediate suicide.

"I mean—if he doesn't want to—"

"I'm a Virgo. September 12th. Now please let’s move on before my degree evaporates."

"A VIRGO?!" She practically shrieked, her eyes popping out of her head. She looked at me like I had just won the lottery. "Honey, you're a Scorpio, right?”

"Uh, yeah," I blinked, slightly dizzy from both the wine and the sheer volume of her voice. "November 11th."

The whole circle collectively gasped.

"What—what’s happening?" Ryland asked, looking genuinely confused.

The guy with the drink shook his head in dramatic disbelief. "Bro. You guys should sleep together, I’m not even joking."

"Should? They must!" Vodka Cranberry girl squeaked, slapping her hand over her mouth.

We looked at each other for like two seconds. I was terrified, and speechless and reviewing all of my life choices that brought me into having this conversation. God if you’re real-

"Uhm—okay, I think.." Ryland said, trying to calm the situation down.

Judging by the sudden shift in his posture, he’d probably saw my face and realized I was two seconds away from having a full-blown physical collapse right on Maddy’s carpet.

"Did you just say okay?!" someone yelled.

"He totally said okay!"

"No! No, no, no, I didn't—I mean, look you're scaring her!"

Ryland quickly corrected himself, throwing his hands up in defense. What I noticed, through the haze of my wine-induced panic, was that he was actually laughing under his breath. It was a low rumble that instantly made the tight knot in my chest loosen a little bit.

"We're just stating scientific facts!"

"I need a drink. Seriously," I muttered to Ryland, shaking my head as I tried to regain whatever composure I had left.

He turned to look at me, That attentive look in his eyes instantly wiped the entire chaotic conversation from my brain; well, almost all of it. My cheeks were still definitely on fire. He looked back at the group,grabbing my wrist to guide me away.

"Okay, we’re off now, and we’re going to get drunk, which is entirely your fault," Ryland announced over his shoulder, flashing them a sarcastic expression as he pulled me along.

"Hey, don't blame the astrologers!"

We maneuvered our way out of the circle and headed straight toward the kitchen, where the snack table and alcohol were located. I grabbed a cup of whatever that was , desperately needing something to cool down; probably alcohol wasn’t the best choice of all, but who cares.

"I am never, ever letting Maddy invite those people to a party again," I groaned into my palms, my voice muffled. "I think my soul just left my body."

Ryland let out a breathless laugh, leaning his shoulder against the wall right beside me. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, looking down at me with a soft, teasing glint behind his glasses. "Hey, look at the bright side," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet tone that instantly made my pulse do weird things. "At least now you know the stars officially approve of us."

I dropped my hands, shooting him an unamused look, though the stupid grin tugging at the corners of my lips totally ruined the effect. "Shut up," I muttered. "You practically agreed with them when you said 'okay'!"

"I said 'okay' to stop them from hyperventilating!" Ryland defended himself with a quiet laugh, stepping a fraction of an inch closer.

"I saw your eyes going wide and thought, 'Great, now I have to carry her down three flights of stairs.'"

"I was not going to faint," I squeaked, my gaze accidentally flicking down to his lips before I could stop myself.

Ryland’s smile softened into a, for me, devastating smirk as he caught my eyes darting down. He tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping an octave, meant only for me. "Right. You were completely in control," he whispered. I looked at him, the alcohol making me just brave enough to drop my defenses for a second. I held his gaze, my voice coming out quieter,

"Yeah, i was” I said, trying to look convincing .I was actually pretty good by holding the eye contact, even though it was making my heart go crazy.

I smiled, glancing away while sipping from my cup. Ryland blinked, his smile fading into something much more focused.

"Caught you" he mocked, leaning in just a tiny bit.

I didn't reply. For three whole seconds, nobody said a word. Ryland’s eyes searched my face. He cleared his throat softly, a breathless little laugh escaping him as he finally pulled back a fraction of an inch, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay," he muttered, his cheeks looking suspiciously flushed as he looked away for a second to regain his composure. "Let's get out of here?"

"God, yes," I exhaled, feeling my shoulders drop as the intense air between us finally broke. "Get me away from these people, please"

"Lead the way,"

We practically sprinted down the stairs, heading straight for the car without saying a word. I was tense, nervous. He got me like that.

“So," his voice cut through the silence, bringing me back to reality. "Where to?"

I swallowed hard. The alcohol in my system gave me a tiny boost of courage, fighting through the sheer panic that I was about to make an absolute fool of myself.

"You could..." I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek until it hurt.

I mean, you all know what my intentions were. I wanted him to come back with me. But the second the thought fully formed in my head, survival instinct kicked in.

"Okay, no," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. I couldn't ask him that.

Come on, be for real, Honey.

"What?" Ryland let out a low laugh, his eyes watching me, or better yet, observing me, like I was a complex equation he was trying to crack.

"Nothing," I blurted, before forcing the actual words out before I lost my nerve completely.

"You could just, I mean, I have alcohol at my place. Or real food. If you want."

The moment it left my mouth, I wanted to swallow my own tongue and choke on it.

Ryland blinked, caught off guard

"Wow—okay."

"Wow, okay?" I said, laughing right in his face.

"What? It’s a great offer. I accept” he defended himself, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up his collar that he tried (and failed) to hide. “What was i supposed to say?”

"I don't kn—okay, let's just go,"

"Floor four,"

I announced as we stepped into the quiet elevator.

"And fair warning: I didn't clean up before leaving tonight, so mind your business."

"Honey, I teach high schoolers," Ryland said dryly, adjusting his glasses. "I assure you, I've seen chaos you couldn't even dream of."

I unlocked my apartment door, stepping inside and flicking on the soft lamp by the couch. The warm light immediately filled the living room, making the space feel cozy now that it was just the two of us.

Ryland walked in behind me, kicking off his shoes near the mat and hanging his jacket on the rack. He looked around, taking in the small space with a quiet curiosity before running a hand through his hair.

"Nice place," he noted, stepping toward the kitchen island.

"Thanks. So, options," I said, heading straight for the fridge to avoid standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. "I have wine, two beers, and a suspiciously full bottle of tequila I don't remember buying."

Ryland leaned his hips against the edge of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing his forearms in a way that was entirely uncalled for.

"Let's stick to wine," he said, a quiet smile playing on his lips. "I feel like tequila leads to us calling Vodka Cranberry girl back for a second opinion on our birth charts, and I don't think we can take that."

"You’re right," I laughed, pulling out a bottle of white and grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. I poured us both a glass and handed one over the counter. As he took it, his fingers brushed against mine, just a casual touch, but enough to send a tiny spark running up my arm.

We proceeded to sit on the couch, he took a sip, looking at me over the rim with those observant eyes.

“By the way," Ryland chuckled softly. He looked down at his glass for a second, then back up at me, his expression softening into something warmer, a bit more grounded. "Thanks for inviting me up, Honey. Seriously."

"I was," I admitted, looking down at the condensation on my glass before meeting his eyes. "But... I'm glad you came."

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice dropping just a fraction.

He was a bit arrogant, wasn’t he?

"Yeah," I smiled, my brain making a dangerously clumsy leap thanks to the alcohol. "Even if you are a Virgin."

Ryland immediately choked on his wine, coughing into his elbow as I practically gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

"A Virgo," he corrected, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes wide in fake outrage while his face turned bright red. "Honey, I swear to God—"

"I meant Virgo! I swear!" I wheezed, hiding my burning face in my hands as I giggled hysterically. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry!"

"Unbelievable," Ryland muttered, though he was laughing too, shaking his head as he set his glass down on the counter. "My reputation is officially ruined."

Jumping up from the couch and still giggling, I announced abruptly,

"I need to put the pizza in the oven.We need food."

Ryland was still wiping a tiny tear of laughter from the corner of his eye, his shoulders shaking as he watched me practically sprint toward the kitchen.

"Yes, please," he called out, his voice raspy from choking on his wine. "Distract yourself before you say something compromising, again."

"I am officially revoking your right to speak for the next ten minutes!"

I shouted back, throwing open the freezer door with way too much energy and pulling out the boxed pizza. I heard the soft rustle of the couch cushions, followed by the thud of his socks against the floor. Before I could even figure out how to preheat the oven, Ryland was standing right there beside me, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He had his hands shoved in his pockets, watching me struggle with the plastic wrap.

“Do you need a certified adult to help you with that, or are you good?"

"I am completely capable of opening a frozen pizza, Ryland," I huffed, aggressively tearing at the box. Naturally, my slippery, wine-dampened fingers lost their grip, and the plastic wrap refused to budge.

Ryland let out a genuine, breathless laugh and took a couple of steps forward into the narrow kitchen.

"Here, give it to me before you end up stabbing the cardboard with a knife."

"I’ve got it!" I insisted, turning around to defend my kitchen honor, but he was already right there, leaning over my shoulder to grab the edge of the box.

He was so close that his chest lightly brushed against my arm. I turned my head to glare at him, but he was already looking down at me, his face just inches from mine. He was still laughing, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners behind his glasses, looking so genuinely happy and handsome that my brain completely short circuited.

"Do you?" he chuckled softly, his breath warm against my cheek.

"Shut up," I laughed, bumping my shoulder playfully against his chest. "You're ruining my host dignity."

"You lost your host dignity the second you called me a Virgin," he shot back instantly.

A brilliant,brilliant way to flirt, dare i say. Did not expect this from a middle school teacher.

"I said I was sorry! It was a- okay, i’m not arguing with you"

Ryland smiled, stepping back just enough to let me breathe again, taking the pizza box right out of my hands.

"Hey, I was doing that!" I protested, leaning against the counter.

"Stand back and let a professional handle the toaster oven."

"A professional?" I snorted, pouring a little more wine into my glass. "Is pizza prep part of the middle school teacher curriculum?"

"Right after 'patience of a saint' and 'how to spot a bad lie from thirty feet away,' " he said, smoothly sliding the tray into the oven and setting the timer. He turned around, leaning his lower back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Which, by the way, you’re terrible at."

"At lying?"

"At lying," he agreed, nodding once. "You wanted to seem bold but it actually looked like you were about to jump out of my car at the red light when you offered to come up here."

I groaned, taking a slow sip of wine. "Can we please delete the last forty-five minutes from the record?"

"No chance,"

"I’m keeping that mentally saved forever. 'Even if you are a Virgin.'"

"Ryland, I swear to God!" I reached out and whacked his arm.

He just laughed, completely unbothered, catching my wrist before I could pull my hand back. He didn't squeeze it, just held it loosely for a second, his thumb resting against the inside of my pulse point.

"Alright, alright," he murmured,"Ceasefire."

"Thank you."

"For now," he added.

We ended up eating the burnt-edge pizza straight off paper plates on the living room floor, leaning our backs against the base of the couch. I stood up, grabbing the paper plates, while Ryland grabbed our empty wine glasses. We walked into the tiny, narrow kitchen together. The space between the kitchen island and the counter was barely wide enough for one person, let alone two.

I tossed the plates into the trash and turned around to leave, only to find Ryland standing right there. He hadn't moved out of the way. He was leaning back against the counter, his shoulders practically blocking the exit, looking down at me.

For a second, neither of us said anything. A tiny, nervous laugh bubbled up in my chest, breaking the silence.

Ryland tilted his head, a slow, crooked smile touching the corner of his lips. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing," I whispered, "Just you."

Determined to break the agonizing tension before my brain completely melted, I decided to play it cool. I stepped even closer, rising up on my tiptoes to plant a quick, completely innocent kiss on his cheek.

"Thanks for the burnt pizza,Ry " I murmured. My lips lightly touched his warm skin, right at his cheekbone. But instead of pulling away immediately, I slid my lips along his cheek, stopping just a millimeter away from the corner of his mouth. He shot back.

“Well, first of all i’m not used to using other people’s ovens” he defended his pride, while i could only feel his blue eyes staring right into my soul. The closeness was driving me insane and i couldn’t understand how he could still argue back; i glanced over at his lips, he saw it, totally saw it, and a smart smile tugged at his lips “and second, i-“

He stopped. He looked at me for about 5 seconds, swinging between my eyes and lips, right where, a few moments later he crushed his lips into.

It started sweet, slow and passionate; my arms reaching over his neck and him wrapping my waist, his long fingers gripping my hip tightly to yank me forward until my chest was flushed flat against his. There was zero space left between us.

I melted into him entirely, my hands flying up to tangle into the soft hair at the back of his neck, pulling him down harder. His teeth lightly caught my lower lip, tugging it with a bite that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

My breath hitched in my throat, a tiny gasp escaping my mouth. Ryland took instant advantage of it. He deepened the kiss immediately, his tongue sliding past my lips, it was deep, and dare i say, starved.

He shifted his weight, pushing me back just a fraction until my lower back hit the edge of the kitchen counter. He pinned me there safely with his body, his hips pressed against mine, his mouth still consuming mine like he’d been waiting the entire night just for this.

When he finally broke the kiss to catch his breath, he didn't go far. His forehead rested heavily against mine, both of us panting, our lungs burning for air. His glasses were slightly crooked, his hair messy from my fingers.

His thumb lightly stroked the sensitive skin under my jaw, his lips parted and swollen.

"That," Ryland murmured, his voice completely wrecked and raspy, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face, "was definitely not a cheek kiss."

I clutched at the lapels of his shirt, my heart hammering like crazy, a breathless laugh escaping me.

"You cheated."

"Best decision I've made all night," he whispered, leaning back in to brush his lips softly against mine once more.

[effortlesslysweet]

grace bad as hell statement

[futurebillionairee]

just so you know, i’m TRYING to write something and i’m definitely not dead yet so i don’t know what or when but you’ll get something i swear

[saltaired]

me if I was a ref: 🗣️ final decision 10 red cards and prison for emi martinez

[71x2]

unfortunately for me he is the funniest football player out there

[futurebillionairee]

should i write the second chapter of my last oneshot or..

[futurebillionairee]

best job in the damn world

genre: ryland grace x reader oneshot (or maybe not😺)

summary: you have the best work in the whoole world..

author’s note: yes i’m very inspired these days and i love ryland grace (who doesn’t), so here you go!! thank me later

Working at this bookstore was hands down the best job you’d ever had in your entire life.

Seriously.

Most people probably look at a job like this and think it’s boring, super traditional, or just straight-up basic, but honestly? You were living your absolute best life in that place.

It wasn't one of those massive commercial chain stores, not even close. It was this hidden gem where the same regulars popped in all the time.

Sure, you’d get the occasional new face, usually stressed out college students or adorable old people who, by the time they hit the checkout counter, would literally curse themselves out for not discovering this spot sooner.

Your second favorite thing about working here was definitely the café just a few doors down. It was the best. Like clockwork, every single morning, you’d grab your coffee, hot or iced, depending on the vibe and the season, and sip it behind the counter or while sorting the shelves. you ’d also got super close with the barista, who sometimes would bring some coffee in the afternoon.

But let’s be real. There was a number one reason why this bookstore was your favorite place on the entire planet.

And that reason stood at a solid 6'1", had ash-blond hair that looked messy in the best way possible, and wore these simple, thin-rimmed glasses that perfectly framed the most striking blue eyes you’d ever seen.

The reason had a name: Ryland Grace.

You only knew that because he’d signed up for the store loyalty card a while back

Thank God for these gimmicks, honestly.

For about a year now, he’d been pulling up to the shop like multiple times a week.

He’d pick up the occasional thriller or a classic novel, but his main vibe was science books. We're talking high level, brain melting physics texts, but also weirdly specific middle school level science books. It didn't take a genius to piece it together: the guy was definitely a teacher.

After a few months of mutual, low-key awkwardness on both sides, you’d finally upgraded to actually making conversation. Nothing too deep or confidential, just regular small talk with the one person you looked forward to seeing more than anyone else in the world every couple of days.

Nothing too serious, right? Just a small, innocent, little talk.

Every time the bell above the door chimed, your brain secretly hoped it was him.

And usually, your chats were pretty standard, but there were days when his absolute lack of a filter made your entire week.

One time he was trying to explain a physics concept to you using whatever was on the counter. He picked up an orange from your lunch to demonstrate gravitational pull, tried to toss it casually in the air to look smooth, completely missed the catch, and the orange flew across the store, hitting the cranky regular customer Mr. Henderson right on the shoulder. Ryland hid behind a bookshelf for twenty minutes.

It was exactly that chaotic energy mixed with the whole 'passionate science professor' aesthetic that completely did it for you.

Today was a Friday, which meant it was one of those glorious days where he’d roll into the shop around 6:00 PM. You were counting down the minutes, literally.

Right on cue, the little bell above the door jangled, and there he was. Still in his teaching clothes, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and an energy drink gripped in his hand. The exact second his gaze landed on you, your heart did a stupid little flip. You just gave him a warm smile, and his face instantly lit up with one of his own before he vanished into the aisles.

Well, "vanished" was a metaphor, because you could still totally catch him peeking at you through the gaps in the shelves, or pretending to be deeply, spiritually invested in a book that was the complete opposite of his usual vibe, like a pastel-colored romance novel.

"Can I help you find something, Dr. Grace?" you called out, pitching your voice over the soft indie music humming through the shop's speakers.

Ryland flinched, nearly dropping his entire tower of books. He caught them with an uncoordinated scramble, his face instantly flushing a brilliant, tomato red.

"Uh! No! Well, yes. I mean—hi," he stammered, shuffling over to the counter. He offered a goofy, lop-sided grin. "Just, you know, gathering resources for the kids. Future scientists of America. Got to keep them fed with knowledge. And paper. Not literally eating the paper, obviously. That would be... not a good idea, yeah."

"Right..." you said, fighting a massive laugh as you started scanning his books.

You decided to lean your elbows on the counter, “You know, Ryland, if you keep buying out our entire science section every friday, I'm going to have to start giving you an employee discount. You're practically keeping our inventory moving."

Ryland blinked, visibly letting out a breath he’d been holding, relieved you hadn't totally called him out. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses for the twentieth time.

"Well, you know... standard supply and demand,"

"The kids have an insatiable thirst for knowledge. And by knowledge, I mean they like looking at pictures of black holes instead of doing their algebra."

“Right, right. Algebra is definitely the enemy," you laughed, but instead of finishing the transaction, you reached under the counter. "Actually, hold on a sec. I have something for you."

Ryland blinked, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit as he watched you pull out a beautifully wrapped, brand new hardcover book. It was a special, illustrated collector’s edition of an introductory astrophysics guide, perfect for middle schoolers, but cool enough for an adult, especially one like him.

You placed it gently on top of his stack. "I saw this in our new catalog last week and immediately thought of your class. I special ordered a copy just for you."

Ryland stared at the book like you’d just handed him a piece of actual moon rock. He opened his mouth, but for a solid five seconds, literally no sound came out. He looked up at you, his blue eyes incredibly wide.

"You... you ordered this? For me?" he squeaked, his voice cracking like a teenager's.

"For your students," you corrected playfully, though the faint blush creeping up your own neck probably gave you away. "Consider it a gift from the shop. No charge."

"What? No! No, absolutely not," Ryland immediately protested, his hands flying up in a frantic, uncoordinated wave. "I can't just take it. That violates basic economic principles. And store policy! I'm paying for it. Put it on the tab. Scan the barcode, i hav-"

"Ryland, stop," you giggled, reaching out and gently tapping his hand to calm him down. The moment your fingers brushed his skin, he froze completely, his entire face turning a brilliant shade of tomato red. "I already wrote it off as a promotional expense. It's totally fine. Just take the book."

"But—" he stammered, his eyes darting frantically between your hand and the book. He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... I feel like a criminal. A highly appreciative, scientifically touched criminal."

"Just take it as a thank you for keeping our store alive every week," you smiled, sliding his actual total across the screen. "Now, are you going to pay for the rest, or do I need to call security on you, Dr. Grace?"

"Right. Yes. Paying. Good," he mumbled, completely short circuited by the gesture. He fished his card out with shaking fingers, accidentally dropping a crumpled receipt onto the counter before finally handing it over.

As you processed the card, he stared down at the special-ordered book, a genuinely touchedn smile spreading across his face.

"Thank you," he said, looking up at you through his lashes, his voice suddenly dropping into a tone that was way less dorky and way more sincere. "Seriously. That was... incredibly nice of you."

Now, you were the one probably looking completely red, and embarrassingly lost.

"Anytime, Ryland."

He gathered his heavy bag and clutched the whole thing to his chest. He offered one last smile, turned on his heel, and started heading toward the exit.

You watched his back, letting out a quiet, half-disappointed sigh.

Classic Ryland, you thought.

The sweetest guy ever, but totally terrified.

He made it all the way to the door. His hand was literally on the brass handle. The little bell above the door gave a tiny, premature jangle.

But then, he stopped.

He stood frozen for a solid three seconds, his shoulders tense, looking like a man who was having a massive argument with his own brain.

Suddenly, he spun around. He marched right back down the center aisle, his boots clicking loudly against the hardwood floor, straight toward the checkout counter.

He stopped right in front of you, breathing a little heavy, his face completely flushed.

"Oh, hey again” you blinked, surprised. "Did you forget something?"

"Yes. No. Well, kinda” he blurted out, his words tumbling out at a million miles an hour. He slapped his hands down on the counter, then immediately pulled them back, looking panicked.

"What I mean is... I’m terrible at this. Absolutely awful. My students have better game than me, and they’re twelve."

"Terrible at what?"

He took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses one more time, and looked straight into your eyes. "I want to take you out. I mean, I would like- love to. For coffee. Or dinner. Or, you know, a random consumption of nutrients. Because every time I come in here, I spend half my time looking for books and the other half trying to figure out how to talk to you without sounding like a dick”

You stared at him. A huge, genuine smile broke across your face.

Ryland’s eyes went wide, misinterpreting your silence. "Oh god, that was weird, wasn't it? 'Consumption of nutrients', seriously, Grace? I'll just go. I'll find a new bookstore. I'll move to Canada—"

"Ryland, stop," you laughed, reaching over and grabbing a receipt paper and a pen. You quickly scribbled your ten-digit number down, adding a little smiley face at the bottom, and slid it across the wood to him. "I would love to consume nutrients with you."

He looked down at the slip of paper like it was a winning lottery ticket. The sheer relief that washed over his face was priceless. A massive, beautiful, lopsided grin spread across his face.

"Yeah? Okay. Awesome." he beamed, carefully folding the paper and tucking it into his front pocket like it was made of gold. "I'll... I'll text you. Tonight. Or after a socially acceptable amount of hours."

"Tonight is perfect," you smiled.

"Great. Cool.” He nodded sharply, radiating pure joy, and turned to leave.

Except, because he was floating on absolute cloud nine his motor skills completely gave up on him. He took three confident steps toward the exit, forgot how feet worked, and tripped over the absolutely flat, perfectly level welcome mat by the door. In a desperate bid for balance, his hand shot out and accidentally hit a cardboard floor display.

“Oh- my okay” he muttered to himself, freezing in place.

For a split second, he squeezed his eyes shut, praying to whatever god was listening that you hadn't seen him. But when he slowly peeked open one eye and realized you had a front-row seat to the entire disaster, he wanted to implode.

Highly mortified, he dropped to his knees, frantically grabbing the display and trying to force it back into position.

“I’m sorry—okay, I’m leaving. Like, right n—”

“You’re okay! It’s fine!!” you cut in, desperately trying to reassure him before he literally dies of secondary embarrassment on the spot.

You leaned over the counter, flashing him a reassuring smile to stop his total mental breakdown. "Seriously, Ryland, don't worry about it. It happens all the time."

“Well, that probably isn’t true," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "But thanks for being.. supportive. I’ll—I’ll text you!”

"Okay!” you smiled.

Best damn job in the world.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Imagine this…

warnings : domestic fluff ; married couple with a kid ; girl dad ryland grace ; hair braiding ; one toddler

This was not what Ryland had expected on a Friday evening when he settled onto the couch after dinner. After a long week of work, all he wanted was a lazy night with a cup of tea, a movie, and some time with his family. Instead, at that very moment, your three-year-old daughter marched into the living room, clutching her stuffed bunny under one arm. Judging by the determined look on her face, she had something very important to discuss. She stopped in front of Ryland's knees and stared up at him with wide eyes so much like his own.

"What's up, Bean?" he asked, peering at her over his glasses as he absentmindedly scratched his head. "Dada," Lily began solemnly, "make braid." You looked up from the book you'd been reading at the other end of the couch just in time to see your husband's eyes widen. "I'm sorry?" "Braid," Lily repeated, placing both hands on his knees. "Amy had at preschool. I want too." "Oh."

Ryland looked at you with the silent desperation of a man searching for rescue. You simply smiled and shrugged. This is between the two of you. 

"You do science," Lily continued. "Make braid." "Sweetheart, doing science and making braids are two very different things. I think maybe Mommy…" A tiny hand patted his knee reassuringly. "You can, Dada. You smart." Then she turned around and disappeared back toward her bedroom. Ryland stared into space for a long moment before slowly turning to you.

"A braid?" he repeated. "Amy wore one to preschool today," you explained. "Lily talked about it all the way home. I think she even said Amy's dad did it, but I'm not completely sure." "I've never... How do you even make one?" "Do some research, honey," you said with a grin. "You're good at that. After all... you do science."

Ryland took the mission very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that he skipped the movie entirely and buried himself in his phone. Every few minutes you heard cheerful female voices drifting from the speaker, patiently explaining each step of how to create the perfect braid. You couldn't help smiling every time another tutorial started playing.

"You know it doesn't have to be perfect, right?" you asked later that evening as you walked into the living room after your shower, ruffling his hair as you passed. "Lily will love whatever you make." "I want to do it properly. My daughter asked me." "Okay." You laughed softly. "Coming to bed?" "In a little while, okay?" 

It was just after six the next morning when you felt someone gently stroking your shoulder. You buried your face deeper into the pillow without opening your eyes. "It's Saturday..." you mumbled. "Honey," Ryland whispered, leaning over you, "I know it's Saturday, but... I really need you." One eye cracked open. "Actually..." he admitted, "to be completely honest, I need your head." You blinked. "More specifically... your hair." "You've lost your mind," you muttered. "A long time ago. Over you and Lily." He lifted the hand holding a hairbrush and several colorful hair ties. "But that's not what we're talking about. I spent all night watching tutorials on how to braid hair. I'm ready. I think. But before I try it on our amazing daughter, I need a practice run."

Rolling onto your back, you rubbed your eyes. Ryland Grace was the most devoted father you'd ever known, and there seemed to be no limit to how much effort he was willing to put into making Lily happy. With a sigh, knowing there was absolutely no chance he'd give up, and not having the heart to refuse, you sat up and let him do whatever he'd been planning with your hair.

It took thirty minutes. Maybe forty. Ryland worked with complete concentration. "Mrs. Susan said the sections have to be even," he murmured. "And Mia456 recommended lightly misting the hair with water if it's frizzy. Do we have any colorful hair ties? Maybe ones with flowers?" You started to shake your head, but Ryland stopped you immediately. "We'll have to buy some. Lily likes daisies." At last, after countless attempts, he stepped back and let you look in the mirror. The result was genuinely impressive.

Had it not been so painfully early in the morning when he'd dragged you out of bed, you probably would've shown a little more enthusiasm, but Dr. Grace clearly excelled at anything he decided to learn. You had barely stepped out of the bathroom, still admiring his handiwork, when your bedroom door creaked open. Lily stood in the doorway wearing pink pajamas covered in little white bunnies, rubbing one sleepy eye.

"Dada?" she asked in a tiny, drowsy voice. "Ready?" Ryland grabbed the hairbrush as though it were a sword he'd use to slay a dragon. "More than ever. Come here, Bean." With his help, Lily climbed onto the bed and sat perfectly still, hugging her stuffed bunny while you watched from the side, smiling. It was the sweetest sight imaginable.

Ryland carefully brushed through her soft hair while Lily happily chattered about the colorful hair tie Amy had worn yesterday. He promised he'd buy her even prettier ones. Five minutes later, after the hardest-earned braid of his life, Lily hopped off the bed and walked over to the mirror on your closet door. She turned this way and that like a little model before breaking into a huge smile.

"Good job, Dada," she declared, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "You're smart!" Ryland threw both arms into the air in triumph as Lily skipped happily out of the bedroom. He collapsed backward onto the bed with a weary sigh. "Hours of watching hair tutorials..." he groaned. "and it only took me five minutes." He looked thoughtfully toward the doorway. "Maybe I should tell her I can do a French braid too."

You sat beside him and ran your fingers through his wonderfully messy hair. "Save that for next time, hero," you said with a smile. "Lily's going to be the star of preschool anyway. I have a feeling every kid with long hair is going to line up for you. You've set the bar pretty high." Ryland groaned dramatically. "I'm a scientist, not a hairstylist." "Remember," you replied, looking at him with a teasing smile, "you're smart." He looked back at you, instantly recognizing the callback. "You'll figure it out." The two of you burst into laughter.

[futurebillionairee]

i’m gonna cry

[jo-is-writing]

summer college classes + working full time = no time for writing :(

in other words, sorry i haven't posted in like...two weeks (whoops!) here's a wee little sneak peek of chapter 10:

Saturday, 10:12 A.M. Ry: Question. Your phone vibrates atop the bathroom counter, and you damn near burn yourself with the curling iron in your haste to grab it. Y/N: Answer. Ry: How do you take your coffee? Heat begins to creep up your neck, and you can feel a giddy little grin tugging at your lips as you respond. Y/N: Gee, I wonder why you’re asking. Ry: It’s a real mystery. Y/N: You don’t have to do that. But man, you like that he does. Ry: Yes, yes, I know. Please answer. There’s only two people in front of me. Y/N: Vanilla latte, if they have it. Y/N: With oatmilk Y/N: Sorry Ry: Noted. Why are you sorry? Y/N: I’m being picky Ry: You asked for a singular modification. Y/N: Picky Ry: Not at all. Hot or iced? Y/N: Iced, please Y/N: Thank you thank you thank you Ry: You’re welcome you’re welcome you’re welcome

[futurebillionairee]

backup crew member

genre: ryland grace x yn one-shot; set on the hail mary spaceship

summary: it’s time to have the talk with rocky, and it does not end well.

author’s note: just a cute little one-shot wrote at two in the morning in less than one hour; i was inspired😽

"Rocky question."

The familiar, mechanical drone of the Eridian translation software echoed through the small projector room of the Hail Mary. It was supposed to be downtime and you, Ryland, and Rocky were simply spending some hours together without the looming shadow of the Astrophages dictating your every breath.

Ryland was completely dead to the world, utterly absorbed in one of those vintage sci-fibooks salvaged from the ship's digital library.

You were leaning heavily against his shoulder,his left arm securely draped around your back, his fingers absently tracing small, comforting patterns against your arm. It was a perfect, quiet routine.

Yet, despite your best attempts tofully melt into the cushions, you had noticed Rocky’s radar-organ vibrating through the thick xenonite partition. He had been staring at the two of you for twenty minutes. And now, he had officially shattered the peace with one of his many (honestly, far too many) inquisitive outbursts.

"What's up, Rock?" you murmured, not bothering to move.

Ryland didn't even blink; his eyes were still scanning the digital page, his brain miles away from the current solar system.

"Why Grace and Y/N always stick together, question?"

You let out a soft breath, relieved.

A normal, calm, non-invasive question.

Thank the stars.

It wasn't about fuel consumption, and it wasn't a terrifying engineering crisis. Just innocent curiosity about basic human behavior.

Beside you, you felt Ryland’s head tilt slightly. He pulled his eyes away from the screen just long enough to glance down at you, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before he shifted his weight and went right back to his reading, assuming you had it fully under control.

"Well, you see, Rocky," you began, shifting slightly against Ryland’s chest as you tried to figure out how to explain the intricate art of cuddling to an alien who didn't possess skin, ears,or eyes.

"When humans are in a relationship, when they love each other, they demonstrate their affection through physical attention. Touching, being close, sharing warmth. It's a way to comfort each other. You get it?"

On the other side of the glass, Rocky’s carapace tilted sharply, his radar-organ focusing directly on the spot where Ryland’s arm met your shoulder. He was paying closer attention than a scientist analyzing a new planet.

"Rocky understands. Statement," the translator chimed in a flat, satisfied tone.

You smiled, letting your guard down. You allowed your eyes to close, sinking back into Ryland’s side, feeling proud of your brief lecture on basic human sociology.

It was a good explanation. Simple, logical, clean.

You shouldn't have relaxed.

"Rocky question."

A cold dread washed over you.

Not again.

You opened your eyes, staring through the xenonite. The problem with Rocky was that neither you nor Ryland could simply choose to ignore him. Eridians were deeply social, communal creatures; if you shut him out or refused to answer his questions about human nature, he didn't just get confused, but he got genuinely upset, turning incredibly petty and passive-aggressive for the rest of the shift.

He would tap his claws at annoying frequencies or looking at you non stop. So,sighing internally, you forced your best 'I am incredibly fascinated' expression onto your face.

"Go ahead, buddy," you said, bracing yourself.

"Why Grace and Y/N make weird noises when it is sleep time, question?"

The silence that followed was so absolute you could hear the faint hum of the life support systems. The first thing you saw was Ryland’s e-book (the one that was supposedly the mostcaptivating thing in the universe) dropping flat onto his stomach with a pathetic little slap.

Ryland was staring at the xenonite glass, his jaw slightly slack, completely and utterly blindsided by the question.

You blinked twice, the realization hitting you like a physical blow. Your face instantly flamed up, a furious, burning heat crawling up your neck.

Slowly, you turned your head to look at Ryland. You cleared your throat, a smirk breaking through your utter mortification.

"Okay. I am officially pulling myself out of this conversation. Why don't you explain that to our alien friend, Doctor Grace?"

"Don't you dare encourage him," Ryland muttered, his voice barely a frantic whisper, hiseyes wide with sheer panic as he looked at you. He spoke through gritted teeth, as if lowering his volume would somehow prevent Rocky’s highly sensitive acoustic organs from picking up every syllable.

"Why mate Grace and mate Y/N not answer, question?" Rocky prompted, his clawstapping a rapid, slightly impatient rhythm against the floorboards of his enclosure.

"You hear me. My vocabulary logs say 'weird noises' indicate pain or technical failure. But you do not look broken."

You could see Ryland’s face turning a darker, more vibrant shade of red by the millisecond.

At this point, his skin was practically glowing. You were entirely certain that if given the choice between answering Rocky right now or being sucked out of the airlock into the freezing void of space, Ryland would have gladly strapped himself into a spacesuit-less jump.

"Those are... those are private things, Rocky," Ryland stammered, his hands gesticulatingwildly in the air, a sure sign his brain was short-circuiting.

"In human culture, sleep-time activities between a couple are confidential. They are not for public"

“Well.. it depends i gue-“

“Don’t!”

“Okay”

Unfortunately, Rocky had absolutely zero grasp of the human concepts of 'private' and 'personal.'

"Rocky mate with Grace and Y/N, statement," the engineer went on, his tone shifting into that stubborn, matter of fact frequency that meant he wasn't going to drop it.

"We are a crew-unit. We share fuel. We share food-paste. We share survival. Mates tell everything to their mates, statement. Why hide ?"

"It doesn't quite work like that with humans, Rocky," you intervened, rubbing the bridge of your nose as your laughter threatened to burst out again.

"Our mating and affection customs have a lot of psychological baggage attached to them."

A long, agonizingly awkward silence stretched across the projector room.

Rocky remained perfectly still, his carapace tilted as his highly advanced alien brain processed the data. The mechanical silence was deafening, making both you and Ryland tense up, waiting for the proverbial drop of the next hammer.

Suddenly, a sharp chord whistled through the speakers.

"Ah! Rocky understand!"

Ryland let out a massive, visible breath, his shoulders slumping.

"Thank God,"

he whispered, pressing a hand to his racing heart.

"See? Yay, Rocky! We're making progress," you said, a genuine grin breaking across your face.

You turned to Ryland, nudging his side playfully with your elbow. "I told you to have some faith in him. He's a literal genius, Ryland. You just have to give him a second to process human metaphors."

You looked back at the glass, feeling like a proud teacher guiding a brilliant student. "Good job, Rock."

"Yes. Grace and Y/N are trying to create a tiny human. Statement."

Ryland immediately choked on his own saliva.

He sat up so violently he almost gave you whiplash, his left arm ripping away from your shoulder as his book slid entirely off his lap, clattering loudly against the metal floor. He was coughing, wheezing, and trying to speak all at the same time.

"Oh my- ! No! No, no, no!" Ryland shrieked, his voice cracking spectacularly on the upper registers, sounding less like a distinguished scientist and more like a terrified middle school student. He waved his hands around like a pair of broken windmills.

"That is—wow, okay, absolutely not! We are not doing that! Put that thought out of your radar-organ immediately!"

Rocky’s carapace tilted so far to the left he looked like he might tip over.

"Logic error. Serious logic error. Human biology logs explicitly state: 'weird sleep-time noises' plus 'intense physical affection' equals genetic combination. Purpose of human genetic combination is reproduction. Reproduction make tiny humans. Why say no, Grace? Are your reproductive factory-organs broken?"

You bit your lower lip so hard you were fairly certain it was going to bleed. You slammed your face directly into Ryland’s shoulder, your entire body shaking uncontrollably with breathless laughter.

The sheer mortification.

"They are not broken!" Ryland yelled back, his face a terrifyingly bright shade of magenta.

He shot a desperate, wild look down at you, his eyes silently screaming for backup, but you merely lifted a hand from his shoulder and gave him a solid, unhelpful thumbs-up.

"You're doing great, babe. Explain the biochemistry," you wheezed into his shirt.

"I hate you," Ryland muttered to you before turning back to the glass, taking a deep, stabilizing breath that did absolutely nothing to calm him down.

" Look, Rocky... buddy. Listen to me. Humans are complicated biological entities. We don't just perform genetic combination to make babies. In fact, most of the time, we explicitly try not to make babies while doing it!"

Rocky’s radar-organ focused entirely on Ryland. "Explain. Why perform complex, energy-consuming physical labor if not for continuation of species? This defies evolutionary efficiency."

"Because of neurochemistry!" Ryland argued, his inner defensive school teacher taking full control of his panic. He began pacing the small room, gesturing wildly. "The human brain is wired to reward intimacy. When we are close to someone we love, the brain releases amassive amounts of endorphins, oxytocin, and dopamine. It feels good! It reduces stress! It strengthens the emotional bond between the couple! It’s a psychological necessity, not just a reproductive one! And besides, this ship is already way too small for the three of us. We do not need a tiny human running around breaking the control panels!"

Rocky went completely motionless. For a full ten seconds, the only sound was Ryland’s ragged breathing as he finished his desperate, frantic scientific lecture on the mechanics of human intimacy. Rocky’s claws tapped a slow, deeply analytical cadence, treating Ryland's outburst like a complex mathematical equation.

"Understand," Rocky finally whistled, the translator carrying a tone that sounded remarkably like a judge delivering a verdict.

"Humans perform high-energy, high-friction,noisy physical labor strictly for the fun-feelings. Sounds deeply inefficient. Huge waste of calories. Eridians find this concept highly chaotic."

You finally managed to lift your head from Ryland’s shoulder, wiping a literal tear of laughter from your eye as you leaned back against the seat.

"He’s actually not wrong, Ryland. When you look at it from an engineering perspective, it really is a massive waste of calories."

"Whose side are you even on?!"

Ryland snapped playfully, though the violent magenta flush on his cheeks was finally beginning to simmer down into a soft pink. He let out a long, dramatic sigh, rubbing his temples before slumping back down onto the bench beside you. He extended his arm again, dragging you back against his side with a chuckle.

But across the xenonite partition, Rocky’s radar-organ flared once more. His claws didn't just tap this time; they slammed against the floorboards in a stubborn refusal to drop the subject. The translator chimed back in, louder now.

"Rocky want tiny human. Statement."

Ryland’s book, which he had just sheepishly picked up from the floor, froze halfway to his lap. He slowly looked up at the glass, his eyes wide.

"What did you just say?"

"Rocky want tiny human," the alien repeated, his vocabulary synthesizer vibrating with high-pitched, enthusiastic whistles that meant he was completely dead serious.

"Space on Hail Mary is limited, yes. But tiny human is tiny! Requires small amount of food-paste. Small amount of oxygen. By my calculations, biomass increase is negligible for lifesupport systems. It is highly logical. You must make one."

You pressed your fist against your mouth, a fresh wave of helpless giggles bubbling up.

Ryland looked at you, his eyes completely bloodshot with pure desperation. "Rocky, it's notabout the food-paste consumption! It's a baby! Babies cry! They don't do science! They require twenty years of intensive training just to not destroy themselves!"

"Irrelevant!" Rocky shot back, clacking his front claws together like a judge striking a gavel. "You and yn are high-quality mates. Genius science-biomass plus genius yn-biomass. Genetic combination would create superior offspring. A backup crew member. Why say no? Rocky want backup crew member!"

"A backup crew member?!" Ryland squeaked, his voice cracking spectacularly on the upper registers. He stood up completely, pointing a wild, trembling finger at the glass.

"It's a human baby, Rocky! Not a spare engine part! You can't just breed a laboratory assistant while we’re orbiting a dying star!"

"Why not?" Rocky’s carapace tilted to a severe, deadpan angle. "Eridian crew units always lay eggs during long space journeys. If one engineer falls into a fuel tank, new engineer is already growing. It is simple redundancy. Good engineering. You and yn have low redundancy. Very dangerous strategy. Rocky want tiny human for mission safety."

"Oh my god," Ryland groaned, covering his glowing red face with both hands, his shoulders shaking.

"He's applying Eridian safety protocols to our sex life. I can't do this. I literally cannot do this. Tell him we're not a factory."

You finally lost it, bursting into full, loud laughter as you leaned forward on the bench, wiping away tears. "Come on, Doctor Grace! Convince him! Where is your commitment to mission redundancy? Think of the efficiency!"

"You are evil. Pure, unadulterated evil," Ryland muttered through his fingers before whipping his hands away from his face, turning to the glass to face his alien friend.

"Listen to me, Rocky! Look at my face. Read the acoustic pitch of my voice. We are not making a tiny human. First of all, human gestation takes nine full months. Nine months of physical strain on the body. We are in zero-g or partial-g most of the time! Human embryos cannot developbsafely without proper gravity! It would be a medical catastrophe!"

Rocky went completely still, his radar-organ tracking Ryland's frantic movements. "We have centrifuge, Grace. We can spin ship faster. Problem solved. Statement."

"No! No problem solved!" Ryland shrieked, waving his arms. "Spinning the ship faster throws off our astronomical readings! And what happens when the baby is born, huh? Eridian babies might come out ready to look at fuel valves, but human babies are completely useless! They can't even hold their own heads up! They sleep for two hours, wake up screaming, eat, poop, and repeat. It would destroy our work schedules!"

“But Tiny human can learn to clean small pipes. Can crawl into maintenance ducts where Ryland is too large and clumsy to fit. Excellent utility. Rocky can teach tiny human engineering. Will be good. I want tiny human."

"He wants to use our child as a chimney sweep!" Ryland yelled at the speaker, throwing his arms up in the air. "No tiny humans, Rocky! The factory is closed!”

Rocky let out a low, disappointed, rumbling chord that vibrated through the xenonite partition. The mechanical voice carried a tone of profound Eridian disappointment. "Humans are frustratingly stubborn. Rejecting free labor. Rejecting superior genetic backup. Deeply illogical. Rocky sad sad sad."

He paused, before he began to slowly retreat into his engineering cave, dragging a heavy piece of xenonite pipe with him.

"But fine," the mechanical voice sighed through the speaker. "I return to fuel calculations. No tiny humans. For now. But if engine break and you need small hands for small pipes, do not look at Rocky. Statement. Go back to your calorie wasting."

As the speaker went silent, Ryland dropped back onto the cushions beside you like a corpse, completely spent. I need a heavy drink and a memory eraser," he muttered, covering his eyes.

You burst out laughing, leaning against his shoulder. A few minutes of silence passed before Ryland spoke up again. "Can you imagine it, though... a baby in a mini spacesuit? Or, wait, imagine our kid with Rocky. I mean, c’mon"

You chuckled. "Rocky would teach them how to take apart the engines before they could even walk."

TAP TAP TAP.

Both of you froze. On the other side of the glass, Rocky was literally pressed against the partition. He had never left.

The translator chimed, full of enthusiasm: "You change minds, question?! Rocky heard conversation! Tiny human learns engineering in space suite! Should I prepare centrifuge for gravity now, question?!"

Ryland let his head drop onto your shoulder, defeated. "I am never speaking again."

[futurebillionairee]

lili’s masterlist🐆⭐️

ryland grace 🪐

‘the science of staying a little longer’ serie

part one

part two

part three

‘backup crew member’ one- shot

‘best job in the damn world’ one-shot

[futurebillionairee]

the science of staying a little longer.

genre: ryland grace x oc; part two of 'the science of staying a little longer' part one

summary: ‘please, don't fall asleep on that couch because what if i need you for my rescue?’

author’s note: hello girls!! welcome back! look at me being a good author and actually updating on time. Major win for me. 🥳 I’m so hyped for you guys to read this next part, but seriously, let me know what you think about how I’m writing Ryland’s character. I know there are some deviations here and there from the book and the movie, but I’m trying my absolute best to keep his vibe as close to the original as possible. also, please drop your theories and ideas in the comments! I’m already plotting the next few chapters and could definitely use some inspiration. love you all, happy reading!💗

Wednesday morning started exactly how all the worst Wednesdays in human history start: with a snoozed alarm that had been ignored a solid four times and my phone buzzing with a level of pure violence that made my entire nightstand vibrate.

I was still face-down, half-buried under my duvet, and a total, tragic lack of dignity.

I stretched my arm out and swiped answer, dragging the phone to my ear without even looking at the caller ID.

I already knew who it was.

Only one person on this planet possessed that kind of chaotic, early-bird energy at 7:30 AM.

"Are you alive?"

Maddy’s voice piped through, loud and disgustingly chipper.

"Tell me you’re alive and you have some juicy details for me, otherwise I swear to god I’m coming over there and beating you with a pillow."

"Mads, please,”

I groaned, burying my face deeper into my pillow.

"It is seven-thirty. I am literally trying to get out of bed and get ready before I have to lock myself in the office and deal with Friday’s charity gala. And no, there are no 'details'."

"Do not lie to me!”

she insisted, completely uncaring by my suffering.

"My brother told me Ryland didn’t head back with them. He said, and I quote, ‘he vanished into the rain looking like a lovesick puppy.' Honey Bennett, did you host a middle school science teacher in your apartment last night?"

"What? No! I literally just saved him from imminent pneumonia by sharing my umbrella to the parking lot,"

I said, rolling onto my back

."Plus,"

I went on, lifting my head off the pillow like she could actually see me,

"I literally saved him from wrapping himself around a lamppost."

I said, smiling at the memory of last night.

Looks like i’m still down bad, am i?

“Ohh” Maddy said with a serious cutie voice “already worrying for him!”

“I’m going to block you now”

While keeping her on speakerphone my other hand was already unlocking my screen. Despite my vocal protests and my morally correct part of me who didn’t want to aggravate things.

Instagram icon. Search bar.

R-y-l-a-n-d.

Nothing.

Okay, let’s try with a last name.

Wait, what even was his last name? Maddy hadn't mentioned it.

I tried typing Ryland Science.

Nothing but some guy doing dry-ice experiments in Ohio.

"Oh, come on,"

Maddy pushed, the sound of her morning coffee dripping into a mug in the background.

"I know you, Honey. You don't just share your personal bubble with anyone, let alone a compact umbrella that barely fits a toddler. Usually, if a guy gets within a three-foot radius of you in the rain, you'd use that umbrella as a weapon."

"So dramatic,"

I mumbled, switching gears and googling him instead.

Ryland science teacher. A website for a local middle school popped up, featuring a pixelated staff photo that looked like it had been taken circa 2023.

There was a lanky guy in the back row who looked like he was actively trying to camouflage himself behind a giant ficus plant.

Was that him? Maybe.

I zoomed in on the ficus photo until the pixels turned into giant, blurry squares. It was definitely an old shot. The lanky guy had a massive, goofy grin on his face, holding up what looked like a giant plastic model of an animal cell.

Yep. That was him.

"Honey? You still there, or did you drop your phone in the toilet?" Maddy’s voice broke through my hyper-fixation.

"I’m here,"

I lied smoothly, quickly closing the browser tab before I could lose myself in a middle school science department’s archives.

"Just stretching. My calves are literally crying after running in those boots on wet asphalt."

"Right. Stretching,"

Maddy said, her tone dripping with disbelief.

"So, back to my previous point. Ryland. He’s cute, right? And don't give me the 'he's okay' PR-approved response you gave me in the bathroom."

I sighed, letting my head fall back onto the mattress.

"He's... different, Mads. He's really nice. And funny. But he also gives off golden retriever’s vibes”

"And that, my dear, is exactly why you need him,"

Maddy said, her voice turning surprisingly soft, shifting from her usual gossipy energy into something much more grounded.

"Think about it, Honey. Who was the last guy you seriously dated? Carter?"

I winced.

Just hearing his name made my jaw clench. Carter was an account executive at a rival firm. He wore tailored suits, had a perfectly curated five-year plan, and used Excel spreadsheets to budget his free time.

He was also a condescending narcissist who spent eighteen months slowly chipping away at my self-esteem until I felt like a glorified accessory in his perfect life.

Kinda a dick.

"Carter was... structured,"

I mumbled, staring at the ceiling.

"Carter was a robot who judged you every time you were five minutes late, Honey. He made you feel like your natural, slightly messy self was a crime that needed to be corrected. And ever since you two broke up, you’ve been trying so hard to be perfect. You got the high-profile PR job, you started training like a maniac, you locked your feelings in a vault..."

She paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough for her words to sink in.

"Ryland doesn't look like he even knows where his car keys are half the time,"

Maddy continued gently.

"He’s not going to judge you for being late, because he’s probably going to be late too. He’s not going to expect you to be this flawless, unflappable machine. He liked the girl who crashed into the restaurant looking like a drowned rat."

"I did not look like a drowned rat," I protested, though my throat felt suddenly tight.

"You did, but you were a very cute drowned rat," she laughed.

"All I’m saying is... don't write him off just because he doesn't fit the 'perfect on paper' mold you've been forcing yourself into. Let yourself be a little messy, Hon."

And she was right. How could I even begin to argue with her?

For my entire life, I had been chasing after the "perfect" man, desperately trying to be just as perfect for him. I used to think I was destined to end up as one of those Stepford-wife types, the kind of girl who blindly follows her wealthy, narcissistic husband wherever he goes, smiling through the teeth of his constant affairs and toxic behavior.

But admitting that I’d been dead wrong about my taste in men for my entire twenty-six years on this planet? That was a pill way too bitter to swallow.

Was she actually right about Ryland, though?

Okay, stop.

This is ridiculous.

We don't even know each other. You can't possibly get to know the depth of a person's soul in a single rainy evening.

“ I need to hang up before you start picking out names for our hypothetical, science-fair-winning children,"

I muttered, while awkwardly balancing the phone between my shoulder and my ear.

Maddy let out a delighted laugh.

"Fine, fine. Go conquer the corporate world. But for the record, I think 'Arthur' has a nice, nerdy ring to it."

"Bye!!”

I hung up before she could respond, tossing my phone onto the bed like it had personally offended me.

I took a deep, stabilizing breath.

No more Ryland.

No more psychoanalyzing my taste in men at seven in the morning.

I had a thousands dollar charity gala to pull off in less than forty-eight hours, and if the catering company didn't confirm the vegan appetizers by noon, I was going to lose my mind.

Around an hour later, I was out the door and ,i guess, ready to start off my morning.

Usually, the noise of the city was enough to drown out my thoughts, but today, my brain felt like a split screen.

On one half: floor plans, seating charts, and press releases. On the other: a lopsided smile, crooked glasses, and the weight of a hand guiding me around a metal lamppost in the pouring rain.

Get it together, Honey, I scolded myself as I swiped my badge at the office. You are a professional. You do not get distracted by cute public school teachers.

And for the next two days, I actually succeeded.

Wednesday and Thursday turned into an absolute chaos. Between drafting press releases, fighting with a temperamental florist who insisted on using out-of-season lilies, and holding sessions with anxious, ultra-wealthy donors, I barely had time to eat, let alone think about men.

Well, mostly.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t glance at my phone a little too eagerly every time a notification popped up.

A tiny, stupid part of me, the part I wanted to aggressively lock in a broom closet, kept wondering if Maddy’s brother had actually given Ryland my number.

And if he had, why hadn't he texted? Was he too busy grading eighth-grade earth science homework? Or had he realized that a girl who screamed at rainstorms and wore ridiculously impractical boots was a one-time-only experience?

Who cares?

I told myself on Thursday night as I collapsed onto my couch at 10 PM. You don't care. You are an independent woman with a gala to run.

Which brought me to Friday afternoon.

The day of the event had finally arrived, and I was running on exactly four hours of sleep and two protein bars.

By 3 PM, my brain felt like scrambled eggs. I had one final walk-through at the venue in an hour, and I knew that if I didn't get a massive dose of caffeine into my system immediately, I was going to fall asleep standing up in front of the board of directors.

I practically stumbled into my favorite local coffee shop just a block away from my office.

I kept my head down, mindlessly scrolling through my work emails on my phone as I shuffled into the short line. I just needed a large iced macchiato, a quiet corner to chug it, and,

My eyes drifted to the person standing just three people ahead of me in line.

You know that feeling when a heavy weight suddenly drops from your chest straight into your stomach and you just want to spontaneously combust? Yeah, that.

I stared at the back of his head.

Messy, untamed brown hair that looked like it had been aggressively run through with hands during a stressful lesson. A slightly faded, soft gray hoodie.

And, as he tilted his head to look up at the menu board, the glasses.

Familiar glasses.

No. Way.

It was Ryland. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

For a split second, I genuinely hoped I’d have a minor heart attack.

And look, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like I had anything against him, or that I didn’t want to see him.

Honestly, it was quite the opposite.

It was the sheer panic of how my body reacted the second I laid eyes on him that terrified me.

And despite trying my absolute best not to think about him for the last forty-eight hours... well, take a wild guess at how that went.

I looked down at myself.

I was wearing formal wear, way too formal for someone who literally had dinosaur and DNA stickers plastered all over his work bag.

But then again, I was being ridiculous. What was the worst that could happen?

Apparently, my own nervous system had the answer. The second he made a slight movement, like he was about to turn or step out of line, my body bolted.

I pulled off this weird, jerky half-step backward that must have looked incredibly bizarre and embarrassing to anyone watching.

I took a slow, silent step backward, preparing to make a tactical retreat out the door. I could find another coffee shop. I could survive on vending-machines energy drinks.

I took another step back, my eyes locked on the back of his messy head, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

But Ryland chose that exact second to turn around, likely checking the glass display case of pastries to my left.

His eyes swept casually over the line, then paused.

He froze. His glasses slipped a millimeter down his nose as his gaze locked squarely onto me.

Fuck my life.

Now, you’d think I would have waved or at least offered a polite little smile, right?

Wrong.

My brain completely abandoned all logic and decided my best move was to abruptly snap my gaze away, staring up at the chalkboard menu above his head like I was trying to look as nonchalant as humanly possible.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his blurry figure stepping out of line and moving toward me. But I just kept staring at that menu, probably making a highly questionable face, refusing to turn around. That is, until he stopped right in front of me and started waving his hand back and forth in front of my eyes.

Big hands, long fingers, with a faint smudge of red ink on the thumb.

At this point, continuing to fake it would have just been humiliating.

(As if the last thirty seconds hadn’t been a total trainwreck already).

I finally turned my head, and the first thing I saw was his slightly confused face, though his mouth was twitching into a full-blown grin. The next thing I noticed was that he had taken his glasses off, holding them loosely in one hand.

So, I decided to play it bold and try to claw my way out of this with a shred of dignity left.

“Hey…!”

I squeaked, my eyes probably bulging out of my head like I’d just seen a demon.

“I totally didn't recognize you without your glasses!”

Total bullshit.

The sheer embarrassment.

He tilted his head, a low laugh escaping his chest at my pathetic excuse.

“Wow. Yeah. I look like a completely different person… without glasses,”

he said, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

But still, I refused to let my defense strategy die.

“Right?! Yes! It's wild!”

Nobody was buying this. And indeed—

“You were ignoring me,” he said, laughing outright now as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Me? No, absolutely not,”

I stammered, but my master plan was officially dead and buried.

“Uhm—that wasn’t a question, it was a statement.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no? Yes.”

“I told you, no i wasn’t”

“Yes, you were.”

“But—why would I even ignore you? That's insane.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I should be asking you.”

"Next in line!"

the barista shouted, breaking up our little moment, giving me a break from this conversation.

Ryland didn't even hesitate.

He smoothly stepped up to the counter, pulling his wallet out of his hoodie, but kept his body turned toward me.

"I'm buying. Consider it a tax for catching you in a lie."

"You don't have to do that—"

"I want to,"

he interrupted, giving the barista a quick nod before looking back at me.

"But since I only know your emergency-monsoon order from Tuesday, you're going to have to tell me what you actually want today. What's the fuel of choice?"

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot, totally defeated. "Fine. Large iced macchiato. Double shot."

"See? I knew it," Ryland beamed, turning to the cashier with a triumphant look. "One of those, and a regular black coffee for me, please."

The barista took his card, swiped it, and handed Ryland the receipt. We moved a few inches to the left, waiting by the pick-up counter.

"So,"

Ryland started, sliding his glasses back onto his face. He leaned his hip against the wooden counter, looking down at me with that quiet, intensely curious expression I was rapidly losing my immunity to.

"You’re... dressed up. Like, very formal."

" Well, yeah. I just finished sorting out the final details for an event tonight."

He watched me with those curious eyes, as if begging for more details.

"A charity gala. It's the annual St. Jude Autumn Foundation Gala. I’m the PR and Event Coordinator. I've spent the last three weeks arguing with literally anyone to organize this thing.Honestly, tonight is probably going to be a total nightmare. I'm already mentally preparing myself to fake smile for six hours straight."

" Sounds..”

Ryland murmured,trying to find a perfect adjective to describe the night.

"Like a highly sophisticated form of torture."

Perfect description.

"It really is,"

I sighed, running a hand over my temple.

"I'm genuinely dreading it."

Ryland watched me for a second, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

Then, he shrugged casually, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he were just throwing a silly joke out there.

"Well," he said, "If it gets too bad... like, if you're about to throw a glass of expensive champagne at a millionaire... you can always use your emergency escape route."

I raised an eyebrow, confused

“And what route is that?"

"Me," he shrugged, shoving his hands back into his hoodie pockets.

"I’ll be on my couch tonight doing absolutely nothing. If you need a getaway driver to rescue you from the snobs, just send a distress signal. I can park around the corner, sneak you out of the ballroom, and we can go get greasy fries at a 24-hour diner.”

I stared at him, expecting him to laugh it off as a total joke, but even though he was smiling, there was this incredibly sweetness in his eyes. He was actually offering to be my safety net. For someone who spent her entire life trying to look perfect, unflappable, and entirely independent, the thought of someone waiting to rescue me when I got tired of the act was overwhelming. In the best way possible.

"Wait, are you serious?" I must have looked completely blown away, judging by his reaction.

"Yeah. I mean, you rescued me once, so I have to return the favor, don't you think?" He spoke with so much calm that it was almost terrifying.

Nobody, and I mean, none of the guys I’d ever been with, would have done something like that. But right now, the thought of finding that kind of freedom with someone felt incredibly good. And deeply comforting.

Right after he said that, my eyes happened to land on the clock mounted on the wall next to us.

My stomach did a violent flip.

I was officially late for the final walkthrough with the board of directors.

"Oh god, okay, I seriously, seriously have to run right now,"

I gasped, practically snatching my large iced macchiato from the counter as the barista set it down.

"Wait, already?" Ryland blinked, taken aback by my sudden burst of adrenaline.

"Yes! If I'm late, my boss will actually feed me to the donors," I said, already backing toward the exit at a speed that border-lined jogging. I gave him a quick, breathless wave.

"Thank you for the coffee! And for the rescue offer!"

"Anytime, and hey, good luck tonight!"

as I struggled with the glass door, I looked back in embarrassment only to see Ryland pulling a face like

‘it's all good'

and giving me a thumbs-up.I hope he won’t ever bring this moment up again.

I pushed through the exit,and sprinted down the block. I spotted a yellow cab, lunged for the door, and threw myself onto the backseat, panting as I gave the driver the address of the venue.

It was only when the taxi merged into the chaotic midtown traffic, and I finally took a long, desperate sip of my iced coffee, that my brain decided to reboot.

I froze, the paper cup hovering halfway to my mouth.

The escape route.

He said to send a distress signal.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me,"

I groaned out loud, letting my head fall back against the vinyl seat.

Neither of us had exchanged numbers.

We had been so wrapped up in our stupid, chaotic banter that we had completely forgotten the most basic, fundamental part of a communication plan.

I didn't have his number, and he didn't have mine.

And honestly? There was no way in hell I was asking anyone and especially Maddy for it.

As her best friend, I refused to give her the satisfaction of thinking she had actually successfully played matchmaker.

Not as her plan had worked, let alone the fact that I wanted to call him to actually rescue me, right?

I mean, i wouldn’t-

would i?

I stared out the window as the city blurred past when i realized there was no point in second guessing myself as i couldn’t go back and ask for his number.

Great, I thought. No greasy fries for me.

By the time the clock neared midnight, my feet were entirely numb, and my jaw was physically aching from the sheer amount of polite, corporate approved smiling I’d been doing for the last four hours.

The gala had been a massive success, which should have made me happy, but I was exhausted.

I loved my job, I loved the events I put together, but right now, I just needed some peace and quiet.

After talking with at least dozens of different people, drowning in a sea of a hundred different heavy colognes and perfumes, and getting cornered by elderly women trying to set me up with their grandsons,

I just wanted to vanish.

Just for five minutes.

So, I decided to slip out onto the penthouse balcony and just get a break in the midnight view of San Francisco.

I sighed, pulling my phone out of my evening clutch just to check the time.

11:45 PM.

Just as I was about to slide the phone back into my bag, it buzzed in my palm.

Unknown Number: How are you holding up among the high-society predators? I hope you’re not dead yet.

Unknown Number: And I’m not telling you how I got your number.

Stop.

I literally stared at that text for three minutes straight, mouth wide open, cause no way I saw that coming.

And,as you can imagine, I couldn't stop the massive smile that took over my face afterwards , let alone the laugh that followed it, and definitely not the way my heart instantly started beating faster.

My fingers were practically flying across the keyboard before my brain could even try to stop them.

Honey: I'm alive, barely. And honestly, the high-society predators are nothing compared to the terrifying fact that a certain science teacher successfully hacked my contact info”

Honey: by the way i’m currently hiding on a balcony because if I have to listen to one more pitch about cryptocurrency, I might actually jump.

Honey: And please, you didn't exactly have to pull off a top-secret heist. Maddy's brother probably folded the second you asked.

I held my breath, watching the screen. Almost instantly, the little gray typing bubbles popped up.

Unknown number: For the record, he put up a decent fight. Oh, and please don’t jump

Unknown number: and, my offer still stands. I’m still on my couch anyway

I let out a soft laugh, my heart doing a quiet, stupidly happy flutter.

Honey: You lucky, I have to go back inside for the final toast. Please, don't fall asleep on that couch because what if i need you for my rescue?

I was about to slide the phone back into my clutch, thinking that was it, but it buzzed one last time.

Unknown number: I’ll be around with my phone on, so don't worry, we’re good.

It was a simple, quiet text, but it had a level of genuine thoughtfulness that completely disarmed me.

He was there if I needed him.

“Honey? There you are! We need you inside for the champagne pour!”

Chloe’s voice called out from the French doors, snapping me back to reality.

"Coming!"

I called back, my voice sounding slightly breathless.

Yep. I was in so, so much trouble.

[raylangivins]