sheepfilms
occasionally subtle
roma★
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Misplaced Lens Cap
YOU ARE THE REASON
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
#extradirty
KIROKAZE
Cosimo Galluzzi
Acquired Stardust
Love Begins
Andulka
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
dirt enthusiast
Product Placement
Game of Thrones Daily
titsay
hello vonnie
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from India
seen from Singapore
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
@graceatolympus
prince ♊︎. he/him queer. senior high student jason grace #1 defender™. bruce wayne enthusiast. daeron's man (real)
likes. percy jackson, dc comics, marvel franchise, yellowjackets, romcom movies, reading, harry potter, house of the dragons, etc.
dni. zionists, homophobes, racists, xenophobics, bad people in general!
masterlist coming soon!
happy pride month everyone!! especially to the ones who write x male reader fics. yall are goated.
CHAPTER 4: BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY — RYLAND GRACE X MALE!READER
summary. it's days away before launch day. and somewhere along the way, you don't realize that you had fallen for a certain person.
word count. 4k words.
tags. semi-canon-adjacent, pilot!reader, no mentions of y/n, reader starts out as an english teacher, co-workers to lovers, angst, flashbacks, space dread, hurt no comfort, pre launch to launch day, romantic tension, ryland falls first, reader falls harder, awkward ryland grace, full of microtropes, no happy ending.
a/n. idk if ppl would wanna see the ending of this mini fic. but if u do...... pls let me know bcs honestly idk if ppl actually like this or nah:) ALSO NOT PROOFREAD srry if theres some mistakes!
“You’re staring at that glass of beer like it had wronged you.”
You snap out of your staring, turning to look at the sound of the voice. A familiar brown haired woman sits besides you at the bar. She smiles, her own glass of what looks like vodka on her right hand. You know her name—you scramble inside your exhausted brain. Right, Olesya Ilyukhina. It was a bit of a hard name to remember, so you made a mental note to specifically stash it inside your mind.
You smile. “What if it did?”
She came up to you when it was your first no gravity drill. She had done it dozens of times, and had helped you. And over the weeks? she was good company. Though you never really talked to her that frequently, or to Commander Yáo. Which was… bad, you knew that—you should be getting close to the people you’d be spending years aboard the Hail Mary.
She chuckles, swirling the glass of vodka on her hands. For a moment, you had thought it would spill all over her. But it doesn't. The mini whirlpool slowly stills inside the glass.
“Excited about our little trip?” she wags her brows teasingly.
“Oh, yeah. Tell me about it.” you say, entertaining her sarcasm.
She giggles, and takes a big gulp of the vodka, slamming it on the counter of the bar. “Want to do some karaoke?” she points towards the back, where there was a big screen, and two microphones resting on the microphone stands at the middle.
You shake your head. Your stomach does a flip, just thinking about that.
She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” she says as she pats your back. She stands up, and approaches someone with the same enthusiasm she had when she saw you earlier.
Your gaze averts to the glass of beer infront of you, half full. In all of the hours you had spent inside this party, you had barely touched it. Maybe it was because you wanted to fit in, look like you wanted to get drunk also, like half the people inside this party—if you could even call it that, when you're sending people to their death. Where they'll have to wait for years, living on pure hope and prayers that this will work. This was a shot in the dark, and no one inside the room was willing to admit it. No one will.
It was easy to feel out of place.
You grab the glass of beer, and drink it all down until it was empty. The burning sensation was already starting to present itself.
You couldn't help but instinctively blink, looking around until you focus on a bottle of wine placed on one of the shelves infront of you. The wine splits off into two, and you didn't know if it was because you got drunk off of one glass of beer or if it was because of exhaustion.
“You look like a mess.”
You roll your eyes at that. “Give me a break, Olesya.”
“I’m… not her.”
You quickly look up at that. Your eyes caught that dirty blonde hair, and instantly, you knew who it was. Your heart skips a beat at the thought of knowing someone so well you could identify them just by the color of their hair.
He sits at the stool beside you.
He had his hands clasped together, resting at the wooden counter. His head was tilted, gaze going over your face.
Something like butterflies forms inside your stomach.
“Are you drunk?”
You snort. “God, no.”
“Are you sure?” he raises his brows, eyes going to the glass cup.
A scoff leaves your mouth. “I’m sure, Doctor Grace.”
The tone doesn't go past Ryland. “Jeez, I was just asking.”
“Go ask someone else.”
You immediately bite the inside of your cheek. You look away, as you didn't want to see that stupid sad face he has. The one that would feel like someone had stabbed a knife on your chest—those eyes, and that lips morphed into a subtle frown because he doesn't want to show you that he was affected by it.
Despite the music and chatter, the silence was louder.
You didn't know why you felt so angry, either. Maybe it was the absurdity of the situation—an alien amoeba that blocks sunlight, you—out of all people— going to space again, people pretending to be happy… it was too much. It was weird. Bizarre. No species in the whole, observable universe had probably never encountered this type of problem—if aliens even existed. This was all new. Unknown. And god, that scares you.
“Okay.”
At the corner of your eye, you see his white cardigan move as he stands up. Your heart lurches. Something inside, something deep within told you, that you can't bear seeing him go.
“Wait, I—” you turn to him, lips parted open. No words inside a dictionary could explain what you were feeling. “Stay.” you mutter out.
His gaze immediately softens—you see it beneath those glasses he wore. The urge to push them up his face intensifies, to the point you debated on actually doing it. But he was already moving, sitting back down again. You turn back towards the counter.
“Are you okay?”
You shrug. It was a simple question, but you genuinely see the concern etched on his features.
“Could be better.”
“So… were you drunk?” he asks, once more, just to make sure.
“No.” you blink, “Well, I don't… think so. Who gets drunk over one glass of beer?”
“I don't know, probably you?”
A smile rises up to your lips again. “Yeah, probably.”
You look up, just enough to take a glance at him. It was no surprise to find he was already staring back, leaning his head against his hand. You you see a small smile on his lips.
It felt like a rock was blocking your airways. You convince yourself it was the stuffiness of room. Not because of the person infront of you, right now.
Your eyes go back to his glasses. It was slowly sliding down, and he doesn't even realize it. On instinct, you reach out, and gently push it back towards his face. He slightly jumps, then chuckles.
It was going to fall. That was what your mind had deluded for you to think.
“Thanks for that.”
Your mouth was dry. “Yeah,” you say, voice hoarse, “Wouldn’t want that to fall. Glasses are expensive.”
“I have a spare one back at my apartment, but they won't let me go back.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “I don't know. Something about my safety, or something.”
“Who’s going to target a science teacher?”
He chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
A crash echoes through the room. For a millisecond, everyone went silent. Instinctively, you turn towards the source of the sound. Ryland does the same. Thankfully, it was nothing serious—just some random dude who got too drunk, arms wide on the table. Shards of glass that had fallen to the floor glimmer against the ceiling lights.
Ryland turns back to you.
“It’s very loud in here, isn't it?”
Your gaze goes back to him. “I guess so.”
He fiddles with his own fingers that were resting on his lap.
“So— I’m pretty sure… you're really not enjoying this party, I mean—”
You raise your brows. “What is it?”
“I wanted to ask if you want to escape this… party.” he says, followed with a heavy swallow.
You shrug. “Alright,” you sigh, “Lead the way.”
“Right!” he immediately stands up, almost tripping. He plays it off by holding onto the bar counter with one hand. “Sorry— yup, follow me.”
The warmth of the party was replaced with the cold air of the night as you step foot outside. The crunch of the grass under your shoes was the only thing audible at the moment.
“Where are we going?” you ask.
“A secret hangout spot I’ve found.” he turns back, just enough to take a look at you. Your eyes immediately find the smile plastered on his face.
You look away, gaze going to the night sky. He turns back around and continues his pace.
Stars were dotted across the black ocean above. You remember the hours you spent inside a room with a projector at the front, hundreds of information crammed inside your brain in a short amount of time. Routines and drills everyday, followed by lessons all about Astrophages, biology, chemistry and so on. Said you needed to know all of it—you weren't just a pilot, or the right hand of the commander, you’re saving the world itself. They said it was needed.
You wonder, from the dozens of white dots scattered across the sky, that Tau Ceti was one of them. You remember from a random lesson, that the professor had said the star was close enough to be visible in the night sky. Tiny, but there.
You bumped into Ryland’s back without even realizing it.
“Sorry—”
“It’s okay,” he reassures, “Something on your mind?”
You shake your head.
Your gaze focuses on what's behind—a lookout tower. The darkness enveloped the upper half of it.. The stairs were in a spiral shape, and you already feel your stomach clench inside.
“This was what's on your mind?”
“Yeah, isn't it great?” he looks up, marveling at the sheer size of it. “Come on.”
He goes towards the stairs. You follow him, hand holding onto the railing too tightly.
You feel your knuckles going white as you take each step. Ryland looks back, few steps ahead of you. “Something wrong?”
You swallow. “Yeah, of course. Probably just drank a bit too much—”
You make the mistake of looking down. The dark had enveloped the bottom. It reminded you of the accident years ago. Her face flashes inside your mind. Helpless. Falling.
You take another step. The metal step makes a deafening creak, and for a moment, you swore you felt the whole tower sway. The wind howls even louder, the icy cold air biting your knees. It makes it harder to move.
“Are you… scared of heights?” you hear Ryland ask.
“Why the hell would I be scared?” you unintentionally snapped, taking another step. Your vision was splitting into two.
“Here—”
You see a hand reaching out to you at the upper corner of your vision. You feel your heart jump out of your chest, and you don't know if it was because you were so high up, or if it was because the thought of holding his hand was too much to handle. Unbearable.
You take it anyway.
His hand was warm, despite the cold air.
Whether you wanted to admit it or not, Ryland Grace had bewitched you in a way you couldn't explain. Maybe it was the stupid jokes he would tell you when he noticed you were more exhausted than usual from drills and dry runs. Maybe it was the quick smile he would give you when you catch his eye in a meeting room full of people. Or maybe it was the way you could be completely vulnerable around him—the walls you had spent years carefully building, each brick, comes tumbling down when you spend the late nights talking like you two were the only people alive.
As you reach the top, the ledge of the lookout tower was quite spacious. Ryland pulls away first, hands going to hold the safety railings.
Your fingers flex. The chill air felt wrong. Holding him felt so right, like two missing pieces on a massive, incomplete puzzle. But you don't say how you wanted to feel his hand on yours once more. How you loved it how he held your calloused palms so delicately. So you stand there, gazing at the view infront of you.
“The stars are much more visible than normal,” he says.
“It is.” You swallow, throat feeling like sand-paper.
His head moves towards you. You fight the urge to stare back at him, so you stood there, pretending to stargaze the night sky.
“Something’s bothering you,”it wasn't a question. Just a a statement. A tinge of fear goes down your spine, at he could read you like a book.
“I don't know what you mean—”
“You were never a good liar,” he chuckles.
You sigh, leaning your weight against the metal railings. The wind howled once more, feeling your hair ride the wave of icy cold air.
“This mission,” you start, fingers absentmindedly tapping on the cold metal. “I don't know. I mean—”
Your lips were parted open, finding the right words to articulate the feelings bubbling inside. But nothing comes up. Your shoulders slump, defeated.
“What?” he presses further, albeit gently.
You bite your lower lip hard, almost enough to draw blood.
“I don't think I’m the right person for this.”
Ryland doesn't say anything instantly, just stares at you. Like he was looking at something fragile.
“Tell me.”
You look up at him. “What?”
“Tell me why you think that.”
You chew the inside of your cheek. “I’m scared I’ll mess up, somehow. Or something goes wrong, that's out of my control. And everyone would—”
“Whoa, hey.” he closes the distance, and puts a hand on your shoulder. The warmth seeps through your shirt.
“Nothing’s going to go wrong. The very best people are working at this project. And I’m sure you won't mess up, you're one of the most amazing people I know here.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I just do.”
You open your mouth to protest, but when you see his face—silently saying that his words were final—you shut them close. You give him a nod instead.
“There’s a reason why Stratt picked you. There's hundreds—thousands, of people, that wanted the job you have. I would know, she told me. But she ultimately ended up choosing you.”
“Why?”
“Because she trusts you. She knows your— I don't know, potential. Talent. How good you are at what you do.”
You smile sadly, nodding at his words.
He sighed, and pulls away, removing his hand on your arm. He takes a step back, and looks out at the grassland view infront. You try to not show the disappointment once more when he pulls away, but a sigh leaves your lips involuntarily. His head turns to you at the sound.
“Whatever high being there is, they're probably laughing at me right now,” you play off, chuckling. “They probably have a kick of watching me act like this.”
“Do you believe in those?” he asks.
“In what?” you turn your head towards him. A mistake. His eyes was more than enough to make you melt. He looked at you in a way no man or woman did.
“In… God. Or… religions, I don't know,” he murmurs.
You click your tongue. “I don't know. I guess I had never thought of that,” your gaze trace the outline of his glasses. The same one you had adjusted earlier. “How about you, Dr. Grace? do you believe in God?”
“I told you to stop calling me that.” His grin was too wide for it to be casual.
“Well I like calling you that.”
He nods, then turns to stare at the view infront of him. You see the way his eyes slightly narrow, the gears visibly turning inside that brain of his.
“I mean, the odds are never zero… right?” he speaks up a moment later.
“I’m asking what you believe in.”
He turns to you once more. He leans against the cold railings sideways, arms crossed. “I haven't… thought about it, either.”
“Oh, really?” you roll your eyes.
He smiles, then shrugs. “I might not believe in God,” he says, “But I do believe in you.”
Despite the windy environment, you couldn't get any air inside your lungs. You give him a smile. “Thanks,” you say, voice gentle. “I— I just… I wish everything will go smoothly this time.”
“What do you mean this time?” his brows raises upwards.
You dry-swallow. All this years, you had carried this burden all alone—the heaviness of it, with no one to share the weight of it. It would visit you in dreams, or even on the most random days. It was like a ghost, constantly following you.
“Years ago,” you start, voice already shaky. “There had been an accident. I… don't know if you’ve heard of it. NASA tried their best to keep it under wraps.” You run a quick hand on your face, but it was just an excuse to wipe the already forming tears on your eyes.
“What accident?”
“It was… I guess it was a secret mission, I suppose. They called it the Hermes project. To test new parts and technology they had developed for space travel.”
You look down, creating small rhythm on the metal railings with your fingers stalling as you try to find the next words. “It was supposed to be simple. Orbit the earth for a week… and go back.”
He nods. You take a peak towards his direction. He was stiff—still leaning sideways, hanging on each word and syllable.
You straighten yourself, letting out a small chuckle, trying to compose yourself.
“And… something went wrong along the way.”
“What went wrong?” he asks carefully, voice quiet.
“It was all brand new,” you say, “The materials they used for the ship—it didn't withstand the vacuum of space. Large hole inside the ship. Some people got sucked out. There were casualties, and you could guess what happened.”
Ryland doesn't say anything for a second or two.
“That’s—” he swallows, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“It’s fine,” you say, too quickly. “Don’t say that ‘it wasn't my fault’. I know that, already. But I just wish… I could've done more.”
“I’m sure you did everything you could’ve done.” he says, and you could hear the frown on his lips without even turning to look. “I know you said you know it wasn't your fault… But i still want to say it—it wasn't your fault. It never was. It was NASA’s fault for being this careless. They should’ve known better.”
You stay quiet as you take in his words. You knew deep inside that . But hearing it coming from Ryland himself, it felt different.
He shifts uncomfortably, changing his stance. He leans forward against the railings, facing forwards, arms resting on the metal.
“Stratt told me she knew you well before this project,” he says, trying to change the topic.
You let out something between a snort and a chuckle. “Yeah, she helped with the Hermes project. That's where I first met her.”
“Really?” he asks, genuinely interested.
“Mhm, and… well after that catastrophe of a mission. She soon moved to ESA a couple months after I quit myself.”
“Are you two close?”
“You’ll have to ask that herself.”
He groans, with a smile on his face. “Is that your big secret?”
You shrug, shoving your hands inside the pockets of your pants. The warmth of your pockets was very much needed. “Why? are you scared to ask her?”
“I’m not—” he stammers, “I’m not scared of her for god's sake.” he shakes his head, his smile only widening.
He pushes himself off the railings. “We should get some sleep, or no?”
You tilt your head, taking a step back. “Already leaving?”
“What? you want to sleep at this rusty old lookout tower?”
“I didn't say that—”
“I didn't forget the part you’re scared of heights.”
“I’m not.” you roll your eyes again. “Just say you dislike my company,” you say, teasing, “That’s why you want to leave.”
“Never.”
-
The journey down the lookout tower was easier. Ryland went first, and you don't miss the way he looks behind you every five steps, just to make you sure you were doing okay.
He turns to you once more, slowing his walking to a stop once the cabins were both infront of you. “Guess this is me.”
You didn't want the night to end. This was the first time you had wished time was non-linear.
“Goodnight, Grace.” you give him a small salute, a gesture you had gotten used to making when ending a conversation with him.
He watches you fumble for your keys inside your pockets. Watches you unlock the door, rotate the doorknob and push it open. He stands there, watching you when you take that first step inside.
“Wait,” he calls out.
You look back at him, the warm lights inside the cabin flooding out. “What?”
“Uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “I was wondering if… you know—”
“For once stop beating around the bush, Grace—”
“I was wondering if you wanted some company for tonight.” His eyes widened underneath the glasses he wore, like he was also surprised by what he was saying right now.
You blink yourself, lips parted mid-way for a response that had quickly disappeared off your mind.
“…What?”
“Not like that! I promise. I can sleep on the couch, I just thought that you needed some, you know— company. As friends.”
He shakes his head quickly, “If you don't want to, then that is a-o-kay with me. I know that was a weird… request, or— I don't know. Have a good night—”
He turns on his heels, ready to go.
“You can… stay.”
He turns towards you at the speed of light.
“Wait, really? I mean— yeah, alright. Sure.” he gives you an awkward thumbs up.
You step inside, leaving the door wide open for Ryland. He steps inside, hands shoved inside the pockets of his pants. He walks like a person that was afraid of breaking artifacts inside a museum. Careful and quiet.
You turn towards the switch, flipping the lights off. The warm hue immediately dissipates, replace by the cold lights of the moon.
You watch him awkwardly sit on the couch. “Are you… sure about this?”
“Yes!” he exclaims too quickly, “I mean— yes. Yes. I’m… sure. Of course.”
You give him a hesitant nod at that. Your hands move up, to nowhere in particular—just stuck mid-air. You play it off, molding your hands to give him two thumbs up. “I’ll be at my bed. Call me if you need anything.”
He gives you a tight smile as he nods, hands going to his knees.
“Goodnight,” he says.
You turn around, walking down the hallway leading to the sleeping quarters of this cabin. The bed was not made—the pillows were wrinkly, pieces of hair amidst the white sheets, and heavy blankets almost drooping down to the floor.
You sit at the edge of it. Immediately, you hear a small creak as it subtly lowers down because of your weight. You turn your eyes down the halls, where Ryland was barely visible.
You see his figure move to lay down, using two pillows to support his head.
You turn your gaze back towards your own bed, biting your inner cheek.
Just friends.
You stand up.
“Hey,” you call out to him, rubbing a quick hand on your face.
Immediately, he sits up. “Something wrong?”
You could hear the concern on his voice, and it makes you smile. It was a good thing the darkness had hidden it.
“You should sleep on the bed with me,” you say it outright. Normally, you wouldn't had been this forward. But maybe it was the exhaustion talking, or maybe it was because the nature of your relationship with this man was something words can't explain. “The couch is uncomfortable,” you follow up.
“Are you… sure?” he asks.
“I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't.”
He stares at you, for a second, before he throws up his hands up in defeat. “Alright, lead the way.”
You don't tell him how fast your heart was beating when he gets on the right side of the bed. You get on the bed opposite of him—and you don't tell him the way your heart skips a beat when you get a waft of his cologne. The same cologne that will linger the morning later.
“Goodnight. This is for real, this time,” he chuckles, taking off his glasses to put it on the bedside counter.
A tired smile forms on your lips. “Goodnight, Dr. Grace.”
And before sleep takes you, you trace the lines of his nose. Then his jaw, and then towards his now messy blonde hair, poking out of the pillows. Your pillows.
Just friends.
First post yippeee
Want to try out sketching on my phoneee
Live laugh love newt hihi
CHAPTER 3: BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY — RYLAND GRACE X MALE!READER
click for chapter 2
chapter 3 out of 5
summary. you meet ryland grace in a place where you least expected it.
word count. 4.4k
tags. semi-canon-adjacent, pilot!reader, no mentions of y/n, reader starts out as an english teacher, co-workers to lovers, angst, flashbacks, space dread, hurt no comfort, pre launch to launch day, romantic tension, ryland falls first, reader falls harder, awkward ryland grace, full of microtropes, no happy ending.
“The sun is dying,” Stratt says. It was a fact.
Though you knew that already. Just by how they talk about it in the news.
You stare at her, taking in the words. Your gaze goes towards her hair first—more paler than before. Next was to her face, tired eyes and more prominent wrinkles. Evident of the years she had to endure.
You shrug at her words, hands slipping inside the pockets of your pants. “And I’m not Superman,” you chuckle. What did the sun dying have to do with you, anyways?
Raindrops start to pelt your face. You look up, the clouds that had formed turned into a murky color of dark gray.
Stratt instinctively ducks onto the canopy entrance of the school. You follow after her. The rain immediately strengthens the moment you step away from the open space.
She doesn't say anything at first. Letting the pitter-patter of the brewing storm fill the silence.
“I did not expect you’d become… a teacher,” she says, turning her head to give a careful look at you.
You shrug again. “A bit random, isn't it?”
She nods. Her eyes subtly roam over you. Examining, inspecting. You feel it—a slither of tingles rises up from your spine. You don't turn to look at her, only staring forwards.
You clear your throat. “Why did you come here?”
“We need you.”
You scoff at that.
“For what? to make me be a guinea pig again for your projects? is that it?” words come out before you even process it.
“You’re not a guinea pig.”
“Well I feel like one.”
Silence fills the humid air again. You look down, fingers toying with the fabric of your pockets. A small pebble catches your eye, and unconsciously, you kick it forwards. It splashes onto a nearby pool of rainwater.
“Do you remember why I quit?” you murmur beneath the loud rain.
“I do.”
You take a shuddering deep breath.
“You were young back then,” she says, “It wasn't your fault.”
A chuckle escapes your lips. It was devoid of any humor. “You sound like me when I was still trying to convince myself.”
“It’s only a fact,” she replies, “It was a series of errors. It was no one's fault.”
You nod hesitantly. Everything inside your body badly wanted to believe that.
White flashes fill your vision—then suddenly, you were back there again.
Your hand strains as you desperately try to reach for her, other hand holding onto a nearby chair. “Come on! grab onto my hand!” you remember yelling out.
Flashing red lights fill the spaceship, accompanied with that loud blaring. Pieces of things were flying, getting sucked into that hole, and into the vacuum of space—where there was emptiness.
She strains for your hand.
You could almost touch her hand. Her spacesuit. Her.
And then she falls completely, into that void of space. You see her get smaller and smaller. She yells out your name, which rings inside your ears amidst the loud blaring. Everything was going wrong. None of this was supposed to happen. You weren't trained, or drilled for something like this.
“No!” you find yourself yelling.
You desperately look around, spotting a radio transmitter that had not flown away, stuck against a corner. You reach out for it. “Help! someone help— half of our ship had flown away—”
“Are you okay?”
You snap back to reality again. You turn towards Stratt, who was slightly leaning in to take a look at your face.
“Yeah, um—” you dry-swallow, running a quick hand through your face. It fixes nothing, but it gives you something to do.
You don't tell her that it keeps you up at night. That the sight of that girl—your crewmate years ago, floating further and further away. It haunts you. You never knew what happened to her. Every time someone tries telling the truth, your vision gets blurry, and a deafening ringing comes up, resulting in you not understanding what the person would be saying. It was, as if, a defense mechanism. Your brain knew you wouldn't be able to handle the truth.
You wonder, did she survive? what did it felt like, floating in the vacuum of space? did she get sucked in into Earth’s atmosphere? did she burn up?
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that. What was it?” you give her your best composed look.
It doesn't fool her. But she doesn't say anything for now.
She pulls away, shoulders slightly deflating.
“The sun,” she starts.
You nod at that. “What about our giant friend?”
“I assume you watch the news?”
“Yeah,” you click your tongue, “It’s… dimming, right?”
“In a nutshell, yes,” she says.
“And… you need me for what, exactly?”
She doesn't say anything for a second or two. She looks out at the space infront of her. It was still raining, yet it had slightly calm down. It didn't pelt down as hard like earlier.
“The sun would dim approximately one percent in the next five years,” she says, “It is a small number, enough for people to notice, but not enough for people to care about.”
The smell of dew and land hits your nose as the rain slows down.
“And in the next… what? twenty years? it would be around five percent. Now that's a number that people would notice. Crops will die, temperatures will plummet, and there will be a global food crisis.”
She turns to you.
“Do you understand? The gravity of the situation.”
“What are you trying to say?” your voice feels weirdly shaky.
“I’m trying to make you see it in a much clearer light. I understand you're hesitant about this, I do. But you are the next best thing that we have.”
You shake your head. “I… don't understand, are we going to space again, or what?”
“Yes,” she states simply.
A scoff leaves your lips. “And you think I’m the only one capable? while there's thousands of pilots are there?”
“They don't have what it takes,” she replies.
“You don't know that.”
“But I do.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. Enough for the metallic taste to sit on your tongue. You look away. The rain had stopped, the sounds of traffic and cars replacing the raindrops instead.
“I can't tell you any more,” she says, “Unless you agree to this.”
Your brain scrambles for something to be used as a reason to deny this request.
You had no one. Your father had died early on while you were studying to finish college. You had no contact over your siblings—the last you heard from them was a few years ago. And they weren't certainly making an effort to talk to you. And you certainly had no romantic partners.
Your mind wanders to… Ryland—no. He wasn't a partner in any way. Just a friend. Yesterday wasn't a date, it was just two co-workers, eating. And you don’t even know where he is, right now. You had typed in multiple drafts of text messages to send to him, but who were you, to worry about him? you were just another teacher at a school he worked at.
Your hand instinctively brushes on the stamp you had grabbed on his desk prior to this. It feels cold to the touch.
Just a friend.
“…Alright. Fine. I’ll do it.”
It felt final. Like a pin dropping amidst the silence. It was four words. Four words that you will never be able to take back again.
She nods approvingly. She does not smile, or show any hint of relief. It was as if she had expected for you to agree. That this was inevitable to happen.
“Come, we have to get to the Petrova Headquarters.” she starts walking almost instantly, not turning around to see if you were following. “We don't have much time. The lives of countless people are now in our hands.”
You awkwardly jog up to her side, matching her pace. “The what headquarters?”
She approaches a white van, slides the door open and gets inside. Reluctantly, you get inside too, and shut the door close.
“Petrova Headquarters.”
“Very helpful explanation.” you lean back into the car seat.
Her lips twitch upwards. “Important people will be there. World leaders, researchers—”
“Oh I don't think I can handle talking to them—”
The car starts moving, turning left and onto the road.
“You’ll do just alright.”
You look out at the car window. “I didn't get to pack some clothes—”
“I will send someone to get them.”
You slump back.
For a few minutes, silence takes over again. Flashes of the sun flicker at the window as the city changes into a grassland, windmills standing tall. The car drives onto small bumps, feeling like turbulence on an airplane, accompanied by the small ambient noise of the engine running.
Your gaze goes to the glowing ball of light above the blue sky. It burns, but you don't look away instantly.
You then close your eyes. For a second, you were back as a child. Sleeping inside your family’s car as the golden light hits your eyelids, the smell of the car freshener lingering on your nose, and the chattering of your parents upfront as it fading into noise at the back of your head.
You open your eyes, hoping that all of this? that it was just a dream. That you wake up and find your family is with you again. That you weren't alone. That you weren't so lonely.
But that doesn't happen.
“Hey,” you turn to Stratt, “What’s exactly dimming the sun?”
She does not say anything instantly. Instead she reaches out beside her, grabbing her laptop. She pulls it out from the sleeve, and turns it on. From the corner of your eye, you could see her home screen was littered with files that she had not bothered to organize. She didn't change the wallpaper either, it was the default one. She opens a file, filling the screen a blinding white light. You flinch a bit, and you expect for her to do the same thing. She does not. Her eyes skim through the document.
“They call it Astrophage,” she starts, “Think of it like it is an alien mold that feeds off of the energy of stars.”
You’ve never been good at the science part. All you’ve known in life were the manuals and instructions. The countless trainings and dry-runs on how to successfully launch a ship. The drilled routines that was still stuck in your head after countless years.
You nod. “What’s the red line that the news had been saying?”
“Ah,” she nods, “It is the light they emit when traveling. And right now, they're headed to Venus.”
Your head spins, desperately trying to grasp onto the information.
“Why are they going there?”
She turns to look at you. “That’s where you come in.”
You blink.
“We need to go to space to fill out the information we don't know of.”
Dread forms inside your stomach. It is like a knot, slowly unraveling. You were going back to space. And possibly never coming back. This types of missions were never really guaranteed to be a success. You wonder, in the back of your head, if the reason she chose you was because you had no one. That it was so much easier picking a person who has no one so that they’d get a sense of purpose, or that it would be easier for her to persuade them. Rather than someone who has a present family.
You swallow. “Where… are we going, exactly?”
“All stars around our sun had dimmed. Except one system. Tau Ceti. That's where we will be aiming to go. For answers.”
“But that's… insane,” you say carefully, “No one had ever done this before, in all of history.”
She sighed. “We have no other options. If we don't do this, every living thing, including us, will go extinct. This is our last hope. Our Hail Mary.”
—
The long car ride wasn't the final. It was slowly settling in, that this was much more serious than you had anticipated, when a naval pilot flies you to the headquarters. Well, it wasn't really a headquarter. It was more like… a combination of everything. Research labs, manufacturing plants, dozens of airplane hangars—a tiny operational space for this project.
The air gets cold as you enter the land of Russia. Constant murky clouds, and yet no storms would form. Stratt leads you to an open grass-field, guarded with electric fences all around. And in the center, were plane hangars turned into bases. Last minute labs. Last minute place for building a huge ship.
“No budget for a fancier place?” you chuckle.
“The budget is being used for the experiments and the construction of the ship.”
“The one I’m… assigned to?”
She nods. “Precisely.”
Inside one of the plane hangars was dozens, if not, hundreds of people working together to build one part of the ship. Sparks fly, welders were everywhere, and sounds of deafening hammering was present in the background. It took up the whole place This one, inside this base, was just a piece of it. You wonder unconsciously how they're going to all assemble it when once they're done.
“Now, if you follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters for the meanwhile.” she interrupts your staring.
“My what?” you turn to look at her, blinking.
“Where you will be staying for the meanwhile.” she turns, hand clasped together behind her back as she was already going outside.
“Right, of course.” you catch up to her. “It will probably take… weeks, or months of this.”
“Weeks,” she says, “The project had already started months ago. She leads you to where there were little… houses? or cabins, lined up all next to each other. It was at the very corner—near the fences. The noises from the plane hangar was muffled by now.
“Isn’t it a hazard to put it so close to the electric fences?” you ask.
“I trust you will be smart enough to not touch it.”
She goes towards the fourth cabin, opening the door. “Here, this one's not taken yet.”
“Who else lives at the other little houses?” you take a step inside. The entrance leads directly to the kitchen.
“Just your crew. I will introduce you to them, later. And also a scientist that is currently working for us, right now.”
She then takes a step inside, leaving the door open. Letting the cold air slip in. The floorboards creak against her shoes.
You look around. It was more nice than your apartment. Everything was brand new, no dust in sight. But it didn't exactly feel like home, but it felt like walking into a furniture store. It didn't feel like it was yours.
“You know, I didn't notice it before. But that scientist… do you know him?”
You turn around at that. “What do you mean?”
“You two work at the same school. It was my mistake I didn't look at your files first, then maybe I would've made my life easier and pick you up both at the same time.”
Your eyes narrow at that. You wander towards the little kitchen area, and lean back against the counters.
“I… don't know. I don't really talk to the people at my work.”
She doesn't say anything for a beat.
Then she takes a deep breath, nodding. “Settle in. I will call you when your two crew members had come back from their no gravity drill.”
She turns around, hand on the doorknob. “I will get someone to get your clothes back… home.”
That was her way of saying goodbye, for now.
You notice the way she says the word ‘home’ hesitantly. Did she have a home? a place to go after work? does she have a bed to go back to when she's exhausted?
Then she closes the door.
You were left there, at the aftermath of the situation. The silence was too loud.
You kick yourself up and explore the rest of this place. There was a living room—A TV mounted at the white walls, a sofa placing it along with a coffee table. On it, was a small vase containing flowers. On closer look, they were fake.
A few steps, you could reach the bathroom. It wasn't anything… special. Just the basic necessities. You step inside, facing the mirror. And for a moment, you just stare at the mirror. But you quickly look away. The sun was better to look at, rather than the mirror.
You step outside, shutting the bathroom door closed.
Down further was the bedroom. There was no door, just the doorway. In the middle was a singular bed. Clean pillows and sheets. At the side was a cabinet—it would've been nice, if you had some clothes to put it in. You didn't exactly predict that a normal day would turn like this.
When you step outside the cabin, the sun was setting. Unexpectedly, the clouds had cleared up. Yellows and pinks had painted the sky, a beautiful sunset—you take a mental note to remember this moment.
You wander back to the base where the part of the ship was being built. Hundreds of people were still there. It was easy to feel out place, everyone moved there—ignoring your presence.
“Good, you're here.”
You turn around at the voice. “Have you gotten my clothes yet?”
“Not yet. But I want you to meet someone.”
A man then pops up from behind her, and…
Oh.
“Meet Dr. Grace, the one responsible for the profound discoveries we had found for Astrophages.”
He smiles, but then immediately freezes instantly when his gaze lands to you.
He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it once more, before shutting it zip for good. You stare back at him, a bit wide-eyed. You didn't expect him, out of all people to be working at this project.
Stratt stands there, looking at Ryland, then at you. “Is there something wrong?”
“No! I mean—” his voice cracks.
“Nothing’s… wrong,” you say, still confused.
Both didn't convince her. But before she could say anything, someone comes up her, saying she was needed at one of the research facilities. She sighed, pinching her nose. “I will be back.” she then turns her back and immediately walks away.
You two stare at each other, like two deer caught in the road as a car with blinding lights comes by. His gaze goes towards your face, inspecting all of your features—hair, nose, eyes, the little bags under it, and to your lips. Immediately, he looks away, clearing his throat.
“What are you doing here?” was what first popped up inside his mind to say.
“What are you doing here?” you retaliate.
“You heard her! I’m… a scientist—no, biologist—whatever the terms are—” he shakes his head quickly. “You know, the research and experiments—”
“Did you agree to this?” you find yourself asking. You didn't really know why, either. Just a vague feeling subconsciously that you don't want him getting forced into something.
“Uh—” he falters for a second, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean… they kinda took me against own will and held me hostage on that stupid paper I wrote years ago, but you know—” he shrugs, “I guess I’m… helping them now. It’s alright, really.”
“Oh really?” your eyes narrow.
“Yes, really,“ he crosses his arms, “You still have not told me what you're doing here.”
“Oh, I—” you turn around at the half-built part of the ship. “I’ll be manning that ship.”
He blinks.
“What?”
“You heard me,” you say.
“That doesn't make any sense! you told me you just… worked as a pilot at a random airline. Unless I didn't check and NASA was considered an airline.” he chuckles at the absurdity.
You don't respond.
“…Oh come on.”
“Yeah, I kinda did lie to you—”
“It wasn't a ‘kinda’, you did lie to me.”
Ouch. You frown at his words. You stand there, a bit awkwardly. Your fingers ball into fists, looking away. You hear him sigh.
“It’s… fine. Don’t feel guilty about it.” he murmurs, putting his hands inside the pockets of his jeans.
“No, I shouldn't… had lied about that. Sorry.” you murmur, looking down. You couldn't look at his eyes right now. “I— just… I don't know. I wasn't ready to share that part of me yet.”
“It’s okay,” his voice was unusually soft. He remembers the split second where it looked like you dozed off that day at the takeout restaurant. “I understand, I mean… I wouldn't want to share things with myself, either.” he chuckles.
You give him a tight smile, nodding. “Right.”
He takes a deep breath. He feels his glasses slowly slipping, so he catches it on time and pushes it back. He silently curses himself for not being able to bring his other glasses that was tight on the face.
“So,” you click your tongue, “Did she also take you to those weird little cabins?”
“Oh, yeah,” he smiles, “It felt like walking inside an IKEA.”
“Very accurate.” you smile as well. Already, the nerves were getting lifted off your body. You notice it was always easy to laugh and smile around him, even though you know him for a few days,at best. But then again, that's all the qualities of just a friend—the frequent smiles, the weight that seems to almost disappear whenever you talk to him… Yes, just a friend. That's what he is to you, a friend.
“Do you… want to, perhaps—”
“I want to what?”
“You know,” he does some hand gestures you don't understand, “Want to check out mine? my own version of the cabin.”
“I doubt it will look any different,” you shrug, “But sure, I guess. This place is getting too loud anyways.”
“Great! great.” he gives you a thumbs up. You stare at it. He then quickly puts it down.
When both of you walk out the plane hangar, the sun had already set. Lights flickered on from all around the corners of the fences.
He opens the door to his cabin, then turns to look at you. Still holding the door open. You stare back at him, confused. You notice there was always a lot of staring done when you were around him. “Uh— after… you.”
“Oh,” you nod, “Right.” you quickly step inside.
The door shuts as he steps inside after you. He quickly fumbles for the light switch beside the door, and turns the lights on. Golden lights flood the entire place.
“Yup, very different from mine’s.” you say with all the sarcasm in the world. It was the same layout—entrance, then directly to the kitchen, turn right and you get the living room, and then a little hallway with the bathroom on the side and a bedroom at the very end. It almost feels dystopian, with the way every house looks the exact same. Down to the amount of flowers on the vase at the coffee table.
“Do you want a sandwich? I checked and they have microwave-ready egg sandwiches.” he walks over to the kitchen, opening the cabinets above the counters.
You lean against the marble counter-tops, a few inches away from him. “Egg sandwiches?” you repeat, “Oh, crikey. It’ll probably taste—”
“Horrible? probably.” he smiles, pulling out a container along with a microwavable plate. There was a simple sticker on the container, with black text saying ‘MICROWAVABLE EGG SANDWICH.’ He tears the container open, putting it on the plate. He looks at you, one brow raised. You shake your head, you didn't have the appetite today. He shrugs, “Suit yourself.”
Your gaze lands to the spinning plate inside the microwave. Then towards Ryland. You didn't notice it earlier, but he was wearing a knitted beanie. One hand goes to your pocket, out of habit, then you feel the hand stamp brush along your fingers. The same one you had took inside his classroom before.
You take it out of your pocket. Ryland’s gaze was still on the microwave, intensely watching it. “I bought something,” you speak up.
He turns to look at you with tired eyes. Then his gaze lands to the hand stamp you were holding. His eyes slightly lighten up. “Where did you get that?”
“At your classroom. I robbed everything there,” you joke. A smile was already forming once more. You extend your arm, giving it to him.
He looks at it for a long time, holding it like it was the most fragile thing in the world.
“Give me your hand,” he looks at you again.
“What?”
“Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
“Just give it to me, don't be stubborn.”
You roll your eyes at that. You weren't stubborn. You were anything but that. You reluctantly hold out your hand at him.
His touch was soft when his fingers brush past your hand. Like he wasn't quite sure. He gently closes your fingers, forming it into a fist instead. Then turns it around so he was seeing the back of your hand. He lifts the hand stamp up, then presses it on your skin. He pressed down for a few seconds before he quickly pulls it away, leaving the ink drying on it. It was still how you remembered the stamp—a silly planet Earth with eyes, arms and legs.
But instead of it imprinted on the papers he grades, it was etched on your skin.
You look up at Ryland, to find him already staring back. Weirdly, your stomach does a flip. You feel your heart beating out of your chest. You didn't know why such a simple gesture could make your body had a reaction like that. The noises seem to fade into nothingness, and there was just… him.
The microwave dings.
He pulls away. “I— um,” he swallows, “Doesn’t it… look awesome?” he points at your hand. “You know, the silly little earth. I actually… edited that one myself. Yup.” he opens the microwave, pulling out the plate. But since it was hot, he had to play hot potato and pass it around with both his hands, until he settles it down on the counter-tops.
“That explains why,” you murmur, gaze going to the back of your hand.
“Yeah, it’s… not my best work. But the kids love it.” he takes a bite out of the sandwich.
“It certainly has it's charm.”
You look back up at him once more, and thankfully, he wasn't looking at you again. Too busy devouring the sandwich.
Ryland Grace was something else.
CHAPTER 2: BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY — RYLAND GRACE X MALE!READER
click for chapter 1
chapter 2 out of 5
summary. things change when an old friend comes back to contact you.
tags. semi-canon-adjacent, pilot!reader, no mentions of y/n, reader starts out as an english teacher, co-workers to lovers, angst, flashbacks, space dread, hurt no comfort, pre launch to launch day, romantic tension, ryland falls first, reader falls harder, awkward ryland grace, full of microtropes, ryland owns a two seater bike because why not, no happy ending.
a/n. now we're getting to the good stuffs...... idk if ppl are necessary invested in this story. but if you do then i rlly appreciate it! again, if i write ryland inaccurate, or if there's just any inaccurate stuff, then do pls note this is just me indulging with my phm obsession right now LOL.
(not proofed read)
Ryland Grace was an interesting guy.
From the first few weeks of settling in this school, you knew one thing: he was passionate in his job. Which was a refresher, when half of the staff inside this school loathe to work everyday.
You slip your hands inside the pockets of your pants, grabbing the familiar feeling of your phone. It was a Thursday. Thursdays were… okay. You had always thought it was more of a filler day for Friday.
You step outside, ready to end the day with laying on your bed until tomorrow pops up again. The first few days of teaching was fun. The first days were always full of motivation, and hope. And then the burnt out feeling settles in, making each day a slug to go through.
Through the corner of your eye, you spot a familiar figure.
That familiar dirty blonde, currently trying to get his bike out of the parking zone. He fiddles and pulls at the lock he had installed on his own bike.
You walk towards him, hands shoved in both pockets of your pants. Despite summer season, the wind had been incredibly cold.
“Stealing your own bike, Grace?”
He looks up.
“Yeah, seems like it,” he says.
He tries one last time, putting the key inside the little padlock once more, turns it, when he finally unlocks it. The chains dropping to the ground that was previously holding the bike.
“There we go,” he murmurs to no one in particular. Just to himself mostly. He always does that—talking to himself. It had always given him a sense of comfort.
He looks at you again, and stares. Just for a moment or two. He opens his lips, searching the depths of his brain on what topic to talk about.
“So, uh— how was your day today?”
“Not good,” a slight frown forms on your lips. “I have a mountful of essays to read and grade tonight.”
“Well, I, uh— can always lend a helping hand ” he smiles.
“Hm,” you nod.
“Well, I mean— only if you want to, of course. If you don't want my help, then that's fine. English is not my specialty anyways. I can just be your— I don't know, your little moral support—”
“Calm down, jesus,” you chuckle, “You're acting like you've wet your pants, or something.”
He scratches the back of his neck, one hand on his bike. “Yup. Sorry about that.” he gives you a stiff thumbs-up.
“Right,” you pursed your lips, “If I ever am in need of help… then I guess I'll send you a text.”
You take a lazy step back, already waving him goodbye.
“Wait!” he calls out.
You turn around, and he does not say anything instantly.
He blinks, like he wasn't really expecting you to stop.
“I— are you… busy tonight?” he asks, “Wait— yes. You are. That essay thing you have to grade, right—”
“Spit it out, Grace.”
He takes a deep breath—it was subtle, but you notice it. The way his chest slightly puffs up, and the way he goes slightly stiff when he took that breath.
“I was wondering if you want to eat me,” he says.
“Wait— no— eat with me. Yes. Not— you know… dinner—”
A laugh slips out before you even notice it yourself.
“Atleast buy me a drink first, Grace.”
“No— I swear to god, that's not what I meant.”
He runs a messy hand through his blonde hair, which was already messy in the first place.
“You know what? have a nice day, or evening. I'll just—” he then rushes to get on his bike, ready to leave.
“You didn't let me answer your question.”
“Huh?“ he looks up.
“So you're just going to assume I said no?” you take a step closer. Unconsciously, you tilt your head. Gaze going first to his little bicycle helmet, slightly lopsided. And the way his glasses was almost sliding down his nose.
“I mean… I didn't mean to assume, but—”
Your gaze then goes to his bike. You didn't even realize it was a two-seater one. You had to admit—it was a bit silly. An image pops up inside your head: Ryland Grace, riding a two-seater bike all alone.
“You ride your bike with your friends?”
His gaze goes to the empty seat behind him. “Ah,” he clicks his tongue. He shifts slightly, balancing the bicycle with his feet on the ground. “This bike was just a hand-me-down from my uncle. But yeah, no. I don't have… friends. To ride it with. And uh… I don't really want to spend money to get a normal one. So, yeah.” he shrugs.
You nod. “Where are we going to eat?” you ask.
He blinks, slightly caught off-guard. Then a small smile rises from his lips.
“Do you like chinese takeout?”
“Sure.” you shrug.
“Well, um, get on. If… you want to eat. With me.” he says, accentuating the with.
He bites the inside of his cheek. “I don't have a helmet for you, sorry. I didn't really plan this through—”
“It's quite alright.” The bike shifts slightly as you get on, grabbing on his shoulders for support.
He goes stiff. Every muscle and vein in his body. You feel it on your fingers.
“I— um—” he stutters for a second, before he visibly collects himself.
“You should wear the helmet.” he says. He turns around, just enough as he removes it from his head. “I'm not a bad driver—promise! this is just for precautions. I mean, you wear protective goggles and gloves inside the laboratory at school, even though there are almost no harmful chemicals there, you know? you can never be too careful.”
You chuckle. “Well, what about you?”
“I'll be alright.”
You felt his cold fingers brush against your ears as he puts the bicycle helmet on top of your head. It was a bit too large. His fingers then moved to secure it, tightening it—but not too tight to the point it was uncomfortable.
“Is that okay?” he asks, a whisper.
You nod.
“Right.” he clears his throat, realizing rhe proximity and the situation he's in right now. He immediately pulls away, hands going back to the handlebar of the bike.
But you don't miss the way his fingers flex when he had pulled away.
—
The humid air hits your face immediately. Followed by the sound of sizzles and pans moving around.
Ryland chooses a booth near a window. He sits across from you.
“Do you come here often?” you ask. Your eyes then go to the menu that is on the table. You grab it, feeling the laminated surface of it on your fingers.
“Yeah, I do. An embarrassingly frequent amount of times,” he replies, grabbing the other menu adjacent to yours.
A small child that looks to be atleast 14 years old comes to the table, holding a small notepad and pen in hand. Turns out he was the waiter.
“Oh— uh,” you swallow, you have not finished reading the whole menu yet. Your gaze lands onto the noodles. “I'll just… get the classic stir fried noodles.”
“Great choice.” Ryland smiles. “I'll get the chinese soup dumplings.”
The child nods, and goes back to the back.
You quickly assess your surroundings. It was quite quaint, not alot of people were occupying the seats. And the flashing neon red sign of the restaurant's name was etched inside your mind. Chinese letters you couldn't quite read.
“So,” your gaze lands back at the man infront of you. “A science teacher, hm?”
He shrugs. “I just love science, I guess.”
“Did you always want to become a science teacher?”
He thinks for a second or two, clasping his hands that was resting on the table. “No. But I'm glad that I became one.”
You nod, eyes slightly narrowing. “So I assume you had a job prior to this?”
“Jeez, is this an interrogation?”
You chuckle. “Maybe it is.” you shrug.
“I was um… a Molecular biologist.”
“Fancy words,” you raise a brow, “So… you have a PhD then?”
“Uh— yeah. Which is, you know… everyone can get a PhD.” he shrugs.
“So they call you Dr. Grace?” you wag your brows teasingly.
He chuckles, shaking his head at that. “I would prefer if you don't call me that.” yet the smile on his lips was the exact opposite of his words.
“Fine, fine.” you lean back slightly, raising your hands in mock defeat.
The waiter comes back, setting down two glasses of water, then leaves.
It was Ryland's turn to ask. “How about you? anything I need to know?”
You shrug, reaching for the glass of water. The cold hits your fingers immediately. “I'm an open book. Ask away.”
“An English teacher, hm?” he leans in, eyes narrowed beneath those glasses he wore.
“What?” you pull your lips away from the glass of water, setting it down on the table. “English is fun.”
“It is. It certainly is.” he nods. “Okay, but well… you know— I don't want to pry, but…”
“Oh come on, Grace—”
He sighed at his own rambling. “What did you do before becoming a teacher?”
You freeze at that. For a moment, your eyes blink, staring right at Ryland.
He opens his mouth, quickly realizing the look on your face. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't had asked—”
“No, no. It's fine, uh—” you couldn't quite find the right words to explain it to him. Your eyes lands to the table, tracing the dark lines etched onto the very wood itself.
“Yeah, uh—” you swallow, looking up. “Just… planes and stuffs. Aeronautics. Yeah.”
“Really?” his eyes slightly light up at that.
You nod.
“Yeah… I flew.” you say, “Well, I don't have wings. I fly planes, before.” you say.
A deep sensation of something moving around settles inside your stomach. A white lie. That's it. It was true—you did fly, but not planes. But to space. And you really didn't know why you didn't want him to know the full truth. It was still too raw. Flashes of memories come alive, like you were reliving it all over again.
At first, you see Earth, but you weren't on Earth per se, but you were in space. You were looking out the window, the blue planet visible from above. Then you turn and look at your fellow crewmates, floating around inside the spaceship.
And then it all became blurry. Then it unblurs, and you were seeing flashing red lights. And something pulling you, instinctively you grab onto a chair. You look down, and the hatch was opened. Things were flying out and into the vacuum of space. You mentally count your crewmates, 1… 2…
Two.
Someone was missing.
“Hey.” someone calls out.
You snap out of it, and turn towards the sound. It was Ryland. And right now, the worry was etched onto his very face fight now.
“You okay?” he asks, voice going soft.
You look around. It was still the same Chinese restaurant you were in. Then you turn your eyes back at him again.
“Yeah, sorry.” you murmur.
“You sure? you… stared into space for a second there.”
You chuckle at that. Ryland doesn't even realize the unintentional pun he had said.
“…Yeah. I'm fine.” you give him a smile.
It doesn't convince him, but he lays down on it for now.
His shoulders deflates as he nods. “Right.”
“Yeah,” you scratch the back of your neck. “Right. uh, planes.” you clear your throat. “I did fly them before, yeah. Worked at a random airline, and…” then you shrug. Because there was no airline. Unless you didn't know that NASA was counted as one.
“And then the transition to the English Teacher?” Ryland chuckles slightly.
You smile. “Now you're getting it.”
The waiter comes back with two steaming hot food. Settles it on the table.
You look at the food, and then to Ryland. An involuntary smile rises from your lips.
He wasn't so bad.
—
Fridays were always your favorite.
The class room was empty as you type away on your laptop. Golden light of the afternoon spilling inside.
You do notice the absence of Ryland today. Usually he would take a peek inside your classroom, or invite you to have lunch during the twenty minute break in between classes. But today… it was like he had vanished.
The whole staring thing yesterday… it probably drove him away. You tense up, the possibility of driving another person away from your life… it clenches deep at your heart.
You pull your laptop shut. You just have to continue this back at the apartment. You slide it easily inside your backpack, and swing it around one shoulder. It was muscle memory at this point.
You step outside, and look at the empty hallways. It was eerily quiet.
You turn your gaze to the classroom where Ryland always teaches. And then you walk towards it, heart beating fast with each step that takes you closer to it.
You open the door, expecting fully for him to be sitting on that chair, gaze deep into his laptop. Or maybe, he was grading papers again, with that little stamp he always uses.
But he wasn't there.
You step closer to his desk. You reach out for the cabinet under, pulling it.
There was a single black whiteboard marker. And the stamp he uses.
You grab it, inspecting it thoroughly. You still remember the day when he was using it. It was so clear in your mind.
You hear cars pull up towards the front entrance of the school. Instinctively you tucked the stamp inside your pockets. It was weird, yes, you knew that. You'd bring it back to Ryland when you see him again.
And you realize it. Maybe you were just overthinking things? what if he just got sick?
You quickly make your way outside the school. You feel a droplet to your forehead. You look up, and clouds were already starting to form.
You hurry your pace.
“Wait.” someone calls out.
You freeze instantly. You don't need to turn around to know that voice.
“It's been a long time.”
You begrudgingly turn around, just to confirm who it was.
Ginger—no, almost like a blonde color hair. Like Ryland's. Then that voice, it was smooth. Like it held all the authority in the world.
Eva Stratt.
And she's come to get you.
BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY — RYLAND GRACE X MALE!READER
summary. where ryland grace falls for the new english teacher, with secrets of his own.
tags. semi-canon-adjacent, pilot!reader, no mentions of y/n, reader starts out as an english teacher, co-workers to lovers, angst, flashbacks, space dread, hurt no comfort, pre launch to launch day, romantic tension, established acquaintances with stratt, ryland falls first, reader falls harder, awkward ryland grace, full of microtropes, ryland owns a two seater bike because why not, no happy ending.
word count. 2.1k
chapter 1 out of 5
a/n. i do apologize if my ryland grace is very inaccurate to who he actually is. i still need to develop the skills of capturing personalities of fictional people. i am also sorry if the writing is very mid. im rusty as i had not written in a while. other than that, hope u enjoy! and yes thats a t swift title
(not proofed read)
The first thing you notice was the heat.
Which was funny, considering the situation of the star right now.
The bus slowly stills to a stop. You grab your bag that sat beside you with all the rush in the world, thinking the vehicle would move before you got out.
The first thing that caught your eye was the big letters engraved onto the walls themselves—Grover Cleveland Middle School. The smell of freshly cut grass was the second thing that hits you. It was quite a smell you never got around to describe, on why it was so comforting. It was home.
The school hallway was empty. Right. It was a Sunday. Lockers that were painted red were all neatly close, and the floors were clean, devoid of any trash. Sunlight shines through the windows, lighting up the inside with no trouble. A smart move for the fluorescent lights to be turned off right now.
You were only here to take a good look. It was a habit you had developed. Like an itch, almost. That you have to take a look at something—whether it be the stove would be working properly before using it,or checking the locks before going outside…. Or doing a last dry-run of flying a ship before the real thing.
An English teacher left due to retirement. But before leaving, she put in a good of you—said you had all the talent and potential. You vaguely even know this… person, only that they were a distant relative of one of your parent.
You step inside a classroom that a higher-up told you where you'll be teaching at. Yours.
The desks were all arranged neatly. Your eyes unconsciously count the number of it—Four lines and five rows. And at the front was the teacher's desk. And further, etched onto the wall, was a large white board. The white walls were covered with all types of decorations and posters. A specific one caught your eye: Keep calm and check your grammar. You blink at it, and roll your eyes slightly. You make a mental note on what decorations were in need of replacement and what does not need to be replaced.
You walk over to the teacher's desk, pull one of the cabinet. Nothing was there, except a few markers. One red, one blue and one black. They were probably all dry.
You take a step back, and turn around. Ready to leave, when you jump.
There, someone was standing on the doorway. Dirty blonde, glasses slightly a skewed, wearing a t-shirt that was probably a science joke, but you don't bother to try and understand it.
“Jesus Christ, you scared me.” you utter out, shoulders deflating at the aftermath of the shock.
“Right. Sorry. About that—” he stammers. “I wasn't staring. I was just making my way out when I saw this room open, so I went to check and—”
“Alright. I get you.” you interrupt his rambling. “Are you… a staff here?”
He chuckles. “Teacher, actually.” he says. “You must be the new English Teacher, so I heard.” he smiles.
“Right— Ryland. Grace. That's… my name.” he reaches out hesitantly, a hand. Like he was going for a handshake, but also not at the same time.
“Nice to meet you. Mr. Grace.” you nod. Formality was the next best thing right now. Even though this guy was anything but formal right now.
He awkwardly retracts his hand, nodding. “You too. I— uh, already know your name. Don't worry. Heard the Principal talking about it, earlier.”
“So you were spying on him?” you raise a brow.
“I'm— not!” he says too quickly. It was the truth, yet he was nervous. Getting awfully nervous, maybe at the fact he's digging a hole of himself right now. “I was just, you know— passing by.”
You blink. “Alright.” you nod. “Well, I better get going now.”
“Of course.” he says, shoulders deflating slightly. The tension visibly leaving him already. He steps to the side, and you walk out of the room.
“I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Grace.” you say one last time, before turning to the way you entered before.
---
Things were already going bad.
First, you wake up late. It was 6:30 AM, and school starts at 7:00 AM. You set an alarm for 5:00. It didn't alarm for whatever reason. Second, while trying to make your own low-grade coffee on the way out, you spill it on one of your favorite shirt. You change out last minute. Third, the bus you took suddenly had a flat tire halfway to school. So you got out, and ran all the way through.
Despite everything going wrong, the adrenaline felt… good. The rush of it all, it made your body buzz.
You rush inside the classroom. You were greeted by your students, already sitting down on their desks. They were rowdy at first, but quieted down when you entered.
And thus, it begins.
First, you introduce yourself. Did a short icebreaker, just to get to know them, and then teach them about… well, English. On the lesson plan that was given, it was all about Shakespeare, specifically his story Romeo and Juliet. It was easy to get into the flow of teaching, the story was one you know probably word-by word by now. Not because you love it, per say, but because it was basically engraved into your brain of how much times you have read it last night. Just to be sure.
One thing you had learned is that kids were actually interested when you make it interesting. And right now, they were all quiet, and listening intently. You thank whatever gods that existed out there, that they were actually listening.
Before the bell rings, a certain someone walks by the open doorway. “Sir Grace!” they call out in in unison.
He retraces his step, and peeks inside. “Well hello there, younglings.” he chuckles.
“Sir Grace, you're disrupting my class.” you clear your throat.
“Sorry.” he gives you a cheeky look. He waves goodbye, ready to leave, when the bell rings.
Immediately the students rush to stand up and go, the idea of lunch was enticing for them.
He stays at the doorway, greeting them. Even giving some of them a high-five. The kids adore him.
Once all the kids retreated, he looks up at you. “So,” he starts, leaning against the doorway. “How's your first day going?”
You shrug, leaning your hip against the edge of the teacher's desk. “It's been fine, I guess. Spilled coffee on the way, though.”
“I also did that on my first day.”
“Of course that happened to you.” something like a smile tries to reach your lips. But it doesn't. Not fully. A beat of silence, then you speak up again. “You didn't say what subject you teach.” it wasn't necessary a question, just a statement.
“I didn't?”
“No. You just said you were a teacher, yesterday.”
He chuckles again, scratching the back of his head. “Science. I teach science.”
“Interesting.” You didn't intend to say it, but the words were already slipping out your lips. A slip, if you call it that.
His ears slightly redden. It was subtle, the one you had to really look closely to notice.
Silence sits between you two again. You take a look at him, a really good look. This guy was… something else. You couldn't quite put your finger to it.
He clears his throat, awkwardly. It was less awkward than what he was doing yesterday, but still… awkward. “I better get going.” he says, simple.
He pushes himself off the doorway.
---
Golden light spills inside the classroom. All of your students had left already. School was over, for now. And then the same cycle repeats for the next few months. You take a deep breath, already dreading tomorrow.
Fatigue sits on your shoulders. Like someone was actively pressing on them. Hell you'd believe it if someone told you a ghost was sitting on your shoulders right now.
You slid your laptop inside your backpack, and hurl it around one arm.
You step out, the halls eerily empty. It looks like a scene of an apocalypse. Abandoned. Empty. Dread settles on your stomach, imagining a situation that you weren't in—maybe a zombie-type apocalypse? or an ice age type of apocalypse? how would you even survive a situation like that? or what if the sun died? the thought was scary. The news was already talking about it—something was dimming it, and scientists were fuddling for a breakthrough.
But then you see a janitor come out of the supply closet, and it cuts you out of your thoughts. You shake your head, grounding yourself. You count your fingers, they're all complete. You look for a smell—the smell of soap floods your nostrils, gaze going to the squeaky floor. And lastly, you look for something—a poster for cheer-leading tryouts. The colors red and pink pop out the most.
You feel your heart slow down.
You turn towards the doors, but stop. Your foot was halfway to the floor, but a thought popped inside your head.
You had no papers to grade, just yet. No one in particular was waiting for you back at your apartment, and you had no plans for tonight.
You turn back towards the hallway, and began to walk deeper inside the school. Maybe get a layout of the school? or to explore? you didn't know, really. There was no harm in not going home instantly.
All of the classrooms were already closed and locked. You peek inside the small window of the doors—each classroom was decorated differently. One in particular was decorated with pink decorations and ribbons, all over the place.
Then you hear someone curse. Muffled. You look towards the source of the noise, an open door. You slowly make your way towards it, and the first thing that catches your eye was the hanging planets on the roof, attached with strings.
Creative. That was what you thought. Then you look at the person sitting on the teacher's desk.
It was him.
Currently ducked under the table, trying to grab the scattered papers that were all over the floor.
“You shouldn't be cursing, Sir Grace.” you say.
He immediately tries looking up, but bumps his head onto the desk.
“Ouch—” he gasps out, quickly rubbing the back of his head. “You scared me, Jesus.”
“Then I guess we're even now.” you smile. Slightly.
He smiles too. “I guess so.”
You step inside, and grab the remaining papers he had not picked up, then sets them neatly on the desk.
“Thank you.” he says.
You take a quick look around the classroom. Filled to the brim with space-themed decorations. “I like what you did to the room.”
“Hm?” he perks up, tidying the papers on his hands. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks, but it wasn't really me. Half of it was already here.”
“What were the ones you did then?”
He then points at the small globe at the edge of the desk. “That one, and…” he points towards at the roof. “The planets hanging from above. Pretty neat, right?”
“Yeah. It's… cool.” you nod, leaning against the desk, beside him. You cross his arms, and turn your gaze down at him again. He was currently grading papers. He reads them thoroughly, before grabbing his stamp and putting it on the paper. The stamp had a silly design, a small earth with eyes, arms and hands, and some legs.
“An assignment, I assume?” you ask.
“Yup,” he says, eyes on the paper still. His glasses were going down, and doesn't notice. “Lunar cycles. Made them draw a diagram of it.” he elaborates. “You see, the moon is very interesting. One orbit of the moon around the earth takes approximately—”
“I know what a lunar cycle is, Grace.”
“Right.” he immediately stops rambling, and stamps another paper again. You shake your head, amused.
He takes a hesitant look at you, looking up. He adjusted his glasses, pushes it. “Have you, uh—met the other teachers?”
You shake your head again, but this time, to say no.
“You're the first teacher I have met.” you say.
“Ah,” he nods, “Well don't worry about it. A bunch of them are… well— I'm not going to say boring, or mean. I get along with them fairly well, actually, but—”
He stops when he realizes he's rambling again. “They're… nice. You should talk to them when you have the chance to.”
You nod. “Noted.”
You kick yourself off the desk. “Well, I better head home. Have fun grading papers, Grace.”
You don't wait for a reply, already going for the door.
He looks up, gaze fixated on the doorway. Where you had just been.
“Christ,” he mumbles, then turns to look back at the paper.
He doesn't know why he gets so nervous around you.
the cliché one bed trope
sypnosis. in which you and jason grace manage to book a motel with one bed only due to poor budget managing during a quest.
“are you tired yet?”
the blistering sun was doing way too much. sweat clinged onto you like spider-webs, your clothes feeling tremendously hot to wear right now.
“i'm quite alright, jason.” you lie. it takes an ounce of a brain to see that you were infact, doing not fine. and unfortunately, jason grace has an ounce of a brain.
new york city's heatwave was no joke. it felt like you were getting microwaved, paired with the countless of times you have to bump into people while walking against the crowd. it wasn't fun. but then again, when was going on a quest to get sent to your doom (probably) fun?
“you don't look fine,” he frowns.
that ticks something. jason grace was a phenomenal quest partner—he was strong, first of all, being the son of jupiter. second, he wasn't annoying and pricky like percy, and third? he didn't like to disagree much. but right now? the heat was tampering with your head. it made you get agitated more.
you turn around, halting your walking to a stop. jason immediately follows to a stop also, to prevent bumping into you. your eyes stare right at his own ocean eyes, ones you could imagine yourself drowning in.
“i'm fine... alright? i just... i just want to finish this quest as soon as possible.” you murmur.
he only nods, adjusting the backpack resting on his back. you turn around and continue to navigate the city, pulling out a compass that was previously resting on your pocket.
“so... who'd you think stole apollo's harp?” he asks, trying to keep up with your pace. he pops up to your side.
“i have no clue.” you reply truthfully.
your mind wanders back to camp, where chiron had explained that someone had stolen the posession of the sun god's most beloved instrument—his harp. without it, music became bland. more and more mortals became distant with music itself with every second passing by.
you intently look at the needle of the compass, pointing in all kinds of directions. something was disrupting it, something powerful enough to interfere with the poles itself.
“jason, hey, look at this—”
you turn, expecting the blonde to be right beside you. what you didn't expect was him going to a 7/11 to buy god knows what.
“jason!” you call out, following him inside quickly.
when you entered the store, it was already too late. you see him, filling up what looks like a slushie cup with some light blue substance.
“hm?” he turns around, sipping the slushie.
“dude, that's the last of our money.” you shoot him a glare. the air conditioning of the store wasn't enough to mask the heat, and it was already making you angry again.
“but i thought—”
“we're sharing money, or did you not remember that?”
he stays quiet at that, turning to look at the slushie cup. “right, uh—i must have forgot. it was way too hot, sorry about that—”
you couldn't help but pinch the bridge of your nose, “just—let's just go.” with a sigh, you turn around and get out of the 7/11.
he follows quietly, throwing the slushie cup into the trash bin.
you guys continue like this, walking aimlessly around new york city with no plan whatsoever. neither of you wanting to talk—a silent agreement. it would've just end up in an argument.
the sun was starting to set, coloring the skies an orange hue. it was also a stark reminder that you guys had made no progress.
considering jason had spent a good amount of money because of that slushie... you guys had to resort to a motel in the shady side of the city.
desperate times calls for desperate measures.
the motel looked like one of your run-down ones you could see in almost all movies—overgrown walls, untidy parking lot, and some of the lights flickering.
once you two both get inside, the stench was what hits you both at first.
you muster up the courage, and go to the receptionist. “two rooms, please.” you say plainly, trying not to tear up.
the receptionist behind the counter was an old man. beers crowded the side of his table. it already told you what you needed to know.
he raises a brow, turns to look at his dusty computer, clicks a few times with that obnoxious mouse and turns to you again:
“we only have one room left.” he says only.
“what?” you blink. “surely there's some arrangements you can do, sir—” jason steps in from behind you.
“aren't you two lovebirds?” he raises a brow, “shouldn't you be sharing a room anyways?” he then grabs a bottle of beer and chugs it.
“oh we're not—” you both say at the same time.
“we're not—” you guys say in unison again.
you shoot him a look, and clear your throat. “we're not, uh— partners.” you say.
the receptionist only shrugs. “one room. take it or leave it.”
and if on cue, the door swings open to reveal a person walking to the receptionist—probably to book the only available room too.
in desperation, you agree.
“right, okay—we'll take it. the... singular room.” you say, tensing up.
the guy only gives you a look, and gives you a key with the room number. room 109.
“but can we have a mattress? please, we really—” you try to say, but jason interrupts you, holding your shoulder. “let's not... push this man.” he says only.
with a dejected sigh, you head over to the hallway down to your right and go to your room.
once you unlock the door, it was surprisingly... okay. there was no of that weird stench, the sheets looked clean enough, and nothing was amiss.
“great. this is just great.” you throw your hands up in defeat, slinging your bag onto the bed.
you sit on the edge, eyes gazing over jason. the blonde takes some tentative steps, as if he's examining it. if it's a threat or not.
“you don't have to be so bummed out.” he says, brows raised.
“i'm not.”
“you didn't have to say it.”
your mouth opened to reply, but it closes back again. something told you it would lead into an argument.
jason sighs, running a hand over his face as he takes off his glasses. “look, i'll just—sleep on the floor, alright?” he says, putting his backpack beside the bedside table.
“i'm sure we can request some extra pillows—”
“did you see that guy back there?” he looks at you. without the glasses, his blue eyes were intense. like you could really drown on them.
your shoulders slump at that.
as you settle onto the bed, you watch him in the corner of your eye. the way he had grabbed his backpack, making it into his makeshift pillow, and how the wrinkles in his face was more prominent, probably from stress, and the way his blonde curls had turned into an unruly mess.
something in your heart ached from the sight.
the words left your lips before you could even process it.
“you can sleep on the bed with me if you want.” you say softly.
his eyes open at that.
“i don't want to make you uncomfortable.”
“you don't make me feel that.”
“you're just saying that to be nice.” he sits up.
“jason.” you say, voice serious.
he stares at you for a moment. you could see the gears turning inside his brain.
“... alright.” he mutters out.
he rises up from the floor. you shift over to the left to make room. he settles down onto the bed, grabbing the blankets and placing it over his body. the bed creaks, and dips down at his weight.
“now go get some shut-eye, we'll need to wake up early tomorrow if we want to get some lead on this quest.” you say as you turn your back towards him, preparing to sleep.
he only nods at what you said.
sleep didn't find you easy.
it never did.
you get awoken with some shuffling beside you. you groan, half-asleep. “jason, stop moving.” you murmur.
“sorry.” he mutters out. the shuffling fades into a stop... until it continues again.
“okay,” you huff out, annoyed. you switch sides, directly facing him. “what is it? what's the problem?”
he blinks back.
“nothing. it's nothing, really—”
“that's a load of crap if i ever heard one.” you cut him off.
“just—go back to sleep, i'll be fine.”
you only stare at him, which had slowly morphed into a small glare.
“nothing's... wrong.” he says, but there was heaitation on his voice. “the bed is way too soft. that's all.” you raise a brow. “you're the first person to complain about that sort of thing.”
he lets out a chuckle, the faintest of dimples present on his pale cheeks.
“did you not have a bed growing up?” you snicker, a faint smile rising up from your lips.
“i was raised by wolves, remember?”
you subtly nod. you remember the time when it was the two of you walking around camp, after training. it was a hot sunny day, and the both of you were resting underneath a tree shade. he told you some stuff about his past—ones that still plagued his mind.
“yeah,” you huff out. “do you remember the training, or anything there?”
“a little.” he replies. “it's like these sort of colors all over the places, blobs of it. constantly merging. i vaguely remember them.” he says. his voice had gone soft, and his eyes were distant. he badly clinged onto these dazy memories, pulling it from the seams.
“i don't really know— i just... i just feel more at ease. when i sleep at the floor. it sounds stupid, i know—”
“it's not.”
his blue eyes soften, a small smile forming at his lips.
“i guess i'll forever be like... that.”
“like what?”
“like i'll forever live like this. like i'll only truly be comfortable in extreme conditions. it isn't good, i know—”
“it's not going to be forever.” you whisper.
“you really think so?”
“yeah,” you reply, “i'll be here, helping you.”
“why?”
“what do you mean, why?”
“why are you going out of your way to 'help' me?” he asks.
“because,” your gaze softens. “you mean alot to me, jason.” you say. “as a friend.”
his smile widens.
“you mean alot to me too.” he says.
and with that, he flips over. you look at his back, staring at it for a moment, before your eyes slowly close. drifting back into the rhythm of sleep.
tentatively, he reaches out—brushing a stray hair resting on your face.
“are you going to be able to sleep?” you ask, “or do you really need to be on the floor?”
“i'll manage. don't worry. just sleep your pretty head off.” he chuckles.
he gives you one last smile.
“goodnight.”
he switches side, flipping around. the bed creaking at the movement. you stare at his back for a moment, before sleep finds you aswell. you doze off, finding the easy rhythm of sleep.
men come and go but x reader fic is forever
Hermes Society
more or less.
Digital Illustration, 2025 Gorchart
I should stop reading books that destroy me :')
Jude and Cardan 🥀
You don’t care about me, but it makes me want you
.✮.
Some superbat because they deserved a moment
