HEYYY SO I JUST FINISHED UR "MR GRACE HAS RIZZ?" FIC AND WHAT IF YOU MADE A PART TWO WITH READER COMING IN FOR CAREER DAY AND ON OF THE SINGLE PARENTS TRYING TO FLIRT WITH HER AND GRACE GETS JEALOUS???
DID THIS MAKE SENSE??? AND IM NOT SHOUTING I JUST LIKE TYPING IN ALL CAPS
BTW I RLLY LIKED THE FIC!!!
OKE BYEE🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷
HA okay this is less dialogue because I DON'T KNOW how to write it apparently. thanks for reading!!
Mr. Grace has rizz? pt. 2 ~ ryland grace x reader
1.5k words, fluff
summary: it's career day! ryland has his students trained on professionalism but it doesn't extend to their parents
Part 1
--------------------------------
Career day had been marked on your calendar for weeks, your manager was more than happy to give you a morning off for it, saying something about inspiring the next generation of workers. You didn’t love that phrasing, but the capitalist wheel turns no matter the willingness of the cog, you supposed. You had a short presentation ready, choosing to talk about the coolest parts of being an architectural engineer. The goal was to get the students excited about science, though whether that was for their benefit or Ryland’s, you weren’t totally sure.
Either way, you were standing in Ryland’s classroom, mingling with the handful of other professionals there to talk about their own work. An L&D nurse and a firefighter, both parents to students in the class, and a photographer who travels for a living. It was a good mix of the arts and sciences, Ryland did well finding such different perspectives to present to the kids.
The students were sitting close, the history class next door piled in for the period. The bell rang and Ryland clapped his hands, lifting one in the air. All eyes went straight to him, chatter dying down quickly. He perched on the corner of his desk, smile wide as he introduced each speaker. “They’ve graciously agreed to share their time and work with all of us this morning, which means we’re going to be what?”
A chorus of “respectful!” rings through the room. It was impressive, how in control he seemed to be of so many middle schoolers. The photographer went first, showing the kids their best, and silliest, animal photos. They ate it up, laughing at a photo of a bird pooping in midair. Ryland stood next to you off to the side, hiding his grin behind his hand. The presentation ended up being a great refresher on animal sciences, which the kids didn’t expect from the artist of the group.
The nurse was next, she gave a beautiful speech about getting to help people every day, how she loved supporting moms through the scary moments and the joyful ones. It brought tears to your eyes hearing how passionate she was about her patients. You caught the history teacher wiping her cheek, a small smile shared between you two. You figured she must have kids, you didn’t have that excuse though.
The firefighter decided to go the comedy route, laughing his way through a story about having to save someone who climbed a tree to save a cat. He got them both down safely, using it as a stepping stone to talk about how firefighters have to be brave for everyone around them. He let the kids pass around his helmet and showed them how quickly he has to be able to suit up. The helmet eventually landed on Ryland’s head, making the students giggle as he puffs out his chest and says, “you know what, I do feel brave in this!”
Then it was your turn. As an architectural engineer, you knew you wanted to get the kids excited about design, so you brought in a model of a new lab your team was working on. You talked about the importance of being able to blend beautiful structure with sound math and things like ventilation, because a pretty building is nothing if it’s not safe. The kids had really thoughtful questions about accessibility and standards of design. It surprised you, how attentive they were.
You expected some teasing from them considering that they knew you were dating their teacher, but they were nothing but respectful the whole period. When you finished, Ryland jumped in and raised his hand again, “what do we say to our guests?” A rousing “thank you!” followed, making you laugh. The bell rang and that was it.
A few students stayed after class to talk to you all individually, asking more in-depth questions that made you excited for their future prospects. These kids were smart, now you understand why Ryland loved science fair season at the school.
When the last student finally ran off, the firefighter approached you. He was flirting, you could tell immediately, but you didn’t want to be rude, so you smiled along until you could find an out. He told you about his son Mason, briefly mentioned being divorced, and finally asked about your life. You could feel eyes on you from across the room, you knew Ryland was watching. He wouldn’t intervene unless you asked for help, but that doesn’t mean he’s not acutely aware of the unwanted advances you’re currently facing.
The man asked for your number, a charming smile on his face. You held in a sigh and kept your face neutral, “oh, I actually have a boyfriend.” You kept it simple, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “You do?” He asks, brows raising. Before you have a chance to say anything, though, you feel an arm slide around your shoulder. You turn your head and see Ryland, other hand on his hip and a big smile on his face.
“Thank you for coming today, the kids were so engaged,” he says it to you, then turns to the firefighter. “Seriously, they loved getting to meet you.”
The man covers his surprise quickly, reaching out to shake his hand. “It was my pleasure, Mr. Grace,” and he exchanges a few pleasantries before excusing himself.
You turn to Ryland with your brows raised, a smirk playing on your lips. “Ryland,” you start, “was that a little jealousy I heard?” He meets your eye and shrugs, “Mason’s dad is freshly divorced and maybe too eager to find a new wife.” You laugh softly, shaking your head and stepping away. “I was in the middle of turning him down, but thank you for saving me the trouble,” and you kiss his cheek.
~
It’s not until the next evening that Ryland has stories for you. He comes home with a huge grin plastered on his face, barely even getting his coat off before he’s calling for you. “You’ll never guess what Mason told me this morning,” he corners you on the couch. “Apparently, his dad asked him about you yesterday.” Your eyes go wide, not knowing what to expect when the story was coming from a 13 year old.
“Mason said, and I quote, ‘don’t worry, Mr. Grace, I shut that shit down so fast. My dad isn’t going anywhere near Mrs. Grace.’” A laugh rumbles out of him, shaking the couch cushion. You gasp, “he said that?!”
“Yeah! And then he had to put his name in the swear jar because what the fuck, Mason!” It always makes you laugh when Ryland swears, it sounds so unnatural coming from his mouth. You had rubbed off on him a little, but he really tries to keep it to the confines of the apartment.
“He’s a good kid,” you throw your legs over his, “he had great questions yesterday.”
He nods, “oh! One of the girls sent me an email with questions for you, said she was interested in how what she’s learning in her electronics class might roll over into what you do.” He pulls out his phone, forwarding you the email.
“Aw, a little engineer in the making,” you smile. “She’s like, insanely smart. Her last paper was on hydroponics, she brought a basil plant in for the window, it’s growing like crazy! No soil!” He gestures wildly, like he can’t believe she’s keeping it alive in his classroom.
You can’t help the soft look on your face, eyes shining as he brags about his students. When he finally looks at you he freezes, “what?” It’s a gentle question, timid, even. “Nothing, just - thank you for including me yesterday, it was nice seeing you in your element,” you smile, reaching for his hand.
He plants a kiss to the back of your hand and you feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. “A couple of the girls cornered me this morning,” he looks away bashfully, “they said I needed to buy you a ring today because I’d be crazy to let you go.”
“Yeah?” Your voice is quiet, “I’m not going anywhere, Ry.”
He finally turns to look at you, “Would you… would you want to get married?” He’s nervous, it’s sweet, you think.
You can’t help the wide smile that breaks across your face, it eases his nerves instantly. “Mm, I think I would.”
He nods, lips stretching into the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen on him. “I’ll do it properly, the ring, one knee, nice dinner somewhere pretty.”
“I don’t need anything grand, you know. Just you, whatever feels right to you.”
He shifts to pull you in by the back of your neck, lips landing on yours in a soft, sweet kiss. “I love you,” he says your name like a prayer, holding eye contact like it’ll express everything he feels. “I love you too, Ryland,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his smile against your skin.
He’s quiet for a moment, just enjoying the closeness. Then he shifts again, “okay, so the girls were showing me different rings, they made it sound so complicated.” You laugh, nodding, “I’ll show you what I like, but I want you to pick it out.”
And you know that he will absolutely be showing those middle school girls the rings he’s considering for their opinions. You trust their judgement, it’s gotten you two this far, anyway.
Ryland Grace's new students catch a look at reader and freak out
This was fun!! I'm practicing dialogue because it does not come naturally to me, but I think it turned out cute!
Mr. Grace has rizz? ~ ryland grace x reader
1.4k words, fluff, lots of gen z slang
summary: you run by the school for ryland, his students can't believe you're real
Part 2, career day!
-----------------
He hadn’t done it on purpose, the rush of the morning caught up to him and he left a stack of graded worksheets on the table. He was halfway to the school when he remembered, shooting a quick text to you asking if you could drop them off on your way to work. It was no problem, of course, you loved seeing your Mr. Grace in his element anyway.
The drive was easy, you parked in a guest spot and strolled in, hoping to catch Ryland at a good time. A quick peek through the window of his classroom confirmed your hopes, the students had their heads down, working quietly on an assignment. Ryland caught sight of you and stood from his desk, moving quickly to the door. You opened it to greet him with a wave, holding the stack of papers out.
“Thank you so much,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a chaste peck to your cheek.
A chorus of “ew,” “aw,” and gasps rumble through the class. Ryland closes his eyes for a moment before turning around to face the excited middle schoolers. Before he could say anything, though, one of the girls points forcefully in your direction, “that’s your girlfriend?!”
“No way Mr. Grace pulled her,” another joined in.
“There’s a Mrs. Grace?!”
“There really is hope for all of us,” a boy laughs.
“Wait, she’s hot!” They were all talking over each other, a mix of compliments to you and barely concealed insults toward their teacher.
“Hey!” Ryland starts, clinging to what was left of his dignity. You wave to the room, introducing yourself with a grin. You were absolutely going to make fun of him tonight, and he knew it too. He was bright red but he fixed the students with a serious look, “back to your work, everyone.”
They didn’t even pretend to look at their papers, too interested in this new side of their silly science teacher that they never got to see. Ryland turns back to you, stepping through the doorway and leading you away from the windows with a hand on your lower back. “This is all they’re going to talk about today,” he sighs. You stifle a laugh and point behind him.
The kids were lined up against the window, pressing their faces close to the glass to try to get a glimpse of you two. He doesn’t even turn around, “I owe you dinner for these,” he shakes the papers still in his hand. “You’re not cooking in my kitchen,” you giggle.
“Takeout it is,” he smiles, landing one more quick kiss to your lips before he steps backwards, steeling himself for the torment he was about to walk back into. You whisper your goodbyes and laugh to yourself when you hear his voice carry through the hallway, “don’t think I won’t lower your grades on these papers!”
~
He beats you home that evening, an array of Chinese food already set up on the table when you slink through the door. Ryland is in the kitchen fighting with that one drawer that just doesn’t open right. Loose sweatpants sit low on his hips, a big difference from his work clothes you last saw him in. “Hey! How was your day?” He’s chipper, the day must not have been so bad.
“Same old, I’m more interested in your day, Mr. Grace.” You step beside him, opening the drawer and kissing his cheek. He fishes out the chopsticks you always use and ushers you to the table, he pulls out your chair and can’t help but drop a kiss to the top of your head. “My day,” he starts with a sigh, “was exactly what you expect with a bunch of middle schoolers who just found out that I have a beautiful girlfriend.”
You giggle softly, opening the boxes in front of you and assessing just how much food he ordered. “Come on, I want details! If anyone is going to have good jokes it’s your students.”
“First it was the lingo, they called me unc and said something about pulling a baddie,” he laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Then they said you were way out of my league, asked how I convinced you to give a nerd like me a chance.” You let out a belly laugh at that, knowing full well you were head over heels for him the first time you met. “Did you tell them that I’m a nerd too?”
“In so many words, but they wouldn’t have it. They decided that you’re the breadwinner of the relationship, something about being a CEO or owning a business,” he’s giggling now, too. “I told them you’re an engineer and Abby asked if you work for Lockheed Martin.” You gasped, choking out a laugh. “How does she know about them?”
“Her parents talk about a lot in front of her,” it’s said wistfully, like he wishes they would stop. “Then, they started using words I didn’t know. I wrote them down, hold on.” He grabs his phone, opening his notes app. “They said I’m ‘high-key a simp,’” a snort from you, “Tyler said, ‘Mr. Grace been hiding his rizz,’ which felt inappropiate coming out of a child’s mouth.” His turn to snort.
“Oh! Jenny called me the Beaker to your Dr. Bunsen, that’s a crazy reference for a 13 year old!” That one bowled you over, you threw your head back with a loud laugh. “I still don’t know what this one means,” he holds his phone far from his face, pretending to struggle to read, “‘Mr. Grace lowkey ohio, but his girlfriend has goddess energy.’” He looks at you exasperatedly, “I’ve gotta ask their English teacher to translate all of this.”
“I don’t mind ‘goddess energy,’” you wink at him. “The girls all agreed on that one, so I think it’s universally accepted,” he smiled softly at you, his tongue poking out to wet his lips. “My favorite one, though, was someone said we’re like fix-it Felix and that soldier lady Jane Lynch voiced in Wreck It Ralph.”
“Stop! They did not say that!” Your cheeks hurt from laughing so much at this point. “They did! I think it was a disguised way to say that you’re out of my league again,” he’s so enamored with the way you’re laughing, he almost wishes he had more quips to read out. “I told them that one doesn’t work because Felix is shorter than the soldier, then they said I give short aura and that insecurity about being a ‘short king’ is a bad look. I’m six feet tall!” You’re struggling to catch your breath, you loved these kids so much and you’d only just met them.
“That was a lot for one class period,” you wipe your eyes, food totally forgotten on the table. “Yeah, we didn’t get much work done,” he sighs dramatically.
He hesitates a little to tell you the next part, his ears burning when you notice the look on his face. “They- uh, they exclusively referred to you as Mrs. Grace, despite how many times I told them that we’re not married.” Your cheeks heat up at that, “that’s sweet of them.” The moment stretches, longing in his eyes that you recognize. He’s never brought marriage up before, but he often talks about spending the rest of your lives together. One thing about Ryland is that he’s a loverboy, it’s one of your favorite parts of him. You lay your hand on top of his, a gentle comfort after a long day of torment.
“Anyways, now that they know you exist, they’re going to ask to see you again. Maybe you could come in for career day? Tell them about the importance of paying attention when their teacher is talking,” he looks a little shy, it reminds you of how he looked when he first asked you out.
“I’d love to do that, Ry, you just let me know when it is and I’ll make sure my schedule is clear.” Your smile is bright, excitement shining through at being included. “Yeah?” His expression is hopeful. “Yeah, I’ve gotta prove that they’re right, I am the breadwinner in this relationship,” you don’t even have time to laugh before he’s pulling you out of your chair and over his shoulder. He lands a hand against your thighs, ignoring your squeals.
“You’re right, I’ve gotta earn my keep,” and he carries you all the way to the bedroom, “happy wife, happy life and all that.”
Do You Remember? : Ryland Grace x wife!Reader Pt 2
Part 1 Here
A/N: Thank you for the love on the first part!! Here’s a continuation. Warning for discussion of sex and pregnancy but nothing described in detail. Potentially smut in next chapter though I’m still deciding 😅 Also peep the Coltland twins mention hehe
-
Sharing a spaceship with not only a husband who you barely remember, but also an alien, is not for the weak.
To be fair, the plan has gone way better than you and Ryland could’ve hoped. Not only did you save Rocky, but he came up with the genius idea to use Taumoeba as food so you don’t die. At the very least, you won’t die nearly as quickly as originally thought. You can supposedly live on Erid as long as the Taumoeba farms are going, or until something else kills you.
But let’s not think about that right now, you say to yourself.
Your memory is getting better everyday, and you can confidently say you remember most of your life up to meeting Ryland. You’re still grasping for bits and pieces of your relationship beyond that, and the memories leading up to the launch of the Hail Mary, but it’s a head start.
The journey to Erid has been quite entertaining, to say the least. You’ve been getting to know Rocky, and Ryland jokes he likes you more than him. Ryland has started being able to understand him without the translator, which has you in awe due to the drastic language differences. You suppose they did spend a lot of time together saving the stars, though. It makes sense Ryland would pick up on the chords and sounds after a while. But when you have conversations with Rocky, you still use the translator software, and Rocky tries to speak more simply around you so you understand. You hope to be fluent in Eridian someday, especially if you end up living there the rest of your days.
“Hey Rocky,” you say, and he perks up. “Do Eridians do double dates?”
“Explain new term, question?”
“It’s when two couples, or mates, go out and do something fun together. Maybe you and Adrian can do something fun with Ryland and I when we get to Erid.”
“Yes. We have fun with other sets of mates on Erid. We call ♩♪♫♬.”
You put the new word into the computer like Ryland showed you. You’re far from the computer smart scientist he is, but you’re learning how to use most things in the ship. Well, aside from the important things. You know better than to try messing with the fuel or the pilot’s seat.
“Rocky glad Grace mate Y/N alive.”
You look up from the computer and smile.
“Me too. And I’m glad you’re alive with us.”
“Amaze. Amaze. Amaze. Rocky Grace Y/N live happy together on Erid!”
You’ve had to get accustomed to one of Rocky’s strange behaviors: his insistence on watching you and Ryland sleep.
You don’t really mind someone watching you two in bed, it’s not like you’re really doing anything besides sleeping. Truthfully, your attraction to Ryland was one of the first things to come back to memory, but you feel hesitant to pursue physical intimacy until you’re fully yourself. You haven’t even kissed him yet, and your bunks are separated in the dormitory.
Still, it takes a few nights to get used to Rocky being in the room when you sleep. He’s so still and quiet, you worry something will happen to him. But Ryland assures you that’s how Eridians are, and he will wake up and move eventually.
It’s not really Rocky you should’ve been worrying about, though.
The last of your memories come to you in nightmares. You remember finding out your husband was being sent off to die, begging to die with him, and seeing him unconscious. You remember the scientists poking and prodding at you. You remember them confirming you also have the coma-survival gene, but they still can’t guarantee you’ll actually wake up. You remember rushing to pack a few things, just some pictures to help you remember your life.
You remember tears rolling down your face as you’re induced into the deepest of slumber.
Ryland must’ve heard you wake up, coming to your side as you startle. Your face falls to your hands. You can’t even look at him.
You know he’ll be upset. He’ll be devastated that you volunteered of your own free will to die out here with him. The Ryland you’ve known and loved never would’ve wanted you to do that. He would’ve told you to stay and be happy without him. He would’ve told you to move on. To make sure his kids are okay. To check on his twin brother. To spread kindness to a world that’s dying. To treasure his memory but not throw away your life for him.
All you can do is cry, the hardest you’ve cried since waking up, maybe ever. You’re shaking, truly coming to terms with your decision to abandon Earth. The emotions that were filling you when you found out Ryland was being sent away. The full weight of the situation is known to you now. You’re angry, you’re sad, you’re everything.
“Can I…can I touch you?” Rylands voice is soft and hesitant, not sure if you’re ready to continue the closeness you once had.
His answer comes in the form of you practically flinging yourself onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and slithering your fingers into his hair. The texture is soothing to you, and the warmth of his skin is familiar. He responds quickly by holding you tight, guiding you to his own bunk as he rubs your back and kisses your head. The bunks are no where near designed for two people, but he slowly lowers you down with him so he can cuddle you properly. He covers your bodies with the blankets and continues calming you down, his heartbeat and breaths bringing you back to a normal rhythm. You didn’t realize how touch starved you were until this moment.
Ryland seems to be pouring every ounce of love he’s been holding back into his embrace. He gives you the softest of kisses all over your face, and holds you like the most precious being in the universe.
Once you’re no longer shaking, you squeak out the dreadful reason you were woken up in the first place.
“I remember.”
Ryland pauses his kisses to look at the terror in your eyes.
“You remember why you’re here?”
You nod.
“Were you forced as well? Did they hurt you? What did they do to you?”
His concern turns to premature anger, all the worst case scenarios of what they could’ve done running through his mind.
“No. It’s worse,” you say. “I wanted to die out here. With you.”
“What?” His eyes get glassy. “Sweetheart, why would you—“
“They told me you were going to die and I should move on. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t live without you. So I asked to be sent to die with you. I knew it was selfish. I knew I had nothing to contribute to this mission, and I would be a waste of resources. I knew I would’ve made your death more painful. Trust me, Stratt told me. But I just couldn’t move on, Ryland, I just couldn’t.”
Please say something.
Ryland takes a moment to process what you’ve said. His gaze on you is still so gentle.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I understand.” He finally says. “I’m not angry with you. I’m glad you’re here. Please know I’m so glad you’re here.”
This time his kiss captures your lips.
The energy changes between you after that night.
Your mind is fully your own again, for better or for worse. Everything you've ever felt for your husband comes rushing back, and the invisible wall you had between each other is torn down.
You’re having the deep conversations you once did, making each other laugh, confusing Rocky with your constant public displays of affection. You get called “disgust” multiple times a day, to the point you now know the word for it in Eridian. You’re sure you’ll get payback when Rocky reunites with Adrian.
You’ve now put your bunks next to each other for sleeping, it’s not exactly comfortable still, but it at least keeps you closer at night. Space is cold. But it’s a lot harder to be cold when Ryland keeps you practically caged in his arms all night. The muscle stimulators he had during the coma made him a lot stronger, there’s no way you’re getting out of his grip even if you wanted to.
Most of your days are spent chatting with each other and Rocky, and making plans on the most logical ways for you and Ryland to survive as long as possible. You’ve rationed out your food, coma slurry, and Taumoeba for the trip so you can spread out your nutrients. You figured eating all the regular food and then cold turkey switching to Taumoeba wouldn’t be a good idea, so you put everything into a rotation. One meal you eat real food, one meal you choke down the slurry, one meal you snack on Taumoeba. It’s not fun to eat the latter two, but it’s the best you can do with what you have.
Rocky has been brainstorming ideas with Ryland on where you two will live. They’re thinking some sort of xenonite biodome similar to what Rocky uses to survive on the Hail Mary, but this time it would keep oxygen in instead of out. They can use a mix of ship parts and Eridian engineering to make a house.
It sounds like a fine life, all things considered.
During times Rocky’s sleep schedule doesn’t align with yours, you and Ryland have made a habit of watching Rocky sleep while cuddling by the window. You don’t think you’ll ever get over seeing outer space so clearly through the glass. It’s brought you to tears a few times, the beauty of it.
You plan to stay awake as long as you can. You two have talked about going into comas again, but you don’t want to leave Rocky alone, and you don’t want to risk not waking up. Besides, it’s not like you’re getting bored. There’s endless things to do an chat about on the ship, especially with all of Rocky’s questions about humanity and vice versa about Eridians. You’ve taught Rocky some human games, shown him Earth places on the screen, explained Earth customs to his confusion.
Sometimes Rocky gets a little too curious about humans. Ryland told you that before you woke up, Rocky would ask to watch him eat, wash up, excrete, with no shame. For science, of course. And ever since Rocky met you, he’s been asking to watch “human mating activities” for science. He doesn’t seem to understand how private it is for humans, since Eridians just lay their eggs next to each other to reproduce. Most of the time multiple Eridian couples or groups lay their eggs in the same area, so it’s very open and public. Their physical affection isn’t synonymous with their reproduction. Figures why he jokes that your kissing and touching is “disgust,” but he’s very intrigued to learn about human sex.
Despite Rocky’s genuine curiosity, you and Ryland don’t want to risk it yet, even in private. It’s not like the ship was packed with contraception or medical equipment to support a birth and baby. If you got pregnant, there would be far too many things that could go wrong. Ryland couldn’t bear it if you came all this way to be with him, and you died of complications in the middle of space, no doctors to aid you. Maybe when you’re settled on Erid, you could reevaluate. Wouldn’t that be something, the first human born on an alien planet?
Ryland plays with your hair as you relax on his chest, your eyes catching the millions of stars outside. You’re flying at a completely different reference point to Earth, but occasionally Ryland recognizes what you’re seeing and tells you about it. You can tell he misses teaching, so you don’t mind him giving you a science lesson.
You wonder what’s become of all the people you knew. Did Rylands class make it? Are your neighbors at your old apartment still around? Is Stratt still alive?
Despite what she did, you hope she is. She’s the only one who was willing to make the hard decisions for the good of humanity. And hopefully she’ll continue to make hard decisions when the probes reach Earth. You may never know if they do, or if the Sun gets its brightness back.
You can’t think about it too hard.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
You nod, “Yeah. Just a lot to think about.”
“I know,” he smiles, kissing your forehead. “Good thing we have a long, long time to think.”
-
A/N: Just fyi I am planning a part 3 that will potentially feature Ryland and Reader having a baby, just a warning cuz I know not everyone likes pregnancy/kids in their fics!
Summary: You’re Ryland Grace’s wife, still asleep on the Hail Mary. Ryland slowly remembers what you were to each other.
Disclaimer: I’ve seen the movie twice and just finished the book, so this is kind of a blend of both and my own memory of the dialogue and events. Some stuff may be incorrect or out of order, especially the flashback/memory stuff, but some stuff I had to move around to make more sense with the flow of the story.
-
This one’s not dead.
Ryland exhales in relief. He’s not alone. Finally some hope he’s not alone.
You seem to be sleeping peacefully. Well, as peacefully as someone hooked up to a million different tubes could be. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. The computer confirms you’re alive.
So what happened to the other two? He doesn’t want to risk the same happening to you. He grumbles to the robot to not wake you up yet. It probably won’t listen, but he’d at least like a chance to figure out how to stop you from the same fate. The robot does in fact back away, so maybe it’s not programmed to wake you up yet.
He doesn’t remember anything about you, but he must’ve known you, right? He shuffles through your things like he did with the others, trying to find some semblance of knowledge, maybe sentimental items or pictures of who you were.
He finds some that look like you with friends, out and about, smiling. There’s a couple more of you looking cozy with a sandy blonde haired man with glasses.
Wait…he looks familiar. What was her name again?
Her capsule reads “GRACE,” just like his. So you’re either his wife or his sister.
Gosh, he hopes you’re not his sister.
He scrambles to find a reflective surface, confirming he’s the guy in your pictures. Well, at least he might be. It’s hard to tell without a haircut.
Great. So he’s who knows where, with a beautiful woman in a coma…who’s supposedly his wife.
“She said I have 3 hours to decide. But I…I can’t do it. I can’t leave you, I can’t leave those kids. I know the sun is dying, but…”
Ryland chokes up on the phone. You desperately wish you were there with him, just to tell him it’s alright when it’s not.
It’s been a whirlwind few years, your husband being recruited to solve the Petrova Problem. Due to the top-secret nature of the mission, you aren’t allowed in the labs or bases, but you’ve been allowed to travel with him to the general areas they’re moving him around to. They wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for Ryland’s ultimatum: that he won’t work for them unless he can bring you along. So here you are, sitting in a hotel room several miles from the launch site.
“They really don’t have anyone else who can do it?” You ask.
“No. Heck, I can’t even do it. But she’s asking me to. She said I have no reason not to, she said you’d forget me and move on and I have no other family. Not even a dog.”
Well that stings a bit.
“I don’t think she’d care if I did anyway.” He continues. “I could tell her you’re pregnant or we’re getting a cat next week, and she’d still tell me to leave it all behind and go.”
“Can you tell her no?”
“I’m going to.”
You hear him take a deep breath.
“I’ll join you at the hotel tonight, okay sweetheart?”
As he starts remembering who he is and why he’s here, he remembers bits and pieces about you, too. He remembers how you met, how you like your coffee, how your laugh sounded. He has no idea how you’d end up here, he doesn’t recall you being an astronaut, or anything related to that field. To be fair, he doesn’t know why he’s here either. From what he remembers, his specialty was molecular biology and teaching middle school, not rocket science.
He checks your pod multiple times a day, making sure you’re still alive. He talks to you about what he remembers, even if you can’t hear him. He asks you questions, even when you can’t answer. Makes him feel a little better about talking to himself in the terrifying vastness of space.
“You’re a liability, Mrs. Grace. He will need to forget everything about you to focus on the dire mission at hand.” Stratt says matter-of-factly.
It didn’t take long for you to find out what they did to him. They put him in the coma against his will—before you could say goodbye. When he didn’t come to the hotel last night, you took a cab to the launch site and demanded to speak to him, and eventually Stratt told security to bring you straight to her so she could explain.
The explanation didn’t help, though.
“Please, just let me go up there with him. Like you said, we don’t have anything else but each other. We don’t have living relatives or kids. If you’re going to send my husband off to die, can’t I die with him?”
“You’d be a waste of precious resources. We can’t allow it.”
“What if I stayed asleep? What if you program the ship to keep me in the coma until the crew figures out the problem? Then I can wake up and I can live out the rest of my days with him. I wouldn’t affect the mission.”
“Still a waste of resources. You’d be another body to upkeep.”
“Oh please, I know you science experts didn’t only make 3 pods, that would be stupid. I’m sure there’s an extra in there and extra food and water for emergency supply. What’s there to lose for you? All four of us will end up dying out there anyway. Why does it matter how soon?”
Stratt huffs. She can’t say you’re wrong. They do have an extra pod in the ship in case one breaks. They did pack as much food and food-adjacent sludge as they could fit. They could very easily program the ship to not wake you up until the probes are released back to Earth and the mission is complete.
There’s a few beats of silence.
“Go ahead. Take her.”
You nod as security takes you away.
“Grace have mate, question?” Rocky’s translator voice asks.
“I…did.” Ryland sighs, looking towards the door. “She’s asleep, in there. She didn’t wake up like I did.”
“Why not watch mate sleep, question?”
“I do sometimes. But after a while I have to accept she’s not waking up. At least not soon.”
“What name?”
Ryland tells him, and Rocky makes up a word for your name in his own language. It’s quite pretty.
“Rocky help Grace wake up mate.”
“I don’t think so, buddy. I don’t know what killed the other two, I don’t want to risk killing her too. Besides, we need to focus on saving our stars first.”
“Yes. Grace Rocky save stars. Then Grace Rocky save mate.”
To your surprise, they let you see him before they put you to sleep. He’s fully knocked out, likely drugged. It hurts to see him like that, but you know you’ll see him awake again someday. Even if it’s years in the future you don’t have concept of.
You cooperate as the medical staff prepare you for launch, wincing as they poke you with way too many things and check your vitals. It’s not long before you feel yourself fading, turning your head to look one last time at your husband on Earth.
Eye movement detected.
Ryland jumps, hearing the announcement from the other room. He had just released the probes with the samples and information to earth. Are the sensors malfunctioning?
Wait.
He swings through the halls to the dormitory. The Nanny Bot is attending to you as you sit up and flail around.
“Where am I? What’s going on?” You mumble.
You rub your eyes and stare right at him.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Captain Ryland Grace of the Hail Mary.” He can’t help but smirk. “Also your husband.”
“Wow, really?” You look him up and down. “Love that for me.”
He approaches you slowly, as not to startle you as you adjust back to the land of the living.
“Your memory will come back in time. It took me a while to remember. But you’re safe now, okay?”
“Safe…where?”
“We’re um…”
He didn’t have the privilege of someone calmly explaining to him that he’s in the middle of space, he had to figure it out himself. Is there an easy way to say it?
“We’re in a ship.”
“Well I got that, Captain Grace.”
He likes the sound of that nickname a little too much.
“In space.”
“We’re astronauts?”
“Sort of.”
You roll your eyes as you clumsily try to move some more, getting used to range of motion again. You feel incredibly sick and disoriented, like the worst hangover you’ve ever had but a billion times worse.
But hey, at least there’s a hot guy here who you’re apparently married to.
“Do you…remember your name?” He asks.
“Of course! It’s…” your brain blanks. “No. I don’t.”
“It’s okay. You’re Y/N Grace.”
He grins. What a dork.
“Do you remember where we’re from?”
“Let me take a wild guess…Earth?” You laugh off the absurdity. If you think about the fact you can’t remember anything too much, you might break. “I think America. Maybe Midwest? No, it was the coast wasn’t it? California?”
Ryland nods. “Good. Do you remember what we did there?”
“Were we not NASA scientists?” It seems the obvious answer, and you can only recall incredibly foggy memories about your life together. It’s like there’s a familiarity, you know you know this man, but you know nothing about him.
“No, we weren’t. We were kinda…forced into space against our will. At least I was. I’m hoping you can tell me how you got up here too when you remember.”
There’s something in his eyes, in the way his face softens. You can tell he’s missed you, how much he clearly wants to touch you and hold you, but you’re not the person he knows and loves yet. You don’t remember her yet. He looks like he could cry, desperate to know why you’re stuck here in space with him, why you’re doomed to the same fate.
The Nanny Bot finishes disconnecting you from all the tubes, and Ryland instinctively rushes to your side as you try to stand up. You fall into his arms, your muscles weary from lack of use. He looks at you with such care, tears still welling up in his eyes. He’s with you in every step you take, holding as much of your weight as you put on him. He walks you to the lab so you can sit down at the table. You lean on the surface and start fiddling with some lab equipment sprawled out, moving around your hands and fingers.
“Can you tell me about…me?” You ask him. “My head is still so blank.”
“What do you want to know first?”
“Well…how did we meet? What was our life like?”
“We met in grad school. Against all odds really, since we were studying completely different things. But you were interested in what I had to say for reasons I can’t explain, and you attended my presentation on speculative biology,” he chuckles. “And you were the only one there who actually clapped. Everyone else thought I was delusional. And not only that, you stayed to ask me questions.”
“I…think I vaguely remember that. Your theory was…what was it? Something about water? Oh! It was that water isn’t essential for life, so aliens might not be water based?”
“Yup. Turns out I’m still crazy, by the way, because the alien species I’ve met so far all have water.”
“You’ve met aliens out here??” your eyes widen. "Okay, finish the story first, then you explain that to me, alright?"
"I will, sweetheart," he tenses at the endearment slipping out, but you don't seem to negatively react. "Anyway, that was basically my practice presentation at the university, and I was scheduled to show my research at a conference in Denmark as well. I wanted to ask you out, but I didn't want to be gone for a whole week after a first date and make you think I wasn't interested. But of course I'm dumb, so I ended up not asking you out at all, never even got your contact information, and I thought I'd never see you again."
It warms his heart to see you listening so intently to the love story you don't remember. He wonders if it'll jog your memory, if you'll butt in with a detail he's missing, but you don't. You just stare at him with those beautiful eyes, the same ones who watched him with such wonder the first day you met.
"Thankfully I did see you again, not long after I got back from the conference. My prospects in my field were shot, after I insulted people there and was told my research was a waste of time. My life was in shambles, I don't know why you still gave me a chance. But I bumped into you at the campus cafe, and you asked me if I wanted to come to your thesis presentation. Of course I said yes, and after that we started dating.
"I...didn't really have much to offer you, but you still stuck with me. I lost my job as a professor and connections in research. I had to sell my car and get a job at a middle school just to get by. But eventually things stabilized and we made it work, and we had a small wedding with just our close friends and family. We wanted to have kids too once we were more financially stable. But then the sun started dying and we were too scared to risk it."
"What? The sun's dying?"
"Yeah. That's why we're out here. There's an alien single-cell species called Astrophage eating our sun. But don't worry, Rocky and I figured out how to stop it and sent the information back to Earth in probes. And we're heading back to Earth too."
"Rocky?" you have too many questions to keep up.
"Oh yeah, he's the alien I was talking about. Well, the Astrophage and Taumoeba are alien too, but they're not sentient. Rocky is a very intelligent alien, he has his own spaceship and everything. You would've loved him. He's gone now, though, headed back to his own planet."
Ryland continues catching you up on everything that's happened. You chat for hours, or what feels like it. You don't really know how time works anymore, especially after he explained time dialation to you. You're still struggling to wrap your brain around how much time on Earth has passed since you left the planet. Everything about the events he's describing took place further in the past than they feel.
He explains everything about your life leading up to the launch, and how he was forced on the mission after the science officers died. Occasionally throughout the conversations you get flashes of your life, but nothing recent. You still have no idea how you got here, and you're especially confused why you didn't wake up the same time Ryland did. He basically saved the world while you were sleeping.
You've had enough of sleeping for now though, so when Ryland dozes off, you stay awake to wander around the ship.
Until the alarm blares.
Ryland rushes in, fussing around and mumbling to himself. He takes out some odd shaped containers and checks some things in the lab, his face washed with terror. He says something to you about the Taumoeba escaping the xenonite, and tears form in his eyes when he realizes Rocky is in danger.
"No, no, no..."
He re-contains everything and falls to the floor with his face in his hands. You can't say you fully understand the situation, but you trust his reaction enough to know it's bad. Really bad.
"We have to go help him," Ryland sighs. "I...I can't let him die. But if we save him then we'll die."
"Hang on, what are you saying?" you kneel down next to him. "Why will we die if we save him?"
"Rocky's entire ship is made of xenonite. The Taumoeba have evolved to escape it, so they will have infiltrated his entire ship and fuel. I was able to stop it on our ship, but we only have enough fuel for one trip, either the trip home or the trip to save him and take him to his planet. But if we do that we'll die, probably of starvation. There's nothing on his planet we can eat. We will die there."
Shit. You're dealing with some pretty high stakes after just waking up.
"Okay," you exhale. "I didn't know Rocky like you did. I don't know if you think there's any chance he'd be able to fix the leaks himself. But if there's not, helping him out is our only option, right?"
"His entire ship is the leak. Even someone as smart and talented as him couldn't fix it," Ryland wipes his face and looks up at the ceiling. "It's either he dies or we die."
"Hey," you take his hand. "I trust you. I may not remember much yet, but I trust your character and decisions. Whatever you think is the right thing to do we'll do."
"You're...okay with dying out here?"
"I wouldn't say okay, but you said this was supposed to be a suicide mission anyway. We'd just be running the original mission's course. And at least we'll die together."
He smiles, and after a few moments bursts into tears, wrapping his arms around you.
"I'm so sorry..." he sobs into your shirt.
His decision is clear.
-
A/N: Thanks for reading :) this movie affected me so much it got me writing again lol. I'm working on a sequel to this about Ryland and Reader on Erid (cuz spoiler alert, they don't die)
the planets and the fates and all the stars aligned: Chapter 10
New chapter! As always, the chapter is also posted on AO3, and here is the master list of the rest of the series. Enjoy
“Time go fishing, question?” Rocky asks from his perch in the control room of The Hail Mary.
You keep careful watch over the altitude and velocity readings. “Time go fishing,” you repeat, and, out of the corner of your eye, you see Rocky press a button to release the probe.
You sit in the pilot’s seat of the control room, your right hand hovering over the manual flight controls. Deciding who would pilot the ship took some debating. Still, you, Rocky, and Ryland eventually decided that, as the person who had trained for months through countless flight simulations, you are the obvious choice.
After nearly a minute, Rocky confirms that the sampler is now successfully in the Astrophage breeding zone.
“Now comes the fun part,” Ryland says, unstrapping himself from the small chair in the far corner of the control room.
Rocky perks up. “Grace go out on haul to retrieve collector, no fun at all.”
“It’s a joke,” Ryland replies as he stands up, prompting a slight chuckle from you.
Rocky mumbles something about humans’ sense of humor, but you tune him out as you turn your head in Ryland’s direction in time for him to press a kiss to your cheek. You feel the tension in your shoulders lighten by a fraction as the corner of your lips curls up.
Before he can turn away, you curl a hand around the front of his flight suit and pull him back to you, planting a firm kiss on his lips. Ryland only has a moment to return the kiss before you let go of his flight suit.
“Be careful out there,” you say softly, meeting his gaze.
Ryland nods, a determined spark lighting in his eyes. “I always am.”
You want to respond that you’ve seen plenty of evidence to the contrary, but hold your tongue, knowing you’re only delaying Ryland’s departure. Instead, you simply wish him good luck.
While Ryland puts on his EVA suit and prepares the airlock, Rocky says your name and shakes his carapace in what you’ve learned is disapproval. “Distracting Grace from mission, no helpful.”
You roll your eyes and check the velocity readings, seeing it’s still at the necessary 127.5 meters per second. “I’m not distracting him. I’m just being encouraging.”
The exterior airlock door opens, and you hear Ryland groan over the radio. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Rocky perks up. “What problem, question?”
“It’s fine,” Ryland replies, and, from a glance at the airlock, you see him adjusting the ship’s exterior tethers. “It’s just the sky is… slightly on fire.”
At his words, you check one of the external camera feeds and, sure enough, the planet below seems to glow due to the IR blast from the engines. The bright orange fire contrasts against the green planet, reminding you of—
There was less than a week left until launch.
It was the evening, and the sun had long since set over the Kazakh steppes. You drained the water from the boiled pasta down the kitchenette sink in Ryland’s mobile home and set out paper plates and the butter you requested from the central dining hall.
“Pasta’s ready,” you told Ryland, who frowned down at one of the seemingly endless documents cluttering the kitchen table.
Upon seeing that Ryland continued to stare at a document, you took a few steps forward and pressed a swift kiss to his cheek. “Earth to Ryland? Come in?”
The crease in his forehead smoothed and he looked up. “Sorry, I was doing the math on how much additional space some extra coma slurry would take up.” His lips curled upon seeing you were wearing his periodic table shirt, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his seat at the mobile home’s solitary chair. “Thank you for making dinner.”
You half-heartedly rolled your eyes. “Right, because boiling pasta takes a culinary genius.”
Ryland pulled you in a soft kiss before leaning back and looking at you with warm eyes. “I’m serious. It’s been a long day, and I appreciate you coming to make us both dinner.” A mischievous smile spread across his lips as his hand snuck below the shirt you wore and settled at your waist. “Even if you did come here with ulterior motives.”
Your skin tingled where his hand touched your waist, and a blush crept up your cheeks. “You say that now but—”
The windows shattered as a thunderous explosion shook the mobile home, sending you and Ryland tumbling to the ground while glass shards spilled onto the floor. Ryland sat up and mouthed something to you, but it took you a moment to realize that you couldn’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. Thin slits cut across Ryland’s face from the flying shards of glass, and he helped pull you into a sitting position.
“—you okay?” The ringing in your ears finally eased enough to hear Ryland’s concerned voice. Meanwhile, you could hear sirens in the distance.
You tentatively nodded and shook your shoulders to ease the ache that came from hitting the ground hard.
Using the table and kitchenette as leverage, you and Ryland tentatively stood up and made your way to the front door. Ryland swung the door open, revealing that the whole house had been pushed a few feet back from the anchored front steps due to the force of the explosion. The Baikonur Cosmodrome had set up lights for the temporary camp, but they were now all dark. You see a fire burning in the far distance.
“Grace? Are you okay?” Stratt’s voice called out from the darkness outside, and you faintly remembered that Ryland had mentioned that her mobile home was next to his.
“Yeah!” Ryland replied on both your behalfs, “What the heck was that?”
A few moments later, Stratt emerged from the darkness holding a flashlight and wearing a bathrobe. She spoke back and forth with someone on her handheld radio before finally addressing you and Ryland. She spared you a momentary glance, seemingly unsurprised to see you. “The research center blew up.”
While Ryland asked Stratt who was at the research center, you felt your legs grow wobbly and held onto the door frame for support. “No…” You whispered, realizing what this meant, but neither Ryland nor Stratt seemed to hear you.
Stratt flipped through a wad of papers that held everyone’s schedules and gasped when she reached the page she was looking for. She gasped. “DuBois and Shapiro. They’re scheduled to be there doing some Astrophage experiments.”
Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, and you interrupted Ryland’s rambling about the potential blast radius. “Andrea said she was going to join them.”
Ryland froze and Stratt turned her handheld radio back on. “Prime crew—I need your locations. Call them in.” Yao and Ilyukhina swiftly reported in, but there were no responses after that.
“DuBois! Check in!” Silence. “Shapiro. Dr. Annie Shapiro. Check in!” Again, more silence. Stratt’s eyes flickered to you before turning back to her radio. “Cáceres! Andrea Cáceres, check in!”
The silence from the radio felt deafening and your legs finally gave out under you. Stratt and Ryland’s eyes turned to you, and you knew you were all thinking the same thing: you were now the only science specialist left.
Instead of meeting either of their gazes, you turned to watch the still burning fire in the distance as tears streamed down your face.
You come back to the present with a tiny gasp, your heart racing from finally remembering what led you to come on the mission after all. You feel a tear escape your eye and quickly wipe it away. Any distractions now could lead the whole mission to fail.
The exterior cameras have automatically turned off to protect their digitizers, preventing you from seeing where Ryland is. Luckily, Rocky chooses that moment to speak.
“Collector is closed,” Rocky says, “Move winch into position.”
You hear Ryland groan over the radio, and you can almost see him summoning his strength to fix the winch into place under the strain of 1.4 g’s of gravity from being at the top of Adrian’s atmosphere.
A minute later, Rocky successfully coaches Ryland through retrieving the sampler. Through his echolocation, Rocky can “see” Ryland’s movements on the ship’s hull. Whatever Ryland is now doing is concerning to Eridian as he voices his displeasure. “Careful, collector important.”
You open your mouth to ask what Ryland did, but a low altitude warning from the ship’s navigation cuts you off. Checking the velocity and altitude readings, you realize the ship has shifted out of the necessary angle it needs to maintain a safe altitude. You feel your palms begin to sweat.
“Hold on tight, Ryland,” you say, as you place your hand on the ship’s controls.
“Why?” Ryland’s strained voice asks, and you can hear the anxiety in his voice.
“Adrian’s gravity is pulling on us too much. I need to readjust the ship’s angle.” You try to imagine Yao’s serious but encouraging face from one of your flight simulations, and the memory sets you slightly at ease. Taking a deep breath, you lightly press on the controls and successfully realign the ship. The ship groans at the change, but the altitude stops deteriorating. Glancing through the airlock’s window, you see that you readjusted in time to avoid dipping below the planet’s aurora borealis.
Just as you’re about to sign in relief, a loud bang hits the hull of the ship. “What was that?” you ask frantically, and glance at the remaining exterior camera. The camera feed shows Ryland crouched down on the ship’s hull and tightly hugging the sampler. You open your mouth to ask again, but Ryland finally speaks up.
“I’m good,” he groans, wobbly standing up and shaking his arm. “Something from the hull came loose and brushed my arm, but the suit protected me. I think if you hadn’t adjusted the angle, it would’ve fully hit me.”
A minute later, you hear Ryland enter the airlock. The ship continues to groan as Ryland joins you in the cockpit, and you frantically check the screens, trying to pinpoint which screen could provide an explanation.
“Where is that noise coming from?” Ryland asks, voicing your thoughts.
“Noise is from all around,” Rocky quickly replies, and his carapace tilts in the way he does when he’s extending his echolocation far. “It’s loudest at portside of bedroom.”
While Rocky and Ryland speculate on whether gravity could be the cause, you focus on the ship’s navigation controls. With a firm push, you put the spin-drive onto full blast, causing the three of you to lurch back at the force.
“Hull bending below big room in bedroom,” Rocky says while the ship flashes a warning about the hull pressure.
“That’s the fuel tanks!” Ryland replies from his seat in the corner of the control room.
You focus on the ship controls and altitude readings while Ryland and Rocky argue back and forth. “Quiet!” You finally yell over the groaning of the ship and their bickering. “I can’t concentrate when you’re both shouting!”
Luckily, Ryland and Rocky have the decency to look embarrassed, and you can see Ryland’s pout and Rocky’s downturned carapace in the periphery of your vision. After several minutes, you finally stop the engines.
You raise your hands from the controls. “We did it!” you say with a relieved smile.
A matching smile spreads across Ryland’s face as objects in the cockpit float from the lack of gravity. However, after a few seconds, the objects begin to drop, slightly and then frighteningly fast. A sudden jerk from the ship sends your seat flying toward the opposite end of the cockpit, narrowly avoiding Ryland’s chair.
“Why ship moving, question?” Rocky asks, frantically holding onto the handhold in his xenonite tunnel.
Mary’s voice speaks up as various alarms begin to go off. “Hull breach. Portside fuel compartments 11 and 12.”
The force of “gravity” begins to feel stronger, and you attempt to drag your chair back to the center. Meanwhile, Rocky asks what is happening.
Ryland flicks on the screen closest to him to display the exterior camera feed. “The fuel line is migrating to Adrian!”
“Eject bad fuel bay, question?” Rocky says, and you can see his legs shaking from the strain of holding on.
You groan out an affirmative as you press the controls to jettison compartment 12. You have to nearly throw yourself against the opposite wall to flick the switch. The force of the jettison pushes you sideways. You hear a strangled chirp and loud thump from Rocky’s direction as he slams against his xenonite barrier.
Ryland helps you program the control for compartment 11, but the pressure from the ship’s spinning begins to feel unbearable. With your remaining strength, you throw yourself at the switch to jettison the compartment. Your head slams against the wall and rattles your skull. Within a few seconds, you can feel blood begin to pour down your face. As darkness creeps into the corners of your vision, you hear Ryland screaming your name and push the jettison button with your remaining strength.
the planet and the fates and all the stars aligned: Masterlist
Summary (also posted on AO3):
“You’re awake!” He exclaims, taking several steps forward to where you stand next to the ladder, and begins speaking quickly. “I’ve been trying to figure out how I could wake you. The computer hasn’t been helpful at all, and all those medical textbooks don’t have information about situations like this—”
He cuts himself off, perhaps realizing that your eyes are wide at the flurry of information he throws at you. “Sorry, I got ahead of myself,” He apologizes, running a hand through his hair again and adjusting the gold glasses that had been slipping down his nose. “You just woke up, and I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Ry—”
“Ryland Grace,” You complete for him without thinking.
“You remember?” He exclaims, his eyes brightening.
You pause. How did you know that? You didn’t remember your own name until two minutes ago, yet you instinctively knew his. Something about him was familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.
You wake up nine days late aboard the Hail Mary with no memories and the faint feeling that you know Ryland Grace, the only other person aboard the ship. Oh, and he just met an alien.
Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description).
Story rating: E (+18).
Chapter tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Angst. PinV sex. Oral (male receiving).
Chapter word count: 12.2k words.
a/n: This part is also a bit heavy... but for different reasons. But it had to happen eventually! Hope you like it! (had to make it work to post the whole thing... wouldn't let me!! don't understand why... I've posted longer parts, but for some reason, tumblr hates me today. I had to blotch some dialogue lines together... it was a very dialogue heavy chapter, so sorry if it's harder to read!).
The backyard had started to feel like an extra room of the house.
Early fall meant the heat had finally loosened its grip; the air warm but breathable, the light softer, stretching long across the grass. Someone, probably you, had dragged the old string lights back up along the fence a few weeks ago, and now they blinked lazily overhead even though the sun hadn’t fully set yet.
Joel sat back in one of the worn outdoor chairs, boots planted, a beer sweating slowly in his hand. Across the yard, you and Sarah were crouched over something involving popsicle sticks, a measuring tape, and entirely too much glitter for a school night.
“…I still say we should’ve remembered our own anniversary,” you were saying, laughing under your breath as Sarah carefully sprinkled glitter like a scientist handling explosives.
“We did remember,” Joel called. “Just… late.”
Sarah looked up immediately at you. “You are such a mess.”
You didn’t even try to deny it. “Hey, we both forgot,” you said with dignity.
Joel shrugged. “Been busy.”
“Busy being old,” Sarah corrected.
You snorted.
You’d celebrated anyway. Late. Takeout, a movie after Sarah went to bed, and Joel giving you a small gold pendant he’d clearly spent weeks picking out and pretended he hadn’t. It had been quiet. Perfect. Very you.
The flower bed near the fence where Sarah decided to play next was considerably less successful. You had planted it yourself months before… and most of it had not survived the experience.
“They're dormant,” you insisted when Joel brought up removing them for the eighteenth time.
“They're dead,” Joel replied.
“You don't know that.”
“Sweetheart, they're brown.”
Sarah settled the debate by making little popsicle-stick grave markers for three of them, which you still claimed that was deeply disrespectful.
Now the evening felt settled. Easy. The kind of ordinary that had taken a long time to earn.
The side gate creaked, and none of you reacted at first; people came and went enough that it wasn’t unusual, but then a familiar voice carried across the yard.
“Y’all just gonna sit out here without me now?”
Sarah froze. Actually froze. Then she spun so fast she nearly knocked over the stick bucket.
“TOMMY?!”
He stood just inside the gate like he’d always belonged there. Duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Leaner. Cleaner. Hair a little shorter. Eyes clearer than Joel had seen them in years.
Sarah launched at him full force. He barely got the bag off his shoulder before she hit him, arms locking around his middle. He let out a surprised grunt and then laughed, a real one, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her clean off the ground.
“Well, damn,” he said into her hair. “That’s a welcome.”
“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” she accused, already halfway to tears and smiling at the same time.
“Wanted it to be a surprise,” he said.
You reached them next, slower. Like you needed to see it properly.
“You look…” you stopped, shook your head once. “You look good.”
Tommy’s grin softened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Then you stepped forward and hugged him. Tight. No awkwardness, and absolutely no hesitation. He returned it just as firmly, one hand coming up to the back of your shoulder in a quick squeeze that said more than words.
“Thank you,” he murmured quietly enough only you could hear.
You squeezed once in answer. Let go before it got too heavy.
Joel hadn’t moved yet. He was still by the chair. Watching. Tommy looked up and met his eyes.
For a second neither of them said anything. Months of history. Years of history. All of it sitting there between them, quieter now but not gone.
Tommy shifted his weight. Cleared his throat.
“…You gonna just sit there lookin’ grumpy,” he said, voice rough but trying for normal, “or you comin’ over here.”
Joel stood. Crossed the yard in a few slow steps. Stopped in front of him.
They stared at each other for half a second.
Then Tommy said, low, almost sheepish, “Hey, big brother.”
Joel pulled him in. Hard.
One arm around his shoulders, the other at the back of his neck, hauling him close in a grip that was more bone than gentleness. Tommy returned it just as hard, their shoulders colliding like they needed the impact to make it real.
It wasn’t graceful. Wasn’t pretty. It was the kind of hug men gave when words weren’t enough and never had been.
Joel squeezed once, rough. Let out a breath against Tommy’s shoulder.
“…Missed you, you idiot,” he muttered.
Tommy huffed a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Missed you too.”
They separated with a couple of hard claps to each other’s backs like neither of them was interested in making a scene about it.
Tommy glanced around the yard, hands settling on his hips.
“…So,” he said, like he’d just walked in from work. “What’s for dinner.”
You burst out laughing. Sarah whooped.
Joel just shook his head and muttered, “Unbelievable,” but there was no heat in it at all.
Dinner ran long. Tommy talked. Steady. Present. He ate like someone who hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in a while and didn’t plan to waste the opportunity.
Sarah filled him in on everything he’d missed. School drama. soccer scores. The anniversary she’d helped ‘fix’. He listened to all of it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
Afterward, when dishes were done and Sarah finally dragged herself to bed after insisting on one more hug, one more question, one more everything; the house settled.
Tommy ended up at the kitchen table with a glass of water instead of beer. You, sitting across from him. Joel leaning back in his chair, watching both of you. No one rushed the conversation.
Tommy rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Program was… good,” he said finally. “Hard. Real hard. But good.”
You nodded once, letting him set the pace.
“They don’t let you bullshit,” he added. “Not even a little. First week I thought I was gonna walk out twice.” A small huff of self-awareness. “Wouldn’t have made it two days on my own.”
Joel stayed quiet. Listening.
“Group therapy,” Tommy went on. “Individual. Veteran meetings. Turns out… lotta guys like me.” A faint, humorless smile. “Who knew.”
Your voice stayed gentle. “You stayed.”
“Yeah.” He glanced at you. Then at Joel. “I stayed.”
He took a sip and then sighed loudly.
“They set me up with a therapist here,” he added. “And there’s a veterans AA group on Thursdays. Already got the schedule.” He tapped the table lightly. “Gonna stick with it.”
Joel nodded once.
“Good,” he said.
Tommy looked at him then. Really looked. Like he needed to know where he stood.
Joel held his gaze.
“…I’m proud of you,” he said.
Simple. Rough. No decoration.
Tommy swallowed hard. Looked down for a second. Nodded once.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Tryin’ to give you a reason to be.”
You reached across and squeezed his hand briefly.
The three of you sat there a while after that. Quiet. No big speeches left to make.
****************
Morning came quieter than the night before. Joel woke early out of habit, the house still dim with that pale blue light that came just before sunrise. For a moment he stayed where he was, one arm stretched across the other side of the bed. Empty.
He blinked once, frowning slightly, then heard movement downstairs. Cabinet doors. The soft scrape of something on the counter. He pushed himself up, dragged a hand through his hair, and pulled on a T-shirt before heading down.
You stood in the kitchen tying your hair back into a loose ponytail. You were already dressed for your run. Dark stretchy pants, worn sneakers, and one of those fitted tops that stopped just short of your waist. When you lifted your arms to tighten the elastic, the movement exposed a strip of skin across your stomach.
Joel stopped halfway down the stairs. Well now.
You turned when you heard him.
“Morning,” you said lightly.
Joel leaned against the railing, arms folding slowly.
“…You goin’ somewhere dressed like that?”
You blinked once, then glanced down at yourself.
“Running,” you said. “Like always.”
“Mm.”
You grabbed a bottle of water from the counter, completely unfazed.
Joel pushed off the railing and wandered into the kitchen, eyes still on you.
“You know,” he said casually, “I could think of a better use of the next thirty minutes.”
You didn’t even look up while you adjusted the watch on your wrist.
“Oh really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He stepped closer, resting his hands on the counter on either side of you.
“Could make it worth your while,” he added.
That got your attention. You looked up slowly, one eyebrow lifting. Joel leaned in a little, voice dropping.
“Very worth your while.”
You studied him for a moment like you were actually considering it. Then you leaned forward and kissed him, quickly. When you pulled back you were already smiling.
“Nice try.”
Joel sighed dramatically.
“Woman,” he muttered, “I am offerin’ you a perfectly respectable alternative to cardio.”
You grabbed your keys.
“You know what happens if I skip a run.”
Joel snorted.
“Yeah,” he said. “You get grumpy and start reorganizin’ the spice rack.”
“That was one time.”
“You alphabetized paprika.”
“It needed structure.”
He shook his head slowly.
“…Unbelievable.”
You walked toward the door, but paused long enough to brush your fingers lightly along his jaw as you passed.
“Make coffee for me?” you said.
Joel caught your wrist briefly.
“You’re really leavin’ me like this?”
You leaned in just enough to murmur against his ear.
“Taking a rain check,” you said softly. “I plan on collecting later,” you reached the door and opened it “Also… we both know you wouldn’t be satisfied with thirty minutes.”
Then you slipped out before he could answer. Joel stood there for a second staring at the closed door.
“…Cruel,” he muttered.
Outside, he heard the quick rhythm of your footsteps fade down the street. He made himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, watching the early light stretch across the backyard.
It still caught him off guard sometimes. How easily you had slipped into this life. Into the house. Into the mornings. Into him.
Sarah adored you. Tommy trusted you. The house felt different when you were there. Lighter.
Joel took a slow sip of coffee. And for a man who’d spent most of his life expecting things to fall apart sooner or later, that kind of quiet happiness still felt a little unbelievable. But he’d take it. Every damn morning.
A while later, Joel was halfway through his second cup of coffee when he heard footsteps upstairs. Heavy. Uneven. Dragging. Sarah appeared in the doorway a moment later, hair pointing in six different directions. She squinted at him.
“…I’m hungry.”
Joel chuckled.
“Of course you are.”
She stared at the coffee.
“Gross.”
He snorted and pushed a bowl across the counter.
“Eat.”
Sarah climbed onto one of the stools, still half asleep, and started spooning cereal into a bowl like someone operating heavy machinery. Joel was reaching for the milk when the back door burst open.
“Smells like coffee and poor decisions in here.”
Joel didn’t even look up.
“…Mornin’, Tommy.”
Sarah perked up instantly.
“Uncle Tommy!”
Tommy stepped inside like he’d been invited, wearing jeans, boots, and the same jacket he’d been living in lately. His hair was still damp like he’d showered five minutes ago. He spotted the coffee pot immediately.
“Oh hell yes.”
“Don’t,” Joel said automatically.
Tommy was already pouring himself a cup.
“Too late.”
Sarah slid off the stool and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“You didn’t say you were coming!”
Tommy grinned down at her.
“Didn’t know I had to schedule breakfast now.”
Joel reached past him to grab the milk.
“You do if you plan on drinkin’ my coffee.”
Tommy took a long sip and sighed like a man tasting heaven.
“Worth it.”
Sarah was already rummaging through the fridge.
“We’re out of waffles.”
“That sounds like a you problem,” Tommy said.
Joel closed the fridge door with his hip.
“You ate the last ones yesterday.”
Tommy looked offended.
“I was helpin’ reduce inventory.”
Sarah turned toward Joel.
“He ate four.”
“Three,” Tommy corrected.
“Four,” she insisted.
“Small ones.”
Joel rubbed a hand over his face.
“…Jesus.”
The front door opened just then.
You stepped inside, cheeks flushed from the run, ponytail loose and slightly messy, breathing lightly but steady. Joel took one look at you and felt his body react immediately…Yeah. That rain check was gonna be a problem.
You’d stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. Took in the scene: Sarah standing on a chair digging through the freezer. Tommy drinking Joel’s coffee like he paid for it. Joel leaning against the counter looking ten seconds from mutiny.
“…I was gone forty minutes,” you said.
Tommy lifted his mug toward you.
“Mornin’.”
You walked in slowly.
“You’re eating our breakfast again.”
Tommy shrugged.
“I’m contributing emotional support.”
Sarah held up the empty waffle box accusingly.
“He’s the reason we have none.”
You dropped your keys on the counter.
“Well,” you said mildly, “that explains the crime scene I guess.”
Joel pushed another mug toward you without looking.
“Coffee.”
You took it with a grateful hum.
“Thank you.”
Tommy eyed your running clothes.
“Joel try to convince you not to go?”
You took a sip.
“Of course.”
Sarah perked up.
“Why?”
You glanced at Joel, then smiled slightly.
“He had… other plans.”
Joel pointed his finger at Tommy without turning around.
“Don’t.”
Tommy burst out laughing.
“Oh man.”
Sarah frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Joel grabbed the waffle box from the counter and tossed it in the trash.
“It means you’re eatin’ more cereal.”
Tommy leaned against the counter, still grinning.
“This house is chaos before eight a.m.”
You took another sip of coffee, eyes flicking briefly to Joel.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “It really is.”
And Joel realized he didn’t mind that at all.
You disappeared upstairs a minute later, mumbling something about a “two-minute shower before work.”
Joel watched you go for a second. Tommy noticed.
“Man,” he said, leaning against the counter with his coffee, “you got it bad.”
Joel didn’t look at him.
“Eat your cereal.”
Tommy snorted. Sarah was still perched on the stool, crunching loudly through her bowl.
“So,” Tommy said after a moment, like the thought had just occurred to him. “Buddy of mine from the program’s got a cabin out near Lake Buchanan.”
Joel reached for the coffee pot.
“Mm.”
“Nothing fancy,” Tommy went on. “Just a little place. Dock, old fishing boat, couple rooms.”
Joel poured more coffee.
“Good for him.”
Tommy watched him a second.
“He offered it to me next weekend.”
Joel glanced at him.
“And?”
Tommy shrugged.
“Figured we could go.”
Joel frowned slightly.
“Go where.”
Tommy gestured vaguely.
“Fishin’. Like we used to.”
That made Joel pause. Not long. Just long enough. Sarah looked between them.
“You guys went fishing?”
“Used to,” Tommy said. “Your dad here used to catch the biggest ones.”
Joel scoffed.
“That’s because you kept scarin’ the fish away with your loud blabberin’.”
Tommy grinned.
“Still do.” He took another sip of coffee. “Place is only like two hours out, tops,” he added. “Quiet. Trees. No phones goin’ off every five minutes.”
Joel leaned his hip against the counter.
“Sounds nice.”
Tommy nodded.
“Yeah.” A moment passed, and then he said it plainly. “Come with me.”
Joel shook his head immediately.
“Nah.”
Sarah frowned.
“Why not?”
Joel ruffled her hair as he walked past.
“Because someone’s gotta stay here and make sure you eat something besides cereal.”
“That’s not a reason,” she protested.
Tommy watched him carefully.
“It’s two days, Joel.”
Joel grabbed the waffle box out of habit before remembering it was empty.
“Still.”
Tommy leaned back against the counter again.
“Sarah’d survive forty-eight hours without you.”
Joel tossed the empty box in the trash.
“Would she.”
Tommy tilted his head.
“You ain’t been fishing in years.”
Joel didn’t answer. Upstairs, the shower turned off. Water pipes rattled softly through the walls.
Tommy glanced toward the ceiling. Then back at Joel.
“…Think about it.”
Joel took another sip of coffee.
“I am thinkin’ about it.”
But the way he said it didn’t sound like thinking. It sounded like a no. Tommy noticed that too. He didn’t push. Not yet…
Sarah climbed into the back seat with her backpack and immediately started talking. Joel didn’t think she’d taken a breath since the front door.
“…and Emma says frogs can freeze in the winter and then wake up again in the spring.”
Tommy twisted slightly in his seat to look at her.
“That so.”
“Yeah,” Sarah said seriously. “Her dad told her.”
Joel pulled away from the curb.
“Sounds like somethin’ her dad made up.”
Sarah gasped.
“No he didn’t.”
Tommy grinned.
“Science is mysterious, Joel.”
Joel snorted. They reached the school drop-off line a few minutes later, the cars inching forward one by one. Sarah leaned forward between the seats.
“Uncle Tommy, are you coming to my soccer game Saturday?”
Tommy glanced at Joel.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
She beamed. Then the car ahead moved and Joel rolled forward. Sarah grabbed her backpack.
“Bye, Dad.”
Joel reached back and squeezed her shoulder as she climbed out.
“Have a good day.”
The truck was quiet for a minute. Tommy stretched his legs in the passenger seat.
“…She’s growin’ fast.”
Joel nodded once.
“Yeah.”
Another block passed. Then Tommy cleared his throat.
“So.”
Joel exhaled.
“No.”
Tommy blinked.
“I didn’t even say nothin’ yet.”
Joel kept his eyes on the road.
“You’re gonna bring up that cabin again.”
Tommy shifted in his seat.
“…Yeah.”
Joel shook his head.
“Still no.”
Tommy rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“C’mon, man. It’s two nights.”
Joel turned onto the highway.
“Still got a kid at home.”
Tommy leaned back against the seat.
“Juliet’ll be there.”
Joel didn’t answer. Which was answer enough. Tommy studied him.
“She’s good with Sarah,” he said.
Joel’s jaw tightened slightly.
“I know that.”
“Then what’s the problem.”
Joel stared ahead at the road.
“There ain’t a problem.”
Tommy snorted softly.
“Sure sounds like one.”
Joel tightened his grip on the wheel.
“It’s two days.”
Tommy shrugged.
“Yeah.”
Joel shook his head.
“Not happenin’.”
Tommy looked out the windshield for a moment. Then he said, quietly:
“You used to love fishin’.”
Joel didn’t respond. Just kept driving. After a moment Tommy added:
“…Just think about it.”
Joel didn’t answer… But he didn’t say no again either.
And Tommy noticed that.
***************
Joel knew the moment he opened the front door that peace and quiet were not going to happen.
“DAD!”
Sarah came skidding across the living room in socks like a small, loud tornado.
Joel barely had time to close the door before she collided with him.
“Whoa,” he said, steadying her by the shoulders. “Easy.”
“You forgot to sign my permission slip.”
Joel blinked.
“…What permission slip.”
“The museum trip,” she said urgently. “Tomorrow.”
Joel dropped his keys on the table and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Alright, hold on.”
From the kitchen, your voice drifted out.
“It’s on the counter.”
Joel followed the smell of dinner and stepped into the kitchen. You were at the stove, stirring something in a pan. Your hair was still slightly damp from your shower earlier, tied up loosely now, and you’d changed into an oversized T-shirt and leggings. You glanced over your shoulder and smiled when you saw him.
“Hey.”
Joel felt some of the day loosen in his shoulders immediately.
“Hey.”
Sarah slid the paper across the counter toward him with dramatic urgency.
“If you don’t sign it I can’t go.”
Joel grabbed a pen.
“I’m signing it.”
“You said that about the library trip and forgot.”
You snorted softly from the stove. Joel shot you a look.
“Don’t encourage her.”
Sarah watched him sign like a hawk.
“Thank you,” she said solemnly.
Joel handed it back.
“You’re welcome.”
She grabbed the paper and ran off toward the living room again, already talking about something else. Joel leaned his elbows on the counter and exhaled.
You slid a glass of water toward him.
“Long day?”
“Yeah.”
You stirred the pan once more, then glanced at him sideways.
“…That rain check still stands, you know.”
Joel looked at you.
“Does it now.”
You gave him a small, amused shrug.
“Depends how tired you are.”
Joel huffed a quiet breath through his nose.
“Never too tired for those kinds of rain checks.”
You smiled to yourself and turned back to the stove. Joel reached for the glass of water. That was when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. Tommy. Joel sighed and opened the message.
A photo filled the screen. A small wooden cabin sitting right at the edge of a quiet lake. Dock stretching out over the water. An old fishing boat tied to the side. Trees everywhere.
The caption read: Told you it was nice.
Joel rubbed his forehead. You noticed immediately.
“What is it?”
“Tommy…”
“What’s he sending you.”
Joel hesitated a second, then handed you the phone. You wiped your hand on a towel and looked at the picture. Your eyebrows lifted.
“That’s beautiful.”
Joel leaned back against the counter.
“Cabin up near Lake Buchanan,” he said. “Friend of his offered it for next weekend.”
You studied the photo another moment.
“Fishing?”
“Yeah.”
You looked up at him.
“And?”
Joel shrugged.
“He’s been trying to drag me out there.”
You glanced back at the picture. Then back at him.
“That actually looks pretty great.”
Joel shook his head.
“Not happenin’.”
You tilted your head slightly.
“…Why not?”
Joel shrugged like it was obvious.
“Two nights.”
“So?”
Joel nodded toward the living room where Sarah’s voice was drifting in and out as she talked to herself about the museum trip.
“Kid.”
You leaned your hip against the counter.
“I’m aware you have one.”
Joel ran a hand over the back of his neck.
“Just doesn’t make sense.”
You glanced at the phone again.
“It’s two days, Joel.”
“Still.”
You studied him for a second.
“You think Sarah can’t survive a weekend without you?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It kind of is.”
Joel rubbed his jaw, already annoyed with the direction the conversation was going.
“She’s eight.”
“And?”
“And I’m not leavin’.”
Your brow furrowed slightly.
“You wouldn’t be leaving her alone.”
Joel didn’t answer immediately. You saw it.
“Joel.”
He sighed.
“I just… don’t like it.”
You waited.
“For two days?” you asked quietly.
Joel gestured vaguely.
“I mean, what if somethin’ happens.”
“What exactly do you think is going to happen in forty-eight hours?”
Joel exhaled hard. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
Joel searched for the words and found the worst possible version of them. “I’m not gonna leave her here.”
The sentence landed like a dropped plate. You didn’t move.
“Here,” you repeated.
Joel realized too late how that sounded. “That’s not what I meant.”
Your voice stayed calm, but something in it had cooled. “Isn’t it.”
Joel pushed off the counter.
“You’re twisting it.”
“No,” you said softly. “I’m listening.”
From the living room Sarah laughed at something on TV.
Joel rubbed a hand over his face.
“I just don’t see the point of goin’,” he muttered.
You looked at him a second longer. Then you turned back to the stove and stirred the pan again.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” you said.
Joel knew that tone. And suddenly the cabin photo on the counter felt like a much bigger problem than a fishing trip.
****************
The house settled slowly that night. Dinner had been normal on the surface. Sarah talked through most of it, describing the museum trip she was apparently going to lead personally, and you listened and smiled and asked questions at all the right moments.
Joel answered when he needed to. But something had shifted. It was just… off. By the time Sarah was finally tucked into bed and the lights in the house started going out one by one, the quiet felt heavier than usual.
You were already in the bedroom when Joel came in. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off your jewelry for the day. The lamp on the nightstand cast a warm pool of light across the room.
You glanced up when he entered.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Joel pulled his shirt off and tossed it toward the chair. Neither of you mentioned the kitchen. Neither of you mentioned the cabin.
You set the wristwatch down in the nightstand and slid under the covers first. Joel shut off the lamp a minute later and climbed in beside you.
At first you both just settled into the mattress, the house creaking softly around you the way houses always did at night.
Usually by now you would have made space for him. And Joel would move in behind you automatically, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You slept like that most nights. You tucked against him, Joel wrapped around you like it was the most natural place in the world.
Tonight you stayed where you were. Facing the other side of the bed. Completely still.
Joel stared up at the dark ceiling for a while. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. But after a minute the space between you began to hurt. It wasn’t much. Maybe six inches. But it felt colder than the rest of the bed.
Joel shifted slightly, almost without thinking. Usually that would have been enough. You would drift back toward him automatically, fitting into the space against his chest like you always did. Tonight you didn’t move.
Joel lay there a while longer. He thought about saying something. About explaining. But every version of the sentence sounded wrong in his head.
I didn’t mean it like that. You know that’s not what I meant. You’re twisting it.
None of it sounded right.
Across the mattress you breathed steadily, already drifting toward sleep. Or pretending to.
Joel turned his head slightly toward you in the dark. He could just make out the shape of your shoulder under the covers. Close enough to reach. But he didn’t.
That morning you’d joked about a rain check. Joel had half expected you’d collect before the night was over. Now it felt like that belonged to a completely different day.
After a while he rolled onto his back again. Staring at the ceiling. Feeling the cold space between you. And knowing damn well he had put it there.
************
The next couple of days felt… wrong. Joel noticed it in small things. You still talked to him. Still smiled. Still asked about his day, about Sarah’s homework, about whether the truck was making that noise again.
Nothing had changed on the surface. But something underneath had shifted. You hadn’t had a fight like this before. Hell, you’d barely fought at all.
You weren't the kind of person who let things sit and rot. If something bothered you, you said it. Straight out. You’d talk it through, fix it, move on. That was how it had always worked between you. Until now. Now you were… quieter.
Joel didn’t know what to do with that. It reminded him, uncomfortably, of a long time ago.
Sarah’s mom had been the opposite of you when it came to fights. She never said what was wrong. Never said what he’d done. She’d just go silent for days at a time, walking around the house like he wasn’t there, letting him stew in it.
Joel had hated that more than the yelling. With you it had never been like that. Being with you had felt like sailing on a calm sea after years of bad weather. Until now.
And the worst part was he knew damn well he’d caused it. He just didn’t know how to fix it.
By Saturday morning he felt like a man walking around his own house with a rock in his boot. Sarah’s soccer game didn’t care about any of that. The field was already full when they arrived. Kids running everywhere, parents setting up folding chairs along the sidelines, whistles blowing from three different directions.
Sarah’s team was warming up near the far goal.
“There she is,” you said, spotting her first.
Sarah waved the second she saw you all. Tommy waved back like he was greeting a celebrity.
“Star player,” he said.
Joel set up the chairs while you grabbed the cooler from the trunk. You settled along the sideline with the rest of the parents.
Sarah’s team took the field a few minutes later. For a while the game gave Joel something else to focus on. Kids chasing the ball in a chaotic pack, parents yelling encouragement, the occasional dramatic fall that looked much worse than it was.
You clapped when Sarah managed a decent pass.
“Nice one!” you called.
Joel noticed Tommy watching you two. Not the game. You and him. Tommy leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“…Alright,” he said finally. “What’s goin’ on.”
Joel kept his eyes on the field.
“Nothin’.”
Tommy snorted.
“Bullshit.”
You didn’t say anything. Tommy looked from one to the other.
“You two been weird all mornin’.”
Still nothing. Tommy tried again.
“Did I miss somethin’?”
Joel shifted in his chair.
“No.”
Tommy frowned.
“Did y’all fight or somethin’?”
You looked at him.
“No, Tommy.”
The tone wasn’t sharp. But it was… close. Tommy blinked slightly. He wasn’t used to that from you.
“…Alright,” he muttered, backing off. He watched the field for a few seconds, scratching his jaw. Then he changed subjects. “So,” he said, nudging Joel with his elbow, “you think about the cabin?”
Joel sighed quietly.
“Tommy.”
“I’m serious,” Tommy went on. “Jeff offered it again last night. It’s a great spot. Quiet lake, nobody around, fish big as your arm.”
Joel didn’t answer. Tommy leaned forward again, still trying.
“Two days, man. That’s all I’m askin’.”
Joel stared at the field.
“Drop it.”
Tommy frowned, confused.
“Why?”
Joel didn’t respond. Tommy gestured toward the field where Sarah was chasing the ball.
“Look, Sarah’ll be fine. Juliet’s a champ with her.”
Joel muttered low.
“Tommy-”
Tommy kept going. “Can’t she just stay with Juliet for a couple days?”
Silence. Joel closed his eyes briefly.
“…Tommy.”
You stood up. “Apparently not.”
Joel exhaled sharply. “…Fuck.”
You grabbed your keys from the chair. “I’ll be in the car.”
Right then the referee blew the final whistle.
The field erupted with noise; kids cheering, parents clapping. Sarah had scored at the last second. She turned immediately toward the sideline looking for you.
Tommy watched you walking across the grass toward the parking lot. Then he slowly looked back at Joel.
“…Oh.”
Now he understood. And judging by his face, he wished he didn’t.
The ride home was quiet. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that sat heavy in the truck, pressing against the windows. Sarah talked the whole way. About the goal. About how the goalie had almost blocked it. About how Coach Jones said she might get to play forward next week. Joel nodded when he needed to. Said ‘that’s great, baby’ at the right moments. But his hands stayed tight on the wheel. You stared out the passenger window.
Tommy sat in the back seat, unusually quiet, like a man who had finally realized he’d stepped straight into the middle of something he didn’t understand.
By the time you pulled into the driveway, the silence had thickened into something uncomfortable. Inside the house, Sarah kicked off her shoes immediately.
“Did you see the way I kicked it?” she said.
“I did,” Tommy said quickly.
He clapped his hands together once.
“Hey. C’mere a second.” Sarah followed him automatically. “Wanna show me how you did it?” he asked. “Like the whole play.”
Her face lit up. “Yeah!”
Tommy glanced once toward the kitchen where you and Joel had both drifted without speaking. Then he jerked his head toward the hallway.
“Let’s go to your room,” he said. “You can draw it for me.”
Sarah grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs, still explaining the play at full speed. Their voices faded down the hallway.
The house went quiet. Joel leaned against the kitchen counter. You stood on the other side of the room, arms folded tight across yourself. Neither spoke for a moment. Joel finally exhaled.
“Tommy didn’t mean anything by it.”
You laughed once. Not amused. “I know he didn’t.”
Another silence stretched. Joel shifted his weight.
“You’re makin’ this bigger than it is.”
Your head snapped up. “Bigger than it is?”
“It’s a stupid fishing trip, Juliet.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Your voice rose slightly. “The point is you don’t trust me with her.”
Joel shook his head. “That’s not-”
“Yes it is.”
“No it’s not.”
“You said it!” you snapped. “You said you couldn’t leave Sarah with me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said you wouldn’t go because you couldn’t leave her with me!”
Joel’s temper flared. “I said I wasn’t comfortable leaving.”
“Leaving her with me,” you shot back.
Joel ran a hand through his hair. “You’re twisting what I said.”
You stared at him, disbelief creeping into your voice. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my god, Joel.” You paced once across the kitchen, frustrated energy radiating off you. “I have been living in this house with you and Sarah for months.”
Joel didn’t answer.
“I help with homework,” you continued, voice shaking now, “I cook, I drive her places, I sit through soccer practice and school meetings and dentist appointments-”
“I know that.”
“-and she trusts me,” you pressed on. “She talks to me. She comes to me when she’s upset. We have built a relationship.”
“I know.”
“And yet somehow,” you said, voice cracking now, “I am still not someone you can leave her with for two days.”
Joel’s jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”
“Not fair?”
“No.”
You stared at him. “What exactly would make it fair, Joel?”
He didn’t answer. You laughed again, bitter this time.
“Another year? Two? A background check? Should I submit references?”
“Juliet-”
“No, really,” you pressed. “Tell me what I have to do.”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
Your voice jumped an octave.
“I am not blowing this out of proportion!”
“You are!”
You stepped closer now, tears bright in your eyes.
“This isn’t about the fishing trip!”
“Then what is it about?”
“It’s about the fact that you just made it very clear that no matter how much I love her, no matter how much she loves me, I will never actually count.”
Joel’s temper snapped.
“She’s not your daughter.”
The words hit the room like a gunshot. You went completely still. For a split second Joel looked like he might take it back. Instead he doubled down.
“This is my decision.”
Your eyes filled. “And that’s it?” you asked quietly.
“Yes.”
Your voice shook. “You don’t even want to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Joel-”
“This discussion is over.”
The words were loud enough to echo. You swallowed. Then you turned away and grabbed your keys from the counter.
Joel frowned. “…Where are you going.”
“I’m going to my mom’s.”
The words were tight.
“For how long?”
You shook your head, already walking toward the door. “I don’t know.”
“Juliet-”
But the front door opened. Closed. A second later the sound of your car starting filled the driveway. Joel stood frozen in the kitchen. The engine faded as you drove away.
Upstairs, footsteps hurried. Tommy came down first.
Sarah was right behind him.
“What happened?” Sarah asked.
Tommy glanced out the window at the empty driveway.
“…Your dad and Juliet just had a disagreement,” he said carefully.
Joel still hadn’t moved. Tommy looked at him.
“What the hell happened?”
Joel didn’t answer. The house felt very quiet. And suddenly very empty.
*************
The afternoon dragged. Joel tried to keep busy. He cleaned the kitchen twice. Rearranged a stack of mail that didn’t need rearranging. Walked out to the driveway and back for no reason.
The house felt wrong without you in it. Too quiet. Tommy had figured that out fast. He stayed mostly in the living room with Sarah, watching TV with the volume low.
Every now and then Joel caught Sarah glancing toward the kitchen like she was trying to read his mood. Around four he gave up pretending he wasn’t waiting. He pulled his phone out and called you. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Voicemail. Joel hung up before the message could start. He stared at the phone for a second. Then shoved it into his pocket.
From the living room Sarah’s voice carried over.
“Dad, did you see my goal? It went like this!”
Joel leaned in the doorway. “Yeah,” he said shortly.
“It was pretty good, right?”
“Yep.”
Sarah tilted her head. “You didn’t even look.”
Joel sighed and said, probably a tad angrier than he meant: “I saw it earlier, kiddo.”
She frowned and looked back at him. “You’re being a grump.”
Joel felt something inside him tighten. “I’m not a grump.”
“You kinda are.”
“I said I’m not.”
Sarah crossed her arms. “You’re mad because Juliet left.”
Joel’s head snapped toward her. “That’s enough.”
“But you made her leave.”
“She left.”
“Because you yelled at her!”
Joel felt his temper spike. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do too!”
“You weren’t even part of that conversation.”
“I heard it!”
The words landed harder than Joel expected.
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“Well I did!” Sarah stood up now. “You said you couldn’t leave me with her.”
Joel’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I said.”
“Yes it is!”
“No it isn’t.”
“You said you couldn’t go fishing because you couldn’t leave me with Juliet!”
Joel ran a hand over his face. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?!”
“That’s enough.”
“No it isn’t!”
Her voice cracked now. “We’re together all the time,” she said. “She helps me with everything. She makes dinner with me. We watch movies. She's the best.”
Joel stayed silent.
“So why can’t I stay with her?” Sarah demanded. “Why can’t Uncle Tommy take you fishing?”
Joel snapped. “BECAUSE I SAID SO!”
The words rang through the room. Sarah flinched. Joel pointed up the stairs.
“Go to your room.”
She stared at him. “No.”
That did it.
“Go. To. Your. Room.”
The shout cracked through the house. Sarah froze. Her face changed immediately. Shock first. Then hurt. Her eyes filled so fast it made Joel’s stomach drop. She almost never cried. Almost never. She turned and ran down the hallway.
Her bedroom door slammed. The sound echoed through the house. Joel stood there breathing hard. The silence afterward felt enormous. From the hallway doorway Tommy had been watching the whole thing. He hadn’t said a word. Now he stepped into the room slowly.
Joel still hadn’t moved.
Then Tommy said quietly, “…Well.”
Joel didn’t answer. He was still standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the hallway where Sarah had disappeared.
Tommy pushed himself off the wall and walked a few steps into the room.
“You gonna tell me what this is really about?”
Joel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Tommy…”
“Cause I refuse to believe this is about you not trusting Juliet,” Tommy went on. “Not after everything.”
Joel’s jaw tightened. “You’re one to talk.”
Tommy blinked once. “…About what?”
Joel shrugged, but there was an edge to it. “I dunno. Maybe the part where you spent the last few years drunk out of your mind.”
The words hung in the air. For a second Tommy just stared at him. Then he nodded once.
“Yeah,” he said. His voice wasn’t angry. Just steady. “I did.”
Joel didn’t say anything. Tommy crossed his arms.
“But I got my shit together. I went to rehab,” he continued. “It’s been hard as hell, it still is, every day. But I got sober.”
Joel’s eyes flicked toward him.
Tommy held his gaze. “And you know what?” There was a small pause. “It was mostly because of her.”
Joel didn’t respond.
Tommy shook his head slowly.
“I swear to God,” Tommy said quietly, “if you lose that woman because of your fucking pride…”
He didn’t raise his voice. That somehow made it worse.
Joel’s head snapped up. Tommy held his gaze.
“You remember what you were like before she showed up?”
Joel didn’t answer.
Tommy pushed off the counter and took a step closer.
“You were miserable, man.”
Joel’s jaw tightened.
“You worked. You slept. You snapped at everybody who got within ten feet of you. House felt like a damn bunker half the time.”
Joel looked away. Tommy kept going.
“Then she comes along and suddenly you’re laughing again.”
Joel didn’t respond.
“You cook together,” Tommy said. “You sit outside at night. Hell, you even started listening when I talk about my stupid shit instead of just grunting at me.”
Joel’s shoulders shifted slightly. Tommy shook his head.
“And Sarah?” He gestured toward the hallway. “She looks at Juliet like she hung the moon. She loves her, man.” Silence. Tommy’s voice softened a little. “You got lucky, Joel. Real lucky.”
Joel still didn’t speak.
Tommy exhaled through his nose.
“And now you’re about to blow the whole damn thing up because you’re scared.”
The silence between them stretched. Heavy. Then Joel snapped.
“You don’t know what it feels like.”
Tommy frowned.
“What?”
“Having responsibilities,” Joel said, voice rising. “Being the one person that kid depends on for every damn thing.”
Tommy held his gaze. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “I know I’m not a dad. That’s true. But I do know a good thing when it hits me in the face.”
Joel scoffed. “You think this is about Juliet?”
“What else would it be?”
Joel paced once across the kitchen, agitated now. “You don’t get it,” he said. “It’s always been me.”
Tommy said nothing.
“School. Doctors. Bills. Food on the table. Every decision,” Joel went on, words coming faster now. “Every damn thing that kid needs.” His voice hardened. “There ain’t nobody else if I screw it up.”
Tommy watched him quietly.
Joel gestured toward the hallway.
“That’s the job.”
Tommy tilted his head slightly. “…Yeah,” he said. “It is. But you’re not alone anymore.” Joel didn’t answer. Tommy leaned forward slightly. “You’re acting like letting someone help you is the same thing as abandoning your kid.”
Joel’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not abandoning anything.”
“No,” Tommy said calmly. “You’re just refusing to share the load.”
Joel looked away.
Tommy nodded toward the door you had left through.
“That woman’s been standing next to you carrying half of it for months. You just won’t let yourself admit it.”
Joel didn’t move.
Tommy studied him for a long moment. Then he said quietly,
“Man… you’re not protecting Sarah. You’re protecting the version of yourself that had to survive doing it all alone.” The words hung there. And Joel didn’t have an answer. “And instead of tellin’ her you’re scared to let someone share the load with you…” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “…you told her she ain’t the kid’s mother.”
Joel winced.
Tommy nodded once.
“Yeah.” A small silence stretched. Then Tommy said, quieter now, “You know what you should’ve said?” Joel didn’t look up. Tommy shrugged. “Somethin’ like… ‘I’ve been doin’ this shit on my own for so long I don’t know how to stop’.”
Joel’s jaw tightened.
Tommy continued. “Or maybe… ‘I’m scared if I let you carry some of it and you leave, it’ll break my heart’.”
Joel finally looked up.
Tommy held his gaze. “That,” he said simply, “would’ve made sense.”
The kitchen went quiet again. Joel stared toward the front door. Then back at Tommy. For the first time since you left, the anger had drained out of him. What was left looked a lot more like fear.
Tommy watched it happen. “…Well,” he said quietly.
Joel rubbed both hands over his face. “I’m such a fuckin’ idiot.”
Tommy didn’t argue.
Joel let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the counter. “What do I do now?”
For once, Tommy didn’t have a joke ready. He shrugged a little. “Same thing the rest of us do when we screw up. Apologize.”
Joel looked up.
Tommy jerked his chin toward the stairs. “Start with the kid.”
Joel followed his gaze. Sarah’s door was still closed.
Tommy pushed himself off the counter. “I’m gonna head out,” he said.
Joel frowned slightly. “You don’t gotta-”
“Yeah,” Tommy said gently. “I do.” He clapped Joel once on the shoulder as he passed. “This one’s yours.”
A second later the front door closed behind him. The house went quiet again. Joel stood there for a moment. Then he walked up the stairs and knocked softly on Sarah’s door. No answer. He knocked again.
“Sarah?”
A quiet voice came from inside. “…What.”
Joel opened the door slowly. Sarah was curled up on her bed with her back against the headboard, knees pulled up. Her face was swollen and her eyes red from crying. That sight hit him harder than anything Tommy had said. Joel stepped inside.
“Hey.”
Sarah didn’t look at him.
Joel sat on the edge of the bed, leaving a little space between them. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then he said quietly,
“I’m sorry.”
Sarah sniffed. “You yelled.”
“I know.” Silence. Joel rubbed his hands together. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Sarah picked at the corner of her blanket. “You never yell like that.”
Joel swallowed. “I know.”
Finally she looked up at him. “Is Juliet coming back?”
Joel didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Sarah’s eyes filled again immediately.
Joel felt his chest tighten. “Hey,” he said softly. “Come here.”
She hesitated. Then she scooted closer and leaned against him.
Joel wrapped an arm around her automatically. She was still sniffling.
“I heard what you said,” she mumbled into his shirt.
Joel closed his eyes. “…Yeah.”
“You said she’s not my mom.”
His throat tightened. “I did.”
Sarah pulled back slightly so she could look at him. “But she’s still… kinda ours.”
Joel didn’t have a response to that.
“She makes bracelets with me,” Sarah continued quietly. “And she helps me with math. And she watches movies with us.”
Joel nodded faintly.
“And she makes you laugh,” Sarah added. Her voice got smaller. “I don’t want things to go back to before.”
Joel froze. “What do you mean?”
“You were sad a lot,” she said simply.
Joel looked down.
“And the house was quieter,” she continued. “I like it better now.” Her fingers twisted in his shirt. “Can you fix it?”
Joel swallowed. “Fix what?”
“Whatever you did.”
The words were painfully direct.
Sarah looked up at him with wet eyes. “Please.”
Joel pulled her into a hug, and for a moment he just held her there. His chin rested on the top of her head.
“…I’ll try,” he said quietly.
Sarah sniffed again. “Try really hard.”
Joel let out a weak breath that might have been a laugh. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I will.”
***************
Joel stayed in Sarah’s room until she fell asleep. It didn’t take long. Crying always wore her out. Her breathing had gone slow and steady against his arm, her hand still fisted in his shirt like she was making sure he wouldn’t disappear too. Joel carefully untangled himself and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. For a moment he just stood there looking down at her. Then he turned off the lamp and stepped into the hallway.
The house felt different now. Quieter. He walked back to the kitchen automatically, like he didn’t know what else to do with himself. Your mug was still on the counter. Half a cup of tea gone cold. Joel stared at it for a second before picking it up and rinsing it in the sink. Then he stopped halfway through and set it back down.
The silence pressed in again. He checked his phone. Nothing. No message. No missed calls. He wondered briefly if he should call you again. Then decided he probably shouldn’t.
He leaned his hands against the counter and stared out through the dark window above the sink. Minutes passed. Maybe more. At some point he sat down at the table. Then got up again. Walked to the living room. Turned the TV on. Muted it almost immediately. Turned it off again.
He was standing in the middle of the room when he heard it. Headlights sweeping briefly across the front windows. Joel froze. The sound of a car engine outside. His chest tightened instantly. A door closing. His heart kicked once, hard.
Joel moved before he even realized it, crossing the living room in four quick strides. By the time he reached the front hallway the front door was opening. You stepped inside. The porch light spilled in behind you. Your eyes were red. But your face was calm. Joel felt the tension that had been sitting in his chest all evening loosen all at once.
You’d come back. He hadn’t been sure you would. You closed the door behind you and set your keys on the small table by the wall. Only then did you look up at him. Joel was still standing a few feet away, like he wasn’t sure if moving closer would break something fragile between you.
You broke the silence first.
“I went to my mom’s.”
Joel nodded once.
“I figured.”
You slipped off your jacket and hung it on the back of the chair by the door. The movement was slow, deliberate, like you were giving yourself something simple to focus on. Joel watched you the whole time.
When you turned back toward him, the porch light behind the curtains caught the redness in your eyes. You looked tired. Not angry. That worried him more.
“My mom made tea,” you said quietly. “And sat me down.”
Joel didn’t say anything.
You let out a small breath. “She’s very good at… putting things into perspective.”
Joel shifted his weight slightly.
You folded your arms loosely, more to hold yourself together than to defend. “She asked me a couple questions,” you continued. “About what actually upset me… And about what part of it was mine… and what part wasn’t.”
Joel felt his stomach tighten a little.
You looked at the floor for a moment, then back at him. “She reminded me that you’re right, Sarah isn’t my daughter.”
The words were calm. Measured. Joel’s chest tightened anyway.
“She said that means some decisions about her are always going to be yours.” You shrugged faintly. “And she’s right.”
Joel frowned slightly. You kept going before he could interrupt.
“I think I got… carried away earlier.” Your voice didn’t shake. But there was something restrained underneath it. “She’s your kid,” you said quietly. “You’re the one responsible for her.”
Joel stared at you.
“And if you’re not comfortable leaving her with someone,” you continued, “that’s your call to make.”
A moment passed. The distance in those words sat heavily in the room. You lowered your eyes briefly.
“I’ll try to get past it,” you said.
Joel’s chest tightened. You weren't angry. You were stepping back.
You looked up again. “I just… need a little time.” Another pause. “I didn’t realize how much that would hurt,” you admitted softly.
Joel felt something twist sharply in his chest. You held his gaze, steady.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to completely get over it,” you said.
The words were gentle, but they landed like a blow. And in that moment Joel understood something that made his stomach drop. You thought he had meant it. That you didn’t belong in that part of their lives.
Joel took a slow step toward you.
“That ain’t what I meant.”
You didn’t move. You just watched him, waiting.
Joel rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking like a man who had been dropped into a conversation he didn’t know how to finish.
“I know that’s how it sounded,” he muttered. You didn’t interrupt. Joel paced once across the living room, restless. “I said the worst possible thing I could’ve said… And I know that.”
Your voice stayed quiet. “Then why did you say it?”
Joel stopped. He stared at the floor for a second before answering. “Because I panicked.”
That made you blink. Joel let out a breath.
“I been doing this alone for a long time, Juliet.” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Every decision. Every mistake. Every damn thing that kid needs.” Joel shook his head, frustrated with himself. “And somewhere along the way I got it in my head that if I let somebody else carry any of that…” He hesitated. “…then I ain’t doing my job.”
Your expression softened slightly, but you didn’t speak.
Joel ran a hand through his hair. “You asked me why you couldn’t stay with her,” he continued. “And instead of tellin’ you the truth…” He scoffed bitterly. “…I turned it into something ugly.”
Your voice was careful. “What was the truth?”
Joel finally looked at you. His voice dropped. “I don’t know how to stop doin’ it all myself.”
The words hung there between you. Joel gestured helplessly.
“You moved in here and started helping with everything and… I didn’t even notice how much lighter it got.”
Your throat moved.
Joel shook his head again.
“And I swear to God,” he said quietly, “if you think I meant that you don’t belong with us…” He shook his head. “…then I screwed up way worse than I thought.”
Silence filled the room again. But it felt different now. Less sharp. Less final. Joel didn’t move closer. He just stood there, waiting. Because for the first time all day… He had actually said what he meant.
You looked at him for a long moment. The hurt was still there. That hadn’t vanished. But the distance you’d walked in with… had shifted.
“You really scared me today,” you said quietly.
Joel nodded. “I know.”
“I thought…” you stopped, searching for the words. “I thought maybe I had misunderstood everything.”
Joel frowned slightly. “About what.”
“About where I fit here.”
Joel took another small step toward you. “You didn’t misunderstand that.”
You held his gaze. “Because when you said she wasn’t my daughter,” you said carefully, “what I heard was that I wasn’t really part of this.”
Joel’s jaw tightened. “That ain’t true.”
You watched him.
Joel rubbed his hands over his face, frustrated with himself again. “I told you,” he muttered. “I panicked.”
A quiet moment passed. You looked down briefly.
“I know she’s your daughter,” you said softly. “I’ve never tried to take that place. And if it felt like I did, I’m sorry.”
Joel shook his head immediately. “I know you haven’t.”
You looked back up. “I just… love her. So much,” you said.
Joel nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
You let out a small breath. “And when you said that earlier…” you added, “it felt like you were telling me I shouldn’t.”
Joel closed the last bit of distance between you. “That ain’t what I was sayin’.”
You studied his face, like you were trying to measure whether you believed that.
Joel hesitated. Then he said it. Rough. Quiet. Almost like it surprised him too. “…I love you.” Joel held your gaze, steady. “I don’t say that much,” he added gruffly. “But it’s true.”
The room went very still.
“I love you,” he repeated. “And I love the way you are with Sarah.” His voice softened a little. “That kid loves you.”
Your composure cracked just slightly at that.
Joel continued, slower now. “I ain’t scared of you hurting her,” he said. “Not really.” There was a small pause. “I’m used to carryin’ everything myself,” he said quietly. “If I let you carry some of it…” He shook his head a little. “…and then you’re gone one day…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Silence filled the room again. But this time it felt fragile. Joel shifted his weight slightly, like standing still suddenly felt too exposed. He rubbed his thumb across his palm, a nervous habit he barely noticed.
“…you should know’,” he said finally. You didn’t interrupt. Joel glanced toward the hallway for a second before looking back at you. “About today. About what I said.” His jaw tightened slightly. “That was… the worst possible way I could’ve put it.”
You watched him carefully.
Joel exhaled slowly. He looked up at you again.
“From the start. I’ve always been terrified that one day you’d decide that you were done playing house with us, that you didn’t sign up for so much. But…” Another breath. “You should know. If I trust someone to stay…” His voice softened. “…that’s you.”
For a moment you didn’t react. Then something in your expression shifted.
Joel watched you carefully, like a man standing on thin ice who wasn’t quite sure if it would hold.
“And…” he added, quieter. Joel looked down at the floor for a second before finishing the thought. “…God, I hope you do.” He shook his head faintly, like he hated how exposed he sounded. “Because I don’t…” He stopped, corrected himself. “…I ain’t real sure I’d know how to live without you anymore.”
Your breath caught almost imperceptibly.
Joel looked up at you again. “And I don’t think I’d want to know.”
The room went quiet. Then you stepped forward. Straight into him. Your hands caught his shirt first, bunching the fabric at his chest before your arms slid around him.
Joel froze half a heartbeat. Then his arms came around you automatically, strong and tight, like he’d been holding that back for hours.
He buried his face against the side of your head with a long exhale. The tension that had been wound through him all day finally loosening.
“…I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair.
You didn’t answer right away. You just held him. One hand sliding up the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair the way you always did when you were trying to calm him down.
After a moment you leaned back just enough to look at him. Your eyes were still a little red. Joel’s hands were still at your waist, like he hadn’t quite convinced himself you were really there yet.
You studied his face for a second, searching it. Then you reached up and pulled him down by the front of his shirt.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was the kind that came after too much fear, too much anger, too many hours thinking the other person might be gone. Your mouth crashed into his and Joel answered instantly, one hand sliding up to the back of your neck as he pulled you closer.
For a moment the rest of the house disappeared. The argument. The silence. The knot that had been sitting in his chest for two days. Gone. When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing a little heavier.
You kept your forehead resting against his. Joel’s thumb brushed absently along your side.
“…I’m going,” he said quietly.
You frowned faintly. “Going where?”
“With Tommy. That fishing trip.”
Your eyes searched his again. “I don’t want you doing that because of me.”
Joel shook his head immediately. “It ain’t because of you.” Then his mouth softened. “It’s thanks to you.” Joel shrugged a little, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable explaining it out loud. “He’s been tryin’ to drag me out there for years,” he admitted. “And I kept sayin’ no.”
“Why?”
Joel huffed quietly. “Because I’m used to bein’ needed here every second.” He looked at you again. “But Tommy was right about somethin’.”
You tilted your head.
Joel’s hand tightened slightly at your waist. “Now you’re here. With Sarah.”
Your expression shifted.
Joel continued, voice low but steady. “And if I can’t trust you with her…” He shook his head faintly. “…then I ain’t learned a damn thing.”
You stared at him for a moment. “You’re sure?”
Joel didn’t hesitate. “Positive.”
Your eyes searched his face. “Hundred percent?”
“Yes.”
Something in you finally settled. You grabbed his jaw and kissed him. Harder this time.
Joel let out a quiet breath against your mouth before kissing you back just as fiercely, one arm tightening around your waist and pulling you flush against him. Your fingers slid into the back of his hair, holding him there. You broke apart only long enough to breathe before you leaned in again, slower this time but no less intense.
When you finally separated for real, you rested your forehead against his. “…Wait, wait.”
Joel blinked down at you. “What.”
You leaned back just enough to see his face properly, eyes narrowing with sudden realization. “…So you’re telling me you got relationship advice, actual good relationship advice… ” Joel already looked tired. “…from Tommy.”
He sighed. You shook your head slowly, incredulous.
“Wow.” you chuckled. “You’re fucked.”
Joel huffed a laugh under his breath and dropped his forehead against yours again. “Yeah,” he muttered.“That was about his wording too.”
Joel was still looking down at yoi when the smile faded from your mouth.
The air between you had shifted again. Your hands were still resting against his chest. Joel noticed the way your breathing had slowed. The way you were looking at him now. Different.
He swallowed.
“…What,” he asked quietly.
You shook your head faintly. “Nothing.”
But you didn’t move away. Joel’s hand slid from your waist to the small of your back almost without him realizing it.
“Darlin’...”
You kissed him again before he finished the sentence. This one slower. Deeper. Not desperate like before. Intentional.
Joel let out a quiet breath into the kiss, one arm tightening around your waist and pulling you closer. His hand slid up your back, fingers spreading across your shoulder blades like he needed to make sure you were really there. When you broke apart, both of you were breathing a little heavier. You rested your forehead against his again.
“…Sarah’s asleep?” you murmured.
Joel nodded. “Yeah.”
Neither of you moved for a second. Then you added quietly: “You still owe me that rain check.”
Joel blinked once. Then a slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Do I.”
Your fingers slid lightly along the front of his shirt. “You said you’d make it worth my while. Very worth my while if I’m not mistaken.”
Joel glanced instinctively toward the hallway leading to Sarah’s room. Then back at you. “…We’re gonna have to be real quiet.”
Your mouth curved. “I’m a lawyer,” you whispered. “I’m excellent at discretion.”
Joel huffed softly under his breath. Then he kissed you again. This time he didn’t stop.
“You’re trouble,” he murmured.
“You like trouble.”
“That I do.”
You kissed him again. This time Joel didn’t hold back. One hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, the other tightening at your waist as he deepened the kiss, slow and hungry, like he was making up for the last two miserable days all at once.
You laughed softly against his mouth when he started steering you backward. “Joel,” you whispered.
He paused just long enough to murmur against yoir lips: “…Bedroom.”
You nodded once, then moved through the dim house quietly, half-kissing, half-laughing, bumping into the wall once before Joel caught you again, his hands warm and steady at your sides.
When the bedroom door closed (and locked) behind you, the rest of the house fell away. His hands were already at your clothes, impatient, fingers tugging at fabric like the last two days had finally snapped something loose in him.
“Joel-”
“Mm.”
He didn’t even look up, already pulling your shirt over your head.
You laughed under your breath. “Wow.”
Joel’s hands moved to the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down your hips with very little ceremony.
“Someone’s in a hurry.”
He finally looked up at you then, eyes dark, jaw tight. You raised a brow.
“What happened to your famous patience?”
Joel’s mouth brushed your shoulder as he muttered: “No time.”
You snorted softly, fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. “Well,” you murmured, leaning into him again, “good thing I came prepared.”
And the teasing didn’t slow him down even a little. He pushed you down onto the mattress, following you immediately after disposing of his own pants.
You barely had time to laugh before Joel’s mouth found your neck again, slowly this time, the urgency from before giving way to something deeper. His lips moved downward, unhurried now, tracing a wet path from your throat to the curve of your breast. Your fingers slid into his hair as you let out a soft breath.
Joel paused there for a second, forehead resting briefly against your skin.
“Fuck…” he murmured, voice rough. “I missed this.”
His hand followed where his mouth had gone, brushing your nipple, rougher now, familiar and confident as he moved over you. You gasped softly, your back arching instinctively against him.
Joel’s mouth lingered at your breast, slow and unhurried now, like he was making up for every second he’d spent missing you. One of his hands tightened gently against your side, holding you steady as you shifted beneath him.
Your fingers gripped his shoulders, a quiet breath escaping you as you tried, not very successfully, to stay silent. Joel felt it immediately. He huffed a low laugh against your skin.
“You’re teasing,” you whispered, breath still uneven. “That’s cruel.”
Joel lifted his head just enough to look at you.
“Teasing?” he said, feigning innocence. “Why? What do you want, darlin’?”
You let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “You know exactly what I want, you arrogant, little-”
The rest of the insult died halfway out of your mouth. Because Joel suddenly bent lower and dragged his tongue slowly across your folds, suckling on your clit. You jerked, a strangled sound escaping you before you clamped a hand over your mouth.
Joel looked up at you, eyes gleaming with pure trouble. “…That what you meant?”
You glared down at him, breath still uneven. “I’m so getting back at you for this later.”
Joel didn’t even look worried. “Can’t wait.”
His fingers teased at your entrance and, when he finally got one inside you, he began to stroke you slowly, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. He felt your body tightened around him, your fingers gripping the sheets beside you. He knew you were close.
Your head finally fell back against the pillow as the tension finally broke through you. A breath tore from your throat, rough and unguarded, your body trembling as the last of it rolled through you. Joel held you there for a moment, feeling the aftershocks fade beneath his hands. He looked down at you, breath still uneven.
“Worth your while yet?”
Your lips curved slowly. “No…” you murmured.
Then you pulled him down into a kiss. It was deep and hungry, the kind that left no doubt you weren't finished with him. Your hand slid down his stomach, deliberate and slow, and Joel felt the promise in it immediately. You broke the kiss just enough to whisper against his mouth:
“…but it will be.”
Before he could react, you pushed him back onto the mattress and slipped down beside him. Your hand slid over him first, slow and deliberate, making Joel suck in a sharp breath.
Then you moved lower, and Joel’s head tipped back against the headboard as he realized exactly what you were doing. You took his deliciously hard cock in your right hand and began stroking him softly.
“Juliet…” he murmured, already half-wrecked by it.
“Ohh… not so cocky now, are you?”
Joel huffed a quiet laugh. “Funny you should say it like that…”
But the words cut off halfway when you dipped lower, and his head fell back against the pillow. Your mouth tightened around the tip of his length and Joel forgot how to think. He grumbled something that wasn’t even close to words, and when you laughed, the vibration made him groan.
“I thought the plan was to stay quiet,” you whispered, your hand still moving lazily over the base of his cock.
“I’m not real good at remembering plans when you do that, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough as you resumed, tracing your way slowly along him, bottom to top, before taking him fully in your mouth again.
Joel’s hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. He let out a shaky breath.
“Jesus, fuck, Juliet…” he muttered. His thumb brushed lightly against your hair as he added, voice rough, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
He tugged lightly at your arm. “Hey.”
You looked up.
Joel’s mouth curved faintly. “Get up here.” He caught your wrist gently and drew a slow breath. “…You gonna ride this cowboy?”
You blinked up at him for half a second. Then a slow smile spread across your face. “I thought you’d never ask.”
You swung a leg over him and settled on his hips, hands braced lightly against his chest.
At first you moved slowly against him, testing the rhythm, a soft brush of your wetness that made Joel’s breath hitch. His hands slid up your sides before settling at your chest, stroking your nipples lazily like he had no intention of rushing this.
“You’re being a tease…”
“You love it,” you murmured, a playful smile on your lips.
Joel looked up at you. “I love you.”
The words hung between you, heavier than the teasing that had come before.
For a second you just stared at him, something in your expression softening, the last of the tension from the past days finally melting away. Then you leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep, like you needed to feel that sentence again.
When you pulled back, you sank slowly into him, the playful edge gone now, replaced with something warmer. He moaned into your mouth, the sound swallowed by a kiss.
For a moment you stayed perfectly still, your warmth enveloping him, eyes closing as you held there, letting the closeness of it sink in. Then you began to move, slowly at first, finding a careful rhythm. Your breath caught, and you bit your lip, fighting to stay quiet in the dark house. Joel thought he might come just from that sight of you alone.
Then you began to move faster, steadier, finding a rhythm that made Joel’s breath catch. His hands found your hips instinctively, holding on as the movement between you deepened.
“God… I love you,” he murmured, voice rough.
His body answered yours without thinking, matching your pace, pulling you closer. He felt himself sliding even deeper. You leaned forward then, needing the closeness, until your chest pressed against his and your foreheads nearly touched.
He felt your rhythm start to falter. Joel knew that sign by heart. His hands tightened slightly at your hips before one of them slid between your legs, his touch gentle now but deliberate. Your breath caught.
“Joel…”
He leaned closer, voice low against your ear. “C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured. “Come for me.”
Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you fought to stay quiet, your breath hitching again and again until you finally broke, a small, strangled sound escaping you as you buried your face against his neck.
Joel held you there, feeling the tremor run through you.
Watching you come undone like that was enough to push him over the edge a few strokes after.
He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing hard but silent, his arms tightening around you as the moment passed.
For a moment you just stayed there, tangled together. The only sound left in the room was your breathing, still uneven in the quiet darkness.
You shifted slightly where you lay against him, your forehead resting against his shoulder.
Then you let out a soft, breathless laugh.
“So,” you whispered, “this is what people mean when they say make-up sex, huh?”
Joel was quiet for a second. Then he muttered, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction:
“…Hell of a way to end an argument.”
You lay half on top of him, your breathing slowly returning back to normal.
Joel watched the ceiling for a while. Then he spoke.
“I’m goin’ with Tommy.”
Your hand paused. You lifted your head just enough to look at him.
“To the cabin?”
“Yeah.”
A small silence followed. Then you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his chest.
“Good,” you murmured.
Joel’s hand slid into your hair.
“Figured it was time.”
You rested your cheek back against him.
“…Sarah and I will survive.”
Joel huffed quietly.
“I know.”
Another quiet moment passed. Then you added, half amused:
“Tommy’s going to be insufferable when he finds out.”
Check the series masterlist for full description/tags/etc. You worked with Ryland Grace on the Project Hail Mary and there was a growing relationship between you two before Ryland was forcefully placed on the Hail Mary. You were trying to solve superluminal (warp) speed, could you bring Ryland back before any more time passed?
Chapter twelve, 2.3k words.
His life on Erid was far more familiar than he could have ever hoped, Rocky had made sure his scientist friends had given Grace every comfort he could think of. They even managed to replicate Skittles, alongside all the plants that had survived the trip. It was a long three years in the journey to Erid, but luckily Rocky and Grace had each other to keep company. He had been unbelievably lucky to get to Rocky in time, he couldn't imagine the grief of the alternative. That made a shiver crawl up his spine so he shook his head, changing his thoughts.
It was also only after the fact when Grace had sent the Beetles to Earth did he realise they had more fuel than he thought they would and given how small they were with less mass to carry he deduced it would also only take them about three years to reach Earth instead of eleven. Which means... they would have arrived to Earth some months ago. By force of habit he looked up into the sky, except it wasn't a sky, it was a dome of sorts. Not that he could see it through all the bright lights and how high up it was. If it wasn't for the fact the gravity was stronger here, which weighed on his joints more, you'd have no idea this wasn't Earth.
Grace had been here for a little over eight Earth months, the first few on Erid were a little touch and go as he didn't have a lot of food left and had been rationing. Luckily most of the plants and seeds survived but there were only so many cherry tomatoes and zucchinis they could produce. Thankfully, they all seemed to thrive on Erid, with the scientists creating a replica of Earth's soil and using UV lights for growth. Grace was thankful for the UV lights, he'd been low on Vitamin D for some years now, alongside a few other deficiencies. Still, he had you to thank for saving him from wasting away.
That all too familiar pang in his chest grew tighter each time he thought about you. Seventeen odd years would have passed on Earth. You were twenty-six when he left Earth, so you'd be forty-three now. Grace was thirty-one but because of time dilation he'd only experienced seven years, now making him only thirty-eight. There was still a five-year age gap but now he was the younger one. It made his stomach churn thinking about the time lost.
You still bewitched his dreams, dreams of every kind, even the kind that had him hard and aching. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks when he thought back to the three year only trip to Erid, there had been times he'd been so needy for you. A man has desires, damnit! And for the most part he'd been good at... keeping it from Rocky, only relieving himself thinking of you when Rocky was dead asleep. Except for that one time. That had been awkward to explain, especially to a species that doesn't necessarily have sex like humans do, let alone for fun and not strictly for reproductive reasons.
That of course opened a whole can of worms and Grace had to come clean about you being his mate. Rocky, understandably, felt very guilty that Grace had chosen to save him instead of going back home to Earth. Grace had to keep reminded him too many years had passed on Earth anyway. Besides, Rocky needed help and Grace knew you would make the same choice. As would Yao and Ilyukhina.
He looked up at his ‘tree’ that sat next to his house, it didn't have any leaves as it wasn't genuinely a real tree. Obviously, none of the seeds onboard had been trees, they'd all been vegetables. But it still touched his heart that Rocky and his team tried so hard to bring him more comforts from home. He looked down onto his pebble beach, he didn't have work today so he decided he'd have a swim. It took a few trials and errors to get the temperature right, but Adrian managed to get it to the perfect temperature; just a little on the cold side. The beaches in the bay area of Northern California weren't exactly warm so he liked to be reminded of home, though lucky the ‘surf’ here wasn't so rough.
He had been apprehensive about arriving to Erid, for a multitude of reasons. But mainly that Rocky would be too busy to spend much time with Grace. It was stupid really, Rocky had his mate Adrian to come home to and the Erdians needed to find a way to get the Astrophage to Threeworld. He had said as much to Rocky when they were days away from Erid, but Rocky had reassured Grace that figuring out food and shelter for Grace would be a top priority. Erid had a much thicker atmosphere than Earth did so it was not as urgent to find a cure to their apocalypse as it had been on Earth. Still, there had been a separate team working with the Taumeoba and a separate team to work on Grace. They were able to get the Taumeoba to Threeworld without a hitch and Grace only spent a month or so on the Hail Mary until his ‘enclosure’ was ready, the Eridians sure work fast. Cloning his food was easy enough and they were even able to clone his own cells to make “me-burgers” as he called them. And above all, Rocky still visited Grace almost every day. Much to Grace's happiness.
He was very despondent without his alien friend, probably not in a healthy way. But after all they had been through together it was to be expected. Though, Grace got on well enough with the other Eridians he met, including Adrian. Rocky and Adrian had some ‘pebbles’ as Grace liked to call them not long after they arrived. Seeing tiny Eridians was cute beyond words, Rocky was proud of his little offspring. Plus, Grace loved his students, loved having a classroom again. It was nice having purpose again but not having two whole entire worlds’ survival weighing on his shoulders.
Because Erid's atmosphere was so thick, spaceships could not take off or re-enter and instead a space elevator of sorts was used. It still boggled his mind thinking about it, he can't imagine such a structure working on Earth. It took a few hours to use and was one of the most nerve-wracking things Grace had ever been on, and he'd done some dangerous spacewalks. Still, it enabled the Eridians to work on the Hail Mary and refuel it and recalibrate it. Only three months into living on Erid did Rocky tell him the Hail Mary would be able to go home to Earth, but that would involve travelling for sixteen years. Besides, there was no way of knowing if Earth had used the Taumeoba to control the Astrophage, being lightyears away the Eridian astrophysicists wouldn't be able to see Sol brighten for another sixteen years from now. Of course because of time dilation, Grace wouldn't experience sixteen years, it would be closer or six or seven, but that was a long time to stay in a coma. And what if the coma went wrong again? Grace theorised that because he was induced early and hooked up to the Hail Mary before leaving Earth's orbit that he was induced properly. With Yao and Ilyukhina inducing themselves... maybe that's where things went wrong. Though Yao clearly died some time before Ilyukhina did...
He flexed his fingers in discomfort. Thinking about his crewmates demise never got any easier. There was never a doubt in his mind that they wouldn't do what Grace did: save Rocky. Yes, they had families back home, but they were brave and would do the right thing. A pang of guilt washed through Grace as he thought about his initial refusal. He wasn't willing to give up his own life for eight billion people, including you, but he had been willing to do it for Rocky. Sure, there was Erid too... but it was Rocky that drove his decision. His crewmates wouldn't have hesitated to help Erid. What would they have thought of life on Erid? How would they have rationed the food between them on the way here? He winced at the thought, they would have been on the verge of starvation in the three years it would take it get here. He idly wondered if Taumeoba was edible, it was an organic life form that didn't appear to have any toxins. He was lucky it didn't come to that – except lucky wasn't the right word as it meant two of his crewmates had died. Did volunteering to save Rocky and therefore Erid atone him for his sins? Did it undo his refusal to save Earth? Did it make him less selfish?
Before guilt and anxiety could fester any longer, he made his way down the steps that lead to the beach. It wasn't a particularly ‘sunny’ day, instead it was raining ever so lightly thanks to the sprinkler-esque system Adrian had developed, but that was how Grace liked it. That was how you liked it too. On a day like this he should surely be inside curled up with a book, well, a digital book on his tablet. You had always said rainy days were perfect book reading weather.
He stripped down to his trunks and before he could sike himself out he got into the water, it was cool enough that it most certainly woke up his senses. He thought about warp speed in Star Trek, about how their warp drive had different levels to it. Each level going fast and faster than the speed of light. Also artificial gravity without the need for centrifuge force. Crazy stuff. Of course, thinking of superluminal speed had his thoughts wandering back to you, back to that smile of yours that crinkled the corners of your eyes. It was a picture though, that was fading. And it alarmed him a great deal. Sure, his brain was still a little mushy from the coma and induced amnesia in some regards, but seven years had passed since he last saw you in person. He replayed your video over and over, enough that he knew exactly what words would come out of your mouth. But still... picturing you... remembering you... It was getting fuzzy at the edges, almost out of focus. He was forgetting what it was like to touch you, to hug you and to kiss you. It broke his heart.
“Grace?” Came Rocky's sing-song voice. Thankfully, Grace was fluent in Eridian, though of course he replied in English.
Grace opened his eyes and stopped floating, opting to swim towards Rocky on the beach. “Yeah, Pal?”
Rocky was standing in his little body suit enclosure and at the edge of the waves. “Why are you swimming in the rain? I thought humans only did that when the weather was clear. Do you want Adrian to change to sunny weather?”
It was nice in the water, now that his body was used to the temperature, so he opted to stay in just enough to crouch. “No, I'm okay Rocky. Sometimes we swim in the rain, we're getting wet anyway.”
Rocky made a disapproving noise. “Do not get too cold and get sick. Or I'll be pissed.”
That made Grace laugh a little. “Don't worry, pal. I won't be out here for much longer.”
“You should come out now. Do you remember that probe that was in Erid's orbit three months ago?”
He did in fact remember that. There had been some type of very small spacecraft darting around Erid's orbit, though it hadn't stayed long before it left. It has taken great interest in the Hail Mary, hovering around it for longer than anything else. It seemed to also be also powered by Astrophage, the IR signal the scientists found was unmistakable. That made Grace frown, heart stuttering. “I do. Why?” He got out of the water, grabbing his towel out from his waterproof bag.
“Well, there is a bigger spaceship in orbit now. They think it is from Earth.” Rocky's voice was stern.
Grace froze, unable to really process what he just heard. “Wait, wha– what?! A spaceship!?” Blood was rushing through his ears, causing them to ring loudly as his heart thundered in his chest. “From Earth?!”
Rocky was nervously fidgeting with a handful of pebbles. “Affirmative. Though it looks as if no one is onboard from the echolocation, but markings on the outside are in English. They have not yet opened it.”
Grace couldn't think straight, couldn't begin to decipher what this meant. An unmanned spaceship from Earth? “Do they want me to look?”
“Only if you feel that you are able. Your spacesuit is working fine and I can go with you. There will be some scientists who can come too.” Rocky's voice sounded a little worried.
“What did it say on the outside?” Grace's voice was breathless.
Rocky paused for a short moment before answering, “There was a diagram of your solar system and the words: Project Prometheus.”
That made Grace frown deeply, “Prometheus...? The Greek Titan who stole fire?” That puzzled him deeply.
“Why would they name it after him?” Rocky asked, just as baffled as Grace was.
“By giving fire to the humans he effectively started civilisation and was punished by the gods for it... he selflessly saved humanity.” If this was a spaceship sent to bring him home... he didn't dare have too much hope on the thought. But the name didn't make sense to Grace, he didn't volunteer. They had to give him short-term amnesia to make sure he wouldn't sabotage the mission. Though, he knew he wouldn't have been able to do that. But then there was Rocky and Erid – he had risked his life to save them too. “Prometheus was later saved by Herakles.” He remembers you vividly complaining about the use of ‘Hercules’ instead of ‘Herakles’ in Greek mythological films.
Give yourself grace – Dr. Grace, your voice rushed through his mind. He felt as if he was going to collapse.
Authors note: Sorry for the shorter chapter, the next one will be much longer (eek!). Also the whole things with the Beetles was a circumvention, we can't wait 11 years for them to get to Earth lmao
Tags (lmk if you want to be added): @shittyprofilebutfuckit
summary: you’ve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic… but working with a mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet
word count: 11.9k (i’m sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ takes place before & during the events of the film, reader has a backstory & family but no physical description, light use of gendered language, slight annoyance to friends to lovers, pining & yearning, budding romance, threats & moments of violence/threat of kidnapping, flying as a love language, reader has instances of drinking and smoking, competency kink, light voice kink, slightly jealous!reader, spicy times in the cockpit (helmet stays on), dry humping, unprotected p in v, one moment of spit, creampie, protective and soft!Din
a/n: so… hi lmao I call this my ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s what we deserve lol big thanks to my dear @babynueva for always supporting my din delulu ily bb! Also this is my first official fic of the year & knowing it’s for Din means so much - so thank you for being here ♡ [divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics]
When a mandalorian first strides into base camp on Adelphi, you think you’re seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s like his ancient armor proudly beams of its power and striking force. The mysterious Mandalorian walks with intent, a steady gait that dares anyone to cross him. You can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.
You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.
“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s words then officially etch the truth in stone.
Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.
“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.
Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.
“I’ll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators… I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while I’m away.
It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”
“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t soothe you much.
Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.
Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find he’s not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.
“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesn’t say anything.
“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?
“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
It’s as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.
The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.
“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.
“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.
“Do the whole debrief drunk.” Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.
But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isn’t showing up.
Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You don’t even know if you should say anything
“Mweh?” A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.
With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.
Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.
“You like it? It’s cute right?”
The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.
Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.
Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.
“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.
You’re stunned.
Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.
So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.
“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
“What’s the next order?” Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.
You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
“Come on, kid.” All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.
Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.
“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.
You can’t wait till this is over.
It’s already been a week and a half of being grounded doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.
“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t much of a question but more of an order from Ward.
So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. It’s cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.
You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.
And it pisses you off all over again.
But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.
The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.
This time you decided to bring something else along with you.
It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.
“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s eyes go wide.
With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.
You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.
“What’s your name?” The sudden question from Mando surprises you.
A bit stunned, you give it to him.
He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.
“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Grogu’s guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.
“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”
A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.
“Din…” you repeat it.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.
“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
“What do you say, kid?”
Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.
The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time it’s a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.
Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.
“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.
“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.
Suddenly, a chuckle follows.
Din laughed.
You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.
“A fair statement.” Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find you’re excited to see them again.
The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.
“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.
“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.
“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.
That’s when you realized he just joked with you.
“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
“Don’t worry… They’re a pain in my ass too.” Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.
Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.
“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.
“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.
The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.
“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.
“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.
“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.
You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve cultivated with him.
You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.
Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.
Except that time comes sooner than expected.
The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.
Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.
“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.
You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.
But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.
“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” Dyana.
She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.
“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
“Sometimes,” you shrug.
“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”
You want to strangle her.
“You fought at Endor?” Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.
It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.
All you can do is shrug again.
Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.
“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.
“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.
“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”
You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.
A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.
“Kid.” Din chides.
“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
“I do.” Din answers, confident.
“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.
“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.
“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.
“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.
They were to remind you to come home safe.
“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find he’s already looking at you.
Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.
Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.
“No, I stole it.” You quip back.
“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.
“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.
“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.
“Mweh!” He squeals.
“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.
“No.” Din answers back firmly.
“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
“No.” Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re floating now.
The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.
Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.
Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.
You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.
“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.
“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.
“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.
You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.
Because you don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” Din nods.
His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.
The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.
“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.
“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.
“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.
With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.
“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.
“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re thankful to finally be back to your routine.
And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.
Din returns a few days after you. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.
“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.
“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.
“What do you say, kid?” Din says.
Grogu however doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.
Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.
You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.
“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isn’t looking good.
You’re more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and you’re now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.
You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.
Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.
Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn pirates…
“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.
“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.
Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.
You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.
“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
“What was that?!” One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
“Step away from her now.” Din.
Or someone sounding like him.
The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.
Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.
Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize he’s truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.
You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…
And he’s here to save you.
A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.
“I’m okay, I promise.” He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.
He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.
What is he doing?
The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.
“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.
Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.
“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.
“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
“Just glad you’re safe.” So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.
Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.
You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.
“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.
It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t judge you when you finally admit everything to her.
There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.
But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.
“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.
But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.
Your time resting is done, and immediately you’re thrown back into the rush of work.
A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.
Raid strike this week, get ready
It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.
“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.
“Huh uh.” He rolls his eyes.
As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.
Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.
Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.
“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesn’t say anything.
“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.
“Seems like it,” Din agrees.
This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.
Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the room’s attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.
“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” She sends her focus to him.
Din simply and silently nods back.
Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, he’s incredible.
But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.
It’s time to fly.
“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.
“Guess you will.” He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.
All you can do is laugh before parting ways.
“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re stationed, and you settle into your ship.
Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.
“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.
“Starfighter, standing by.” Then a new voice floats through your helmet.
The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.
Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.
That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.
But again, you’re proven so wrong.
Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.
A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.
Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - you’ve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.
It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.
So you do.
You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.
Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.
“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.
Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.
You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.
“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.
“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
“Make it quick.”
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.
“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.
“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.
Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.
“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.
“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.
Din’s husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.
Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.
Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.
Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.
But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.
All your worries vanish. You don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
“You were incredible.”
“You flew… amazing.”
Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.
Then you laugh.
“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.
“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.
“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.
“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.
You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.
Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.
“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.
The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.
Of course he’s a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.
“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.
“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.
Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and don’t have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.
He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.
Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you don’t care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.
Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.
Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.
You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.
Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this way…
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
“Didn’t know you smoked.” Din.
His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.
“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s been a long time since you lit up.
A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.
You even tell him that.
“What made you join?” He asks, tentative and quiet.
A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.
The empire took so much from you. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.
Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you… it kept you alive.
He’s the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.
“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.
You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.
“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.
“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”
It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.
You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.
“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.
Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.
So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.
A moment passes where it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” You earnestly tell him.
In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.
“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside steals your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
“You wanna see?”
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
“Come on,” so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.
Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.
The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.
“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.
“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.
“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesn’t know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.
There you arrive at your x-wing.
“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.
“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
“Get in,” you urge.
Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.
“Can we even fit in this?”
“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” you proudly declare.
The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.
Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.
“Throttle, control stick,” he points out immediately.
As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.
“It’s got a good radar system.” Din comments admiring the monitor too.
You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.
“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.
“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.
You’re about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.
So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -
Right between the V of Din’s legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
“Wh…what are you-”
“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”
“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.
“We’re fine.” You reassure him now.
The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.
You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.
“See… told you we’d be fine.”
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re literally between his legs.
You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.
But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.
“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.
“I would.” You immediately counter.
“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t linger on anything you said before.
You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.
Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.
You’ve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.
“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.
“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.
His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.
Din exhales, breathy and deep.
You don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re galvanized.
Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.
You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.
The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.
He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.
“I want this… I want you.” You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.
Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.
Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.
Frustrated that you’re still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.
Then you grind against the bulge in Din’s pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.
But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.
Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesn’t want this?
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”
It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.
“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.
“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunter’s gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.
“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.
Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.
So you lean closer to his helmet.
“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.
But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.
How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.
“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t care.
Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.
It’s too hot now, and you’re wearing too many clothes.
So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.
Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But it’s hard.
Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.
Now you’re simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.
The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.
“Beautiful,” Din breathes in awe.
Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.
“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
“Want you inside of me,” you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.
He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.
A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.
His cock in your hand is warm. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.
Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.
He quickly hisses your name.
“Inside now,” he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.
Who are you to deny your mandalorian?
He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.
Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.
You don’t have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.
A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.
He nods firm, so sure.
So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.
When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you don’t want Din to leave it.
A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like he’s worried you could fly away from him at any moment.
Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.
His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.
“Where?” He slurs urgently.
“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.
His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.
Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
“You’re the only one.” You reveal.
His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.
An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. It’s now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.
After this night, you find him everywhere now.
Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.
Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.
The lodging here is small, but it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.
You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize it’s a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.
Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.
You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.
But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.
“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”
You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.
But you’re reminded he does have a home.
“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.
“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.
“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.
“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
“My eyes… they’re brown.” He reveals.
A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.
You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.
But those daydreams get shoved away fast.
Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.
Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.
Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonel’s gaze as she leaves.
That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
“She flies better than she looks.” Din defends.
Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.
You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo she’ll soon be carrying.
“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” Din senses your apprehension.
You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.
“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.
“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.
“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.
It makes you and Zeb snicker.
Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
It’s hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.
So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.
“Be safe,” you nod to the mandalorian.
He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.
You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.
Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.
You don’t hear from Din for half a month.
It’s nothing new. You’re had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.
Then another week passes, and you’re sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.
It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?
“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”
Shit.
“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”
He is. But he’s more than that.
He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.
“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.
It’s unfortunately true.
How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.
The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.
Arriving at base camp, you instead find there’s already commotion.
Din has returned, but he’s not alone.
Jabba’s son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.
At least Din and the baby are safe.
Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.
“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.
“Tell me about it.” He sighs.
The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.
“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”
His somber tone says more looms.
“Din…” you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.
“I know.” He nods, yet says nothing more.
Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.
But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.
The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.
“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.
His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.
“We’ll be fine.” His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.
You nod, fighting harder against tears.
Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.
With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.
This time, you don’t have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
“Mando will be fine,” Teva tries to reassure you.
You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.
But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. You’d been working on your ship when they landed.
Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.
“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.
“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.
“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.
“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Anger burns through your veins.
“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.
“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.
More Delphi officers stand up.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You don’t care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.
Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.
Ward calls out your name. This is it.
Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes can’t help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
“I should sit you out on this mission.”
“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.
You’ll happily accept that too.
The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s alive.
Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.
That’s what this feels like.
You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.
Yet Din remains inside.
And Ward gives the command to light the place up.
“Get out of there. Please.” You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.
Then, the stronghold goes under flames.
You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.
“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” Wolf asks before you can.
Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.
A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.
“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.
Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s ship hoping to see them.
But Ward of course arrives first.
You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.
“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.
“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.
“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”
Ward’s insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.
You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
He’s here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.
The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.
While he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
“Welcome back,” you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
“Had to bring this back.”
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
“Your dad is so silly,” you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.
A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.
Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.
“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.
“Always.” You answer back with a resounding truth.
Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heart’s flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.
Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.
Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.
Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.
It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.
Stop by whenever, we’ll be waiting
Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.
After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.
summary: you’ve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic… but working with a mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet
word count: 11.9k (i’m sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ takes place before & during the events of the film, reader has a backstory & family but no physical description, light use of gendered language, slight annoyance to friends to lovers, pining & yearning, budding romance, threats & moments of violence/threat of kidnapping, flying as a love language, reader has instances of drinking and smoking, competency kink, light voice kink, slightly jealous!reader, spicy times in the cockpit (helmet stays on), dry humping, unprotected p in v, one moment of spit, creampie, protective and soft!Din
a/n: so… hi lmao I call this my ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s what we deserve lol big thanks to my dear @babynueva for always supporting my din delulu ily bb! Also this is my first official fic of the year & knowing it’s for Din means so much - so thank you for being here ♡ [divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics]
When a mandalorian first strides into base camp on Adelphi, you think you’re seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s like his ancient armor proudly beams of its power and striking force. The mysterious Mandalorian walks with intent, a steady gait that dares anyone to cross him. You can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.
You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.
“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s words then officially etch the truth in stone.
Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.
“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.
Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.
“I’ll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators… I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while I’m away.
It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”
“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t soothe you much.
Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.
Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find he’s not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.
“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesn’t say anything.
“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?
“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
It’s as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.
The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.
“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.
“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.
“Do the whole debrief drunk.” Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.
But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isn’t showing up.
Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You don’t even know if you should say anything
“Mweh?” A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.
With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.
Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.
“You like it? It’s cute right?”
The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.
Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.
Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.
“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.
You’re stunned.
Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.
So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.
“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
“What’s the next order?” Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.
You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
“Come on, kid.” All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.
Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.
“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.
You can’t wait till this is over.
It’s already been a week and a half of being grounded doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.
“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t much of a question but more of an order from Ward.
So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. It’s cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.
You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.
And it pisses you off all over again.
But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.
The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.
This time you decided to bring something else along with you.
It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.
“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s eyes go wide.
With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.
You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.
“What’s your name?” The sudden question from Mando surprises you.
A bit stunned, you give it to him.
He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.
“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Grogu’s guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.
“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”
A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.
“Din…” you repeat it.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.
“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
“What do you say, kid?”
Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.
The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time it’s a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.
Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.
“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.
“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.
Suddenly, a chuckle follows.
Din laughed.
You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.
“A fair statement.” Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find you’re excited to see them again.
The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.
“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.
“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.
“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.
That’s when you realized he just joked with you.
“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
“Don’t worry… They’re a pain in my ass too.” Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.
Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.
“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.
“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.
The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.
“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.
“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.
“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.
You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve cultivated with him.
You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.
Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.
Except that time comes sooner than expected.
The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.
Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.
“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.
You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.
But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.
“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” Dyana.
She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.
“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
“Sometimes,” you shrug.
“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”
You want to strangle her.
“You fought at Endor?” Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.
It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.
All you can do is shrug again.
Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.
“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.
“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.
“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”
You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.
A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.
“Kid.” Din chides.
“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
“I do.” Din answers, confident.
“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.
“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.
“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.
“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.
They were to remind you to come home safe.
“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find he’s already looking at you.
Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.
Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.
“No, I stole it.” You quip back.
“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.
“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.
“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.
“Mweh!” He squeals.
“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.
“No.” Din answers back firmly.
“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
“No.” Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re floating now.
The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.
Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.
Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.
You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.
“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.
“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.
“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.
You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.
Because you don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” Din nods.
His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.
The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.
“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.
“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.
“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.
With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.
“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.
“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re thankful to finally be back to your routine.
And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.
Din returns a few days after you. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.
“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.
“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.
“What do you say, kid?” Din says.
Grogu however doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.
Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.
You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.
“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isn’t looking good.
You’re more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and you’re now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.
You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.
Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.
Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn pirates…
“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.
“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.
Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.
You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.
“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
“What was that?!” One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
“Step away from her now.” Din.
Or someone sounding like him.
The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.
Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.
Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize he’s truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.
You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…
And he’s here to save you.
A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.
“I’m okay, I promise.” He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.
He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.
What is he doing?
The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.
“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.
Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.
“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.
“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
“Just glad you’re safe.” So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.
Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.
You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.
“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.
It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t judge you when you finally admit everything to her.
There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.
But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.
“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.
But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.
Your time resting is done, and immediately you’re thrown back into the rush of work.
A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.
Raid strike this week, get ready
It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.
“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.
“Huh uh.” He rolls his eyes.
As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.
Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.
Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.
“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesn’t say anything.
“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.
“Seems like it,” Din agrees.
This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.
Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the room’s attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.
“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” She sends her focus to him.
Din simply and silently nods back.
Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, he’s incredible.
But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.
It’s time to fly.
“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.
“Guess you will.” He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.
All you can do is laugh before parting ways.
“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re stationed, and you settle into your ship.
Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.
“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.
“Starfighter, standing by.” Then a new voice floats through your helmet.
The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.
Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.
That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.
But again, you’re proven so wrong.
Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.
A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.
Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - you’ve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.
It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.
So you do.
You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.
Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.
“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.
Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.
You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.
“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.
“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
“Make it quick.”
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.
“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.
“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.
Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.
“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.
“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.
Din’s husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.
Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.
Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.
Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.
But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.
All your worries vanish. You don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
“You were incredible.”
“You flew… amazing.”
Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.
Then you laugh.
“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.
“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.
“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.
“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.
You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.
Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.
“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.
The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.
Of course he’s a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.
“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.
“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.
Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and don’t have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.
He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.
Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you don’t care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.
Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.
Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.
You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.
Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this way…
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
“Didn’t know you smoked.” Din.
His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.
“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s been a long time since you lit up.
A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.
You even tell him that.
“What made you join?” He asks, tentative and quiet.
A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.
The empire took so much from you. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.
Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you… it kept you alive.
He’s the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.
“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.
You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.
“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.
“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”
It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.
You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.
“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.
Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.
So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.
A moment passes where it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” You earnestly tell him.
In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.
“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside steals your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
“You wanna see?”
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
“Come on,” so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.
Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.
The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.
“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.
“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.
“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesn’t know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.
There you arrive at your x-wing.
“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.
“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
“Get in,” you urge.
Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.
“Can we even fit in this?”
“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” you proudly declare.
The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.
Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.
“Throttle, control stick,” he points out immediately.
As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.
“It’s got a good radar system.” Din comments admiring the monitor too.
You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.
“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.
“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.
You’re about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.
So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -
Right between the V of Din’s legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
“Wh…what are you-”
“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”
“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.
“We’re fine.” You reassure him now.
The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.
You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.
“See… told you we’d be fine.”
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re literally between his legs.
You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.
But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.
“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.
“I would.” You immediately counter.
“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t linger on anything you said before.
You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.
Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.
You’ve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.
“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.
“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.
His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.
Din exhales, breathy and deep.
You don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re galvanized.
Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.
You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.
The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.
He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.
“I want this… I want you.” You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.
Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.
Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.
Frustrated that you’re still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.
Then you grind against the bulge in Din’s pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.
But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.
Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesn’t want this?
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”
It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.
“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.
“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunter’s gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.
“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.
Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.
So you lean closer to his helmet.
“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.
But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.
How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.
“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t care.
Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.
It’s too hot now, and you’re wearing too many clothes.
So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.
Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But it’s hard.
Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.
Now you’re simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.
The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.
“Beautiful,” Din breathes in awe.
Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.
“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
“Want you inside of me,” you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.
He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.
A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.
His cock in your hand is warm. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.
Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.
He quickly hisses your name.
“Inside now,” he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.
Who are you to deny your mandalorian?
He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.
Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.
You don’t have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.
A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.
He nods firm, so sure.
So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.
When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you don’t want Din to leave it.
A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like he’s worried you could fly away from him at any moment.
Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.
His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.
“Where?” He slurs urgently.
“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.
His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.
Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
“You’re the only one.” You reveal.
His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.
An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. It’s now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.
After this night, you find him everywhere now.
Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.
Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.
The lodging here is small, but it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.
You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize it’s a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.
Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.
You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.
But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.
“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”
You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.
But you’re reminded he does have a home.
“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.
“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.
“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.
“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
“My eyes… they’re brown.” He reveals.
A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.
You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.
But those daydreams get shoved away fast.
Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.
Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.
Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonel’s gaze as she leaves.
That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
“She flies better than she looks.” Din defends.
Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.
You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo she’ll soon be carrying.
“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” Din senses your apprehension.
You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.
“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.
“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.
“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.
It makes you and Zeb snicker.
Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
It’s hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.
So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.
“Be safe,” you nod to the mandalorian.
He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.
You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.
Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.
You don’t hear from Din for half a month.
It’s nothing new. You’re had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.
Then another week passes, and you’re sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.
It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?
“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”
Shit.
“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”
He is. But he’s more than that.
He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.
“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.
It’s unfortunately true.
How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.
The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.
Arriving at base camp, you instead find there’s already commotion.
Din has returned, but he’s not alone.
Jabba’s son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.
At least Din and the baby are safe.
Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.
“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.
“Tell me about it.” He sighs.
The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.
“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”
His somber tone says more looms.
“Din…” you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.
“I know.” He nods, yet says nothing more.
Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.
But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.
The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.
“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.
His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.
“We’ll be fine.” His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.
You nod, fighting harder against tears.
Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.
With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.
This time, you don’t have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
“Mando will be fine,” Teva tries to reassure you.
You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.
But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. You’d been working on your ship when they landed.
Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.
“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.
“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.
“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.
“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Anger burns through your veins.
“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.
“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.
More Delphi officers stand up.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You don’t care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.
Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.
Ward calls out your name. This is it.
Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes can’t help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
“I should sit you out on this mission.”
“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.
You’ll happily accept that too.
The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s alive.
Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.
That’s what this feels like.
You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.
Yet Din remains inside.
And Ward gives the command to light the place up.
“Get out of there. Please.” You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.
Then, the stronghold goes under flames.
You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.
“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” Wolf asks before you can.
Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.
A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.
“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.
Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s ship hoping to see them.
But Ward of course arrives first.
You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.
“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.
“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.
“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”
Ward’s insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.
You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
He’s here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.
The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.
While he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
“Welcome back,” you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
“Had to bring this back.”
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
“Your dad is so silly,” you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.
A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.
Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.
“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.
“Always.” You answer back with a resounding truth.
Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heart’s flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.
Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.
Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.
Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.
It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.
Stop by whenever, we’ll be waiting
Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.
After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.
Being a kindergarten teacher comes with its fair share of spontaneity, something you've grown accustomed to. What you didn't expect? Falling for a certain Dr. Grace.
Rescued by Jackson patrolmen and brought back to the city's rapidly growing settlement, you're given temporary shelter in Joel Miller's spare room while waiting for a place of your own.
Joel does his best to be welcoming in his own gruff way, but your guarded nature and assessing stares leave him uneasy. With tensions already high after a recent falling out with Ellie he can't shake the feeling that there's more to you than you're letting on.
Despite both your better judgments, suspicion slowly gives way to attraction and an unexpected bond begins.
However you're hiding a secret powerful enough to destroy everything and everyone.
I suck at summaries okay? But here's an excerpt from the first chapter!
Excerpt
"Think of it like a roommate."
"Fuckin' roommate at my age," Joel scoffs, irritated and exhausted. "S' ridiculous. I don't see why we're letting all these folks in if we have no place-"
"Stop right there," Maria cuts in. "I'm serious, Joel. Not another word." She motions to the gathered masses down below. "That was you and Ellie at one time. You think it would have been right to turn you away?"
Shame touches Joel's cheeks, making them flame pink. He looks down, hands loose on the desk She's right. When he doesn't say anything else Maria continues, her voice just as sharp.
"You have your choice, a single or a mom with two kids."
Joel flinches at thoughts of loud children screaming in the night, of sticky fingers leaving greasy fingerprints on his woodworking supplies.
"Single."
"Figured as much," Maria says. "Alright. Glad that's sorted."
She turns, footsteps heavy on the wood floor of the office. Joel's voice reaches out after his sister-in-law.
"When's he moving in?"
"Tomorrow morning. "
Maria hesitates, looking over her shoulder with a strange expression before she moves down the steps.
"And it's a woman."
Summary: Joel Miller’s life is already full; work, responsibility, long days, and Sarah at the center of everything. He is not looking for change, much less for someone who unsettles the careful balance he has built around himself.
Then he gets sued and risks losing money he doesn't have. He needs a lawyer... And he gets someone competent, sharp, impossible to keep at a distance for long, and somehow fitting into places he never intended to make room for.
Because some things do not arrive all at once; they settle quietly, in ordinary moments, until one day life no longer looks quite the way it used to.
Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description).
Story rating: E (+18).
Chapter tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Alcoholism. Mentions of death (not any main characters). Legal inaccuracies (probably).
Chapter word count: 8.2k words.
a/n: This chapter reflects on alcoholism and the consequences it may have. If this topic triggers you, maybe you should go right to the end when the conversation between Tommy and Juliet starts (the start and end will be marked with ***).
Joel slept light. Always had. Years of early mornings, job sites, and a kid who used to wake at ungodly hours had wired it into him permanently. Even now, with the house quiet and the day behind him, some part of his mind stayed half-alert.
But tonight… he was out.
You lay tucked against him, warm and familiar, your back pressed into his chest, his arm heavy around your waist. The fan hummed softly overhead. The faint glow of the alarm clock painted the room in dim red numbers.
His nose was buried lightly in your hair, breathing slow, steady. One leg tangled with yours beneath the sheets. The kind of sleep that only came when everything felt right.
Then the phone rang. It cut through the dark like a blade.
Joel jerked awake instantly, heart slamming hard against his ribs before his brain caught up. For half a second he didn’t know where he was. Then the room settled back into focus. You shifted in his arms with a soft, disoriented sound.
The phone kept ringing. Nightstand. His side. Joel groaned under his breath and reached blindly, fumbling until his hand closed around it. The screen lit up harsh and bright in the dark.
He went still. Every muscle in his body tightened at once.
You felt it immediately. You pushed up onto one elbow beside him, hair mussed, voice thick with sleep. “…Joel?”
He swallowed once and answered.
“Yeah.”
The voice on the other end was professional. Flat. Tired in that middle-of-the-night way.
“Is this Joel Miller?”
His grip on the phone tightened. “Yeah.”
“Sir, this is officer Davidson with the Austin Police Department. We have a Thomas Miller here at central booking requesting you come down. There’s been an incident this evening. He’s being held pending possible charges. He asked that you be notified.”
Joel closed his eyes briefly. Of course. Of fucking course.
“…He hurt?” Joel asked, voice already rough.
A small pause. Papers shuffling on the other end.
“He’s been involved in an altercation. Some visible injuries. Nothing life-threatening as far as we can tell.”
Joel sat up fully now, already swinging his legs off the bed. You pushed yourself upright beside him, fully awake now, reading his face before he even spoke.
“Yeah,” Joel muttered into the phone. “Alright. I’m comin’.”
Another pause. Then the officer added, almost casually:
“Sir, I’d advise you bring legal counsel. The other party is likely pressing charges. If Mr. Miller doesn’t retain representation, one will be assigned but he’ll have to wait here until tomorrow morning.”
Joel’s jaw set. “Yeah. Got it.”
He hung up before the man could say anything else.
The room went quiet again except for the faint hum of the fan. You watched him in the dark.
“…Tommy?”
Joel scrubbed a hand down his face hard. “Yeah.”
He stood, already reaching for his jeans on the chair. Movements clipped. Efficient. Angry under the surface in that tight, controlled way you’d learned to recognize.
“What happened?”
“Bar fight, sounds like.” His voice was flat. “He’s at county. They’re talkin’ charges. Shit.”
You absorbed that quickly. Fully awake now.
“Did they tell you to bring a lawyer.”
Joel paused halfway through pulling on his shirt and looked at you.
“…Yeah.”
The look that crossed your face then wasn’t sleepy or confused anymore. It sharpened. Focused. Something cool and precise sliding into place behind your eyes.
“Okay,” you said simply.
Joel blinked once. “Okay what.”
“I’m coming.”
He shook his head immediately. “You don’t gotta-”
“I know.” You stood and reached for clothes in the dim light, already moving. “I’m coming anyway.”
There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in your tone.
Joel watched you for a second, jaw tight.
“…Juliet.”
You pulled on a sweater, fingers quick but steady. “They said to bring a lawyer, Joel, I’m a lawyer.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose. Couldn’t argue with that. Didn’t really want to.
“…Alright,” he muttered.
Then his eyes flicked toward the hallway automatically. Toward Sarah’s room. Both of you stilled. You couldn’t just leave her.
You caught the look and nodded once. Already thinking ahead. “I’m calling my Mom.”
Joel hesitated. Shame flickering across his face before he could hide it. It was past two in the morning. Calling Annie for this… Christ.
You touched his arm lightly. “She won’t mind.”
He huffed under his breath. “Still.”
“Joel.”
He met your eyes. Saw no judgment there. None. Just calm certainty.
“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “Alright.”
You grabbed yout phone and stepped into the hallway to make the call while he pulled on his boots. He could hear your voice low and soft in the kitchen, explaining just enough. Apologizing even though you didn’t need to.
Annie must’ve agreed immediately, because you came back less than a minute later already tying your hair up.
“She’s on her way.”
Joel nodded once. Relief and embarrassment twisting together in his chest.
You moved around each other in quiet efficiency; grabbing keys, wallets, jackets. The house felt different now. Too bright. Too awake for the hour.
Within fifteen minutes, headlights swept across the front windows. Joel opened the door before Annie even knocked.
She stepped inside in a cardigan thrown over sleep clothes, hair hastily pulled back, expression alert but calm. Her eyes went first to you, then to Joel.
“Is he alright?” she asked gently.
“Yeah,” Joel said. “Just… in some trouble.”
She nodded once like that told her everything she needed to know.
“I’ll stay with Sarah,” she said simply. “Don’t you worry about anything here.”
Joel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly feeling about seventeen instead of a grown man.
“…I’m sorry. Wakin’ you up like this.”
Annie’s expression softened.
“Joel,” she said quietly. “Don’t you dare apologize to me, we are family.”
It settled heavier than she probably realized.
He swallowed once and nodded. “Thank you.”
She squeezed his arm briefly. Warm. Steady. No judgment.
“Go,” she said.
You grabbed your bag. Joel grabbed the truck keys. The night air hit cool and sharp as you stepped outside together. By the time you pulled away from the curb, the house lights were already dimming again behind you.
You drove through the empty Austin streets toward the sheriff’s station. Toward Tommy.
********
The station was colder than it needed to be. Fluorescent lights. Pale tile. The kind of place designed to make people feel small and tired.
Joel pushed through the glass doors first. You right beside him. The deputy at the desk looked up, mildly annoyed at 2:42 AM.
“Thomas Miller,” Joel said.
The deputy typed something slowly.
“Yeah. Holding.”
You stepped forward half a pace. Calm. Polite. Controlled.
“I’m counsel,” you said. “Juliet Harper.”
The deputy’s eyebrows flicked up briefly at that, but he didn’t comment.
“Other party pressed charges,” he said. “Assault causing bodily injury.”
Your voice stayed level. “Has my client been formally charged?”
“Pending.”
“Has he been read his rights?”
A pause. “Yes.”
“Has he signed anything?”
“No.”
“Has he been medically evaluated?”
Another pause. “He declined.”
You didn’t blink.
“He declined, or he wasn’t offered?”
The deputy’s jaw tightened slightly. “Ma’am-”
Joel felt it shift right there. The temperature of the room. You didn’t raise your voice. Didn’t sharpen your tone. You just held the man’s eyes steadily.
“I’ve been told my client has visible head trauma,” you said calmly. “If he was not properly offered medical evaluation, that becomes an issue.”
Silence.
The deputy cleared his throat. “He was treated on site.”
“By whom?”
“EMS.”
“Documented?”
Another pause. Joel saw it. The crack.
You nodded once.
“We’d like to see him.”
They led you to a holding room.
Tommy was sitting on a bench behind a half-door barrier this time. Not just waiting. Processed.
His lip was split. One eye swollen almost shut. Dried blood at his temple. Shirt torn at the collar.
Joel stopped dead for half a second. You didn’t.
You walked straight up to the barrier and crouched slightly to see him at eye level.
“Who hit first?” you asked.
Tommy blinked. “Hi to you too.”
“Tommy.”
He looked at Joel briefly, then back at you.
“He swung first,” he muttered. “I finished it.”
You inhaled slowly.
“Witnesses?”
Tommy shrugged. Winced. “Bouncer saw it. And plenty other customers. Place was packed”
You stood and turned back toward the deputy.
“Was the other individual detained?”
“He was treated and released.”
You tilted your head slightly.
“Released.”
“Yes.”
“Despite initiating the physical altercation?”
The deputy shifted his weight. “Ma’am, the other individual retained counsel immediately.”
Joel felt something hot and ugly rise in his chest.
Your tone changed, not louder, but colder.
“So let me clarify. Two men fight. One has visible injuries. One hires a private attorney quickly. The one with representation is released. The other is detained.”
The deputy stiffened. “That’s not-”
“Was there a field sobriety test administered to both parties?”
Silence. Your eyes didn’t move.
“Were statements taken from both parties before detention?”
Another pause.
Joel saw it now, the imbalance. Tommy hadn’t refused medical help. He hadn’t been offered properly. The other guy hadn’t been held. And now charges were being pushed.
You folded your arms loosely.
“I’ll need the incident report number,” you said. “Body cam footage confirmation. And the name of the supervising officer on duty.”
The deputy hesitated.
Joel felt a strange mix of pride and fury watching you. This wasn’t even your field of expertise. Tommy watched too, different expression on his face now. Less bravado, more awareness.
The deputy left the room.
You turned back to Tommy.
“You hit him.”
Tommy didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”
“You escalated.”
“He swung first.”
“And you escalated.”
Silence. Tommy looked down. Joel stepped forward finally. Voice low.
“Christ, Tommy.”
Tommy’s jaw flexed.
“He was mouthing off.”
“And?” Joel snapped. “That new?”
You lifted a hand slightly without looking at either of them. Enough.
You looked back at Tommy.
“You’re being charged because the other man’s lawyer pushed for it before you had representation. That’s what happened.”
Tommy let out a slow breath.
“…Thank-”
You turned so fast he flinched.
“Don’t.”
Your voice wasn’t loud. It was worse. It was tight. Controlled. Furious.
“Don’t you dare thank me,” you said, eyes locked on his. “I am so incredibly mad at you right now.”
The room went still. Tommy blinked. Joel didn’t interfere. You stepped closer to the barrier.
“You scared us,” you said, nodding toward Joel. “You woke us up at two in the morning. My mom is at our house with Sarah. Because you were drunk and wouldn’t walk away.”
Tommy’s face shifted slightly at that.
“And now,” you continued, voice steady but sharp, “I’m standing in a police station at three a.m. pointing out procedural errors so you don’t end up with a record because someone with better connections moved faster than you.”
You held his gaze a moment longer. Not softening. Not letting him hide in jokes or apologies.
Then you exhaled slowly and shifted back into something cooler. Controlled. Professional.
“Alright,” you said. “Listen carefully.”
Tommy straightened a little on the bench without meaning to. Even bruised and half-drunk, he recognized that tone.
“You are not being formally charged tonight,” you continued. “They’re holding you pending review because the other party filed first and retained private counsel. That gave him priority.”
Tommy frowned. “So what-”
“So,” you cut in calmly, “we fix the order of things.”
You turned slightly as the deputy came back into the room with a thin file and a tablet. He handed it over with visible reluctance.
You skimmed it quickly. Efficient. Focused. Joel watched your eyes move line by line. Watched the moment you found what you needed.
There. You looked up.
“My client will not be held,” you said evenly. “There’s insufficient cause for detention.”
The deputy’s mouth tightened. “Ma’am, he was involved in-”
“In a mutual altercation,” you replied smoothly. “Where the initiating party has already been released. Without a field sobriety test administered to both individuals. Without documented medical evaluation for my client despite visible injury. And without witness statements attached to justify selective detention.”
Silence.
You set the tablet down gently on the counter between you.
“If you’d like to continue holding him,” you added politely, “we can escalate that conversation to your supervising officer and the county desk. I’m happy to make that call.”
Joel almost smiled.
The deputy exhaled slowly through his nose.
“…One moment,” he muttered, and left again.
Tommy watched you like you’d just performed a magic trick. Joel stayed quiet.
A few minutes passed. Low voices somewhere down the hall. A door opening. Closing. Then the deputy returned, different posture this time.
“Mr. Miller will be released pending review,” he said stiffly. “No bail required.”
Tommy blinked. “Just like that?”
You didn’t even look at him.
“It’s not ‘just like that,’” you said calmly. “You got lucky there isn’t sufficient legal ground to hold you.”
Paperwork was placed on the counter. You reviewed it line by line before sliding it back.
“Sign here,” the deputy told Tommy.
He did.
Five minutes later, you were walking out. Just like that. Except not really.
The night air hit you cool and quiet when the station doors closed behind you. Tommy stood on the curb for a second like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that he was free.
Joel stayed a step away. Arms crossed. Not touching him.
You stood between them, bag over your shoulder, posture still straight but the tension in it finally showing around the edges.
Tommy glanced at you.
“…So,” he started carefully.
You didn’t look at him.
“You’ll have a court date coming,” you said flatly. “They’ll review statements and decide whether to pursue charges formally. I’ll handle it. You will not talk to anyone about this without me present. You will not return to that bar. You will not contact the other party. Understood?”
Tommy nodded quickly. “Yeah.”
You finally looked at him then. Still angry. But steadier.
“Good.”
Joel stepped forward.
“Get in the truck.”
Tommy obeyed without a word.
The drive back was quiet. Heavy. But quieter than the ones before. And when you pulled up outside Tommy’s apartment, he hesitated before getting out.
Looked at Joel. Then at you. Didn’t try to joke this time. Didn’t try to charm. Just a rough, quiet:
“…Night.”
He got out. Closed the door gently.
Joel watched him go inside without moving. Then he leaned back in his seat and scrubbed a hand over his face hard.
“…Jesus,” he muttered.
You sat beside him, finally letting some of the steel drop from your shoulders.
“He’s okay,” you said quietly. “Tonight.”
Joel nodded once. Still staring ahead. After a moment, he reached across the console and took your hand. Squeezed it tight.
Didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to.
*********
Tommy got lucky. Again.
Two days after you filed the paperwork and made three very pointed phone calls that left a junior assistant district attorney audibly sweating, the other party decided not to press charges.
Official reason: insufficient grounds.
Real reason: messy mutual fight, bad optics, and a lawyer who clearly wasn’t in the mood to play.
Case dropped. No record. No court. Clean. Too clean.
Joel didn’t say much when you told him. Just nodded once.
“Good.”
But the tightness in his shoulders never really left. It sat there for days.
Tommy kept his distance more than usual. Still showed up around the house, still stopped by after work sometimes, still brought Sarah candy he pretended not to have bought specifically for her.
But something between the brothers had shifted.
Joel wasn’t yelling. Wasn’t picking fights. He just… wasn’t letting anything slide.
Every joke landed flat. Every deflection got ignored. Every attempt Tommy made to turn things into ‘no big deal’ died on contact.
You saw it. Felt it. Didn’t interfere… yet.
A week later, Tommy showed up for dinner like nothing happened.No call. No warning. Just the familiar knock and the sound of the back door opening before anyone could answer.
“Smells illegal in here,” he announced, stepping inside like he payed part of the mortgage. “You make enough for one more?”
Joel didn’t even turn from the stove.
“…Tommy.”
“What.”
“…We’re eatin’.”
Tommy paused halfway to the cabinet. Looked at the table. Plates already set. Sarah in her chair swinging her legs. You pouring iced tea.
“Okay,” he said.
He grabbed a plate and served himself like nothing had happened and dropped into the empty chair at the table with a satisfied sigh.
“Long day, huh?” he said, reaching for the bread.
Joel set the pan down harder than necessary.
“Then go home and eat,” he said flatly.
Sarah’s fork paused halfway to her mouth.
Tommy blinked. “I just got here.”
“Yeah,” Joel said. “I noticed.”
You set the pitcher down carefully. Very carefully.
“Joel-”
“I’m just sayin’,” Joel went on, not raising his voice but somehow making it worse. “Man could call first. Maybe check if we’re busy.”
Tommy leaned back in his chair slightly, posture shifting.
“Didn’t realize I needed an appointment,” he said, light but edged.
“Common courtesy ain’t an appointment.”
“Alright,” Tommy said, holding up one hand. “My bad. I’m here now.”
Joel let out a humorless breath through his nose and finally sat down across from him.
Dinner started. Or tried to.
For about thirty minutes, it was normal. Sarah talked about school. You asked questions. Tommy made a comment about a teacher assigning too much homework.
Then Joel cut in.
“You been drinkin’.”
Not a question.
Tommy stilled. “No.”
Joel just looked at him.
You felt the shift before anyone spoke again.
“Had a beer after work,” Tommy added. “One.”
Joel’s jaw flexed. “Mm.”
Silence pressed down over the table.
Sarah looked between them. Then at you.
You forced a small smile. “Hey, kiddo. Why don’t you show me that drawing you were working on earlier?”
Sarah caught the tone immediately. Smart girl.
“Okay,” she said, sliding off her chair.
You stood and took her hand lightly.
“C’mon. Let’s go see it in your room.”
You left the kitchen together.
The moment Sarah’s bedroom door clicked shut upstairs…
The air snapped.
Joel pushed his chair back. “You think this is funny.”
Tommy’s fork hit the plate. “Jesus Christ, Joel-”
“No,” Joel cut in, voice low but sharp as glass. “You don’t get to ‘Jesus Christ’ me. Not after last week.”
Tommy stood too, chair scraping.
“It’s handled.”
“Handled?” Joel barked a humorless laugh. “You call that handled? You got hauled into a station at two in the mornin’.”
“And I walked out,” Tommy shot back. “No charges. No record. Done.”
“That ain’t the damn point.”
“Then what is,” Tommy demanded. “Huh? What exactly do you want from me here?”
Joel stared at him. Really stared.
“I want,” he said slowly, “to stop gettin’ calls about my brother like he’s a goddamn problem I gotta solve.”
Tommy flinched. Just barely.
“Wasn’t your problem,” he said, quieter but stubborn. “I handled it.”
Joel stepped forward.
“You didn’t handle it. My girl did,” he said, sharp and low. “Then you got fuckin’ lucky. Like you always do. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you take the fall for your own fuckin’ mess.”
Silence cracked between them.
Tommy ran a hand over the back of his neck, frustration rising. “I said it won’t happen again.”
“You always say that.”
That landed. Heavily.
Tommy’s jaw tightened. “I mean it this time.”
Joel let out a slow breath that sounded almost like a laugh. But wasn’t.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You always do.”
“That’s not fair,” Tommy yelled at something Joel said.
Joel let out a humorless huff. “Not fair? You wanna talk fair?”
He leaned forward, forearms on the table, voice tightening instead of rising.
“You’re pushin’ thirty, Tommy. How many times we done this? How many calls in the middle of the damn night? How many rides home? How many fuckin’ times I gotta look my kid in the eye and pretend her uncle ain’t slowly wreckin’ himself?”
Tommy’s jaw set. “I said I got it handled.”
“No,” Joel snapped. “You keep sayin’ that. You don’t ever do it.”
The words hung there. Heavy.
Tommy looked down at his plate like he might throw it, then pushed it away instead.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly. “So don’t stand there actin’ like you do.”
Joel’s mouth flattened. That one always came out eventually.
“Try me,” he said.
Tommy laughed once. Short. Bitter. “You didn’t see what I saw over there.”
Joel stilled. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t rise to it. But something in his eyes hardened.
“No,” he said, voice low and steady. “I didn’t. But I see what it’s doin’ to you now.”
Tommy looked up sharply.
Joel held his gaze. Didn’t look away.
“You think I don’t get it?” Joel went on. “You think I ain’t spent the last decade watchin’ you drink and fight and run from every damn thing that gets too close? You think I don’t know what that is?”
Tommy swallowed. Hard.
“PTSD ain’t an excuse to burn your fuckin’ life down,” Joel said, not cruel, just tired. “And it damn sure ain’t an excuse to keep hurtin’ the people who gotta stand here and watch you fuckin’ kill yourself!”
Silence hit the room like a dropped weight.
Tommy pushed back from the table fully this time.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Alright.”
He didn’t look at Joel. Didn’t slam anything. Didn’t raise his voice. Just walked to the front door, grabbed his jacket, and stepped outside. The door closed behind him with a quiet, final click.
Joel stayed where he was for a second, breathing hard through his nose, hands braced on the table like he’d just finished a fight he hadn’t meant to start.
Outside, the porch boards creaked faintly as Tommy moved. Pacing. Or maybe just standing there trying to get air.
Joel scrubbed a hand down his face. He knew that silence. Knew that kind of retreat. And it didn’t feel like a win.
He went to the sink with his back turned, rinsing the same plate for longer than it needed. The house felt… tight. Like sound carried differently after yelling.
He heard your footsteps before he saw you.
“Sarah?” he asked without turning.
“On a video call with Frank,” you said softly. “He’s showing her something with the strawberries in his garden. She’s… okay.”
That eased something in Joel’s shoulders, just slightly. .
He nodded once, drying his hands slowly on a dish towel before turning around. Your face looked calm, but he knew you well enough by now to see the tension sitting just under it. The kind you wore when you were choosing your next move carefully.
You came a step closer. Not all the way. Close enough.
“Hey,” you said quietly. “Can I… talk to him?”
Joel didn’t answer right away.
Out on the porch, Tommy’s boots scraped faintly against wood as he shifted in the rocking chair. A low creak. Then stillness again.
Joel exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.
“Ain’t gonna do any good,” he muttered. Not harsh. Just tired.
“Maybe,” you said gently. “Maybe not. But I’d like to try.”
He studied you for a second. Saw the steadiness there. Not judgment. Not anger. That mattered. Finally he nodded once toward the door.
“…Yeah,” he said. “Go on.” He went on, almost apologetic in a way he’d never say out loud: “Don’t let him bullshit you.”
You nodded once and moved toward the front door, pausing only long enough to slip yout feet into your shoes by the mat. The porch light was already on; it cast a soft amber glow across the wood outside, long shadows stretching over the yard.
Joel stayed where he was. Didn’t follow. Didn’t hover. Stood at the sink with his hands braced on the counter for a second before forcing himself to move again, picking up a glass that didn’t need washing and running water over it anyway.
The front door opened. Soft creak. Then shut behind you.
There was a moment of quiet. He could picture it without looking; Tommy out there on the old bench or leaning against the railing, shoulders hunched, head down like he always got when the anger burned off and left something heavier behind.
He heard your voice first. Calm. Low. Careful not to carry inside.
(***)
“…Hey.”
Tommy shifted. A faint scrape of boot against wood.
“Hey,” he answered, rougher than usual. Not defensive. Just… worn.
There was a small pause. The kind that came when two people stood near each other and neither quite knew how to start.
Joel hadn’t meant to listen, but the kitchen window was cracked open from earlier; to let the heat out while they cooked. And sound carried differently at night. Softer and clearer.
“…You okay?” you asked quietly.
A short huff from Tommy. Half a laugh, half something else. “That depends. You here to yell at me too?”
“No,” you said. Simple. Honest.
There was a longer pause.
Tommy shifted again, wood creaking under his weight.
“…He tell you everything?” Tommy asked.
“No,” you said gently. “Didn’t have to… You two weren’t exactly whispering.”
Silence stretched between you for a few seconds. The kind that wasn’t empty, but careful.
Joel felt it in his chest. Tight. Familiar.
“I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. If that’s okay,” you said.
Tommy let out a slow breath. The fight had gone out of him. Joel could hear that much.
“... ‘bout what,” he muttered. “How I’m the fuckin’ screwup of the family and there ain’t nothing I can do to fix it?.”
You didn’t rise to the bite in it. Didn’t rush either.
“I don’t think you’re a screwup,” you said quietly, with so much love and patience it hit Joel right in the chest.
A short, humorless breath left Tommy.
“Well,” he muttered, staring somewhere out into the dark yard, “I do.”
Silence settled between you. Not hostile. Just heavy. You let it sit. Let him hear it settle without trying to fix it too fast.
“God,” you said softly after a moment, almost to yourself. “You remind me so much of my dad sometimes, you know?”
Tommy shifted a little on the step. “That supposed to be good or bad?”
“Depends on the day.”
You huffed a quiet breath.
“Did you know he was a vet too?” you asked.
Tommy glanced over, surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah.” You kept your voice even. “Vietnam.”
Tommy went still. The kind of still that came from recognition, not curiosity.
“…That’s,” he muttered, voice roughening, “that’s fucked up.”
Another small silence settled in. Not awkward. Just real.
You nodded once. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “It was.”
Joel swallowed and set the dish down a little too carefully. The faint clink sounded louder than it should’ve.
“He was also everyone’s favorite,” you went on quietly. “Played with the kids for hours. No complaints. Just… down on the grass with them, hands-on. Exactly like you.”
Tommy didn’t move. Didn’t joke.
“He was a jokester,” you added. “Always had people laughing. People gravitated to him without even trying. Barbecues, birthdays, random Tuesdays… he lit up a room just by walking into it.”
A small breath left you.
“He was always happy. Always fun. Or at least… that’s what it looked like from the outside.”
Tommy’s shoulders shifted slightly, like the words had weight.
You gave a faint, almost embarrassed huff.
“I was such a daddy’s girl it’s honestly a little embarrassing now. Followed him everywhere. He could do no wrong.”
You let out a long sigh.
“Then I grew up a little,” you continued softly. “Started… noticing things.”
Tommy stayed very still.
“The little stuff first. Beer bottles where they hadn’t been before. Days when he’d come home and he wasn’t… him. Grumpy. Tired in a way that didn’t make sense. Didn’t want to play. Didn’t want to talk.”
There was a small pause.
“Fights with my mom,” you added quietly. “The kind you try not to hear as a kid but… you do anyway.”
Tommy swallowed, gaze dropping somewhere to the porch boards.
“The first time I remember her having to go pick him up from a bar, I was about Sarah’s age,” you said. “Maybe a little younger. Bill tried to cover it. Told me Dad was helping a friend, that he’d be late. But you know how kids are. You can feel when something’s off.”
Your voice softened further.
“After that… it stopped being something they could hide. Not really.”
Joel’s fingers tightened around the glass in his hand.
“I loved him so much,” you went on, voice thinner now but still steady. “I made all kinds of excuses as a kid. Thought maybe it was our fault somehow. Maybe we just weren’t… enough to make him happy.”
“Juliet…” Tommy said quietly, almost a protest.
You shook your head a little. “No. It’s okay. I know better now. The truth is… he needed help. Real help. The kind we couldn’t give him at home. The kind he wouldn’t ask for.”
“Yeah…” Tommy muttered. “I get it.”
“He had episodes,” you continued. “Regressions. Loud noises would set him off. Fourth of Julys were always hard. New Year’s. Fireworks…” you let out a humorless breath. “He just couldn’t deal. Every year he’d end up drunk as a damn sailor by sundown.”
Joel rubbed a hand slowly over his mouth.
“When I was eleven,” you said, “I cleaned up his vomit for the first time. Didn’t want my mom to find him like that. Didn’t want Bill to see. So I cleaned the floor. Helped him into the shower. Put him to bed.”
Tommy’s jaw tightened. Joel stared down at the sink. Christ.
“He was crying,” you added softly. “Apologizing. Kept saying he was sorry.”
You swallowed once.
“He told me… ‘You deserve better than me, baby girl. I ain’t built right. Don’t you grow up lovin’ men like me’.”
Silence settled heavy between you and Tommy. Your voice didn’t crack. It just thinned.
“He kept telling us he’d change,” you went on quietly. “Said it was the last time. Every time.”
You let out a small breath.
“It never was.”
Tommy stared out into the dark yard, unmoving.
“When I got old enough to drive, sometimes I’d go pick him up myself,” you continued. “Some bar across town. Some parking lot. I’d help him into the car so my mom wouldn’t find out how bad it’d gotten.”
Your fingers twisted together loosely in your lap.
“I hated when they fought,” you admitted. “Hated that part more than anything. The yelling. The slammed doors. The way the whole house felt like it was holding its breath.”
Tommy huffed.
“I kept thinking if I just… handled it better,” you said softly, “if I got to him first, if I made it easier, maybe it wouldn’t get that far.”
“Fuck, Juliet…” Tommy muttered, voice rough. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Joel swallowed hard at that. Hearing Tommy apologize for something that wasn’t even his… that already said enough.
You gave a small shrug that wasn’t really a shrug. Just a movement to keep yourself steady.
“When I was seventeen,” you said, “he picked me up from a friend’s house. I wasn’t supposed to be there. He’d secretly let me go. Mom never would’ve let him drive me anywhere alone at night by then.”
A faint, distant smile touched your mouth.
“He seemed fine. Happy. Laughing. Making jokes the whole drive. I remember thinking… Maybe this time he really is okay.”
Joel’s chest tightened painfully. He knew that hope. That stupid, fragile hope.
Yout gaze dropped to your hands.
“Then I noticed he was slurring a little. Just a little. I told him to pull over. Let me drive.”
You let out a small huff.
“He got mad. Told me he was perfectly capable.”
Silence stretched for a second.
“And then… I just remember the noise,” you said softly. “A loud crash. Metal. Glass.”
Joel’s hand tightened on the counter.
“Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital.”
You lifted one hand slowly and brushed your fingers along the side of your ribs, then higher toward your shoulder; a place usually hidden.
“I’d been in a coma for five days,” you said. “They told me later I almost bled out. Missed an artery by an inch.”
You sighed faintly.
“I lived. He… wasn’t so lucky.”
Tommy dragged a hand down his face. “Shit… Juliet. I’m so sorry.”
Joel swallowed thickly.
You nodded once, accepting it without dwelling there.
“The day I first met you,” you went on quietly, “you reminded me of him so much it hurt.”
Joel’s head lifted slightly at that. His gaze shifted toward the back door now. Fully listening.
You looked at Tommy. Not accusing. Just honest.
“Same charm. Same way of making everyone laugh. Same way of dodging anything that actually mattered.”
There was a small moment of silence.
“Same… way of pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”
Silence settled over the house. Heavy. Real.
At the sink, Joel stood very still… and for the first time since the fight started, he wasn’t angry.
“I couldn’t save him,” you said quietly. “Not from himself. Not from what he carried. But I can tell you what comes after, Tommy, if you keep going down this road.”
He didn’t look at you.
“Your loved ones will suffer,” you went on, voice steady but soft. “More than you realize. They’ll never stop wondering what they could’ve done differently. What they missed. What they should’ve said sooner. It doesn’t end when you’re gone. It just… keeps echoing.”
From the kitchen, Joel’s throat tightened. He gripped the edge of the counter without meaning to.
Outside, Tommy scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I don’t even know where to start,” he muttered. “I’m so fucked up, Juliet.”
You didn’t flinch at the language. Didn’t soften the truth.
“You need help,” you said. “Real help. But you can only get it if you actually want it.”
Tommy let out a quiet scoff. “I tried AA,” he said. “Didn’t do a damn thing. They didn’t get it. None of ’em. Just… talkin’ in circles.”
Joel closed his eyes briefly. He’d heard that before.
“Then get a therapist,” you said simply. “A good one. I’ll pay for it. Every cent. Gladly.”
“That’s not the issue,” Tommy said, almost under his breath.
You leaned forward a little. “Then what is?”
Silence stretched. When Tommy spoke again, it was rougher. Harder to get out.
“…What if it ain’t worth it,” he muttered. “Worth the trouble. All of it. Everything’s already hard enough as it is.”
The words settled heavy in the air. Inside, Joel’s chest went tight.
A flash of anger, sharp and immediate, rose in him; not at you, not even fully at Tommy, but at the hopelessness in that sentence. At how close it sounded to something he’d heard too many times from men who didn’t make it out.
On the porch, you didn’t rush to fill the silence. You let him sit in it.
Then, gently, you said, “Most things worth having are hard.”
Yout voice softened even more.
“You already have more than most people ever get,” you said quietly. “People who truly love you. Your brother. Your niece.”
A small breath left your lips.
“…Me. I love you, Tommy. You’re family to me. You know that.”
Out on the porch, Tommy went very still. His face crumpled before he could stop it. He looked away immediately, dragging a hand over his mouth like he could physically hold himself together if he pressed hard enough.
“Don’t-” he muttered hoarsely. “Don’t do that.”
“I mean it,” you said gently. “You matter to us.”
His shoulders started to shake. Just slightly at first. Then more.
You didn’t move closer yet. Gave him the dignity of a second to breathe.
“Can you imagine yourself in that car that killed my daddy?” you asked.
Tommy’s head snapped toward you. “Juliet-”
“He hit a lightpost,” you continued softly. “Could’ve been a family. Could’ve been a kid crossing the street. Could’ve been me. Could’ve been someone else’s daughter sitting in that passenger seat.”
Joel felt that one hit like a physical blow.
“Could be Sarah,” you finished, voice barely above a whisper. “In the wrong place. With the wrong driver. One night that was supposed to be normal.”
Silence.
Then Tommy broke. A choked sound tore out of him before he could swallow it back. He bent forward hard, elbows on his knees, hands coming up to his face as if he could hide from it. But the sob that followed was unmistakable. Raw. Shaking. Years overdue.
“Jesus,” he gasped. “Jesus Christ…”
You moved then. Slowly. Carefully. You stepped closer and knelt beside him, one hand coming up to the back of his neck.
He didn’t resist. He folded toward you like something in him had finally given out. Arms wrapping around your waist, face pressed against your shoulder as the sobs came harder. Messier.
Inside, Joel stood frozen. He had never, in his entire life, heard his brother cry like that. Not when they were kids. Not when he came back from the army. Not when their world fell apart a dozen different ways.
Something twisted deep in Joel’s chest. Pain. Relief. Fear. Gratitude. All tangled together.
Out on the porch, you just held him. One hand steady on the back of his head. The other on his shoulder. Not shushing him. Not rushing him. Just… there. Letting him fall apart without trying to stop it.
Tommy’s sobs had quieted to something rougher. Uneven breaths. The kind that scraped on the way out.
You didn’t move away. Didn’t try to fix it. Just stayed there with him like you’d decided he wasn’t going through it alone.
Joel wiped his hands on a dish towel that didn’t need it and stared down at the counter. His brother was breaking open out there. Wide open. And for the first time… maybe that wasn’t the worst thing.
He moved toward the back door quietly. Heard Sarah talking to Frank still. He got a bit closed, not enough to interrupt, just enough to be there if needed.
Tommy had slumped forward now, elbows on his knees, both hands hanging loose between them. Drained. Spent. You still knelt beside him, one hand resting steady between his shoulder blades.
The night pressed in soft around them. Crickets. Distant traffic. The low hum of a neighborhood settling down.
Finally, Tommy dragged a shaky breath in.
“…I don’t know how to stop,” he said hoarsely.
Not defensive. Not joking. Just… honest.
You didn’t answer right away. When you did, your voice was quiet but steady.
“Then we figure it out,” you said. “One step at a time.”
Tommy let out a broken little laugh that wasn’t really humor.
“You still mad at me?”
“Yes,” you said simply. “But I’m not giving up on you.”
Silence settled again. Different now. Not as sharp.
After a while, Tommy scrubbed both hands over his face and let out a long breath.
“…I’ll try,” he said roughly. “For real this time. I’ll… try.”
You squeezed the back of his neck once. Firm.
“I know.”
Joel closed his eyes briefly. Not relief exactly. But something close enough to breathe.
Tommy stayed on the porch a while after his breathing evened out. Not crying anymore. Empty. Drained in that deep way that came after something finally broke loose.
You gave his shoulder one last squeeze and stood slowly, giving him space without making it a production. No speeches. No ‘we’ll talk tomorrow’. Just a quiet presence.
After a minute, Tommy pushed himself up too. Didn’t look toward the kitchen. Didn’t look for Joel. He just muttered a rough, “Night,” that barely carried past the porch light, and headed down the steps.
Truck engine. Headlights sweeping once across the living room wall. Then gone.
(***)
You stepped back into the kitchen slowly, like you weren't sure what you’d find there. Joel was still by the sink. Exactly where you’d left him.
One hand braced on the counter. The other hanging loose at his side. Shoulders tight in a way that told you he’d been holding himself together by force alone.
“…He didn’t say goodbye,” he muttered.
You shook your head softly. “He couldn’t.”
Joel nodded once. Like he already knew that.
Silence settled again. Heavy, but not uncomfortable. He finally looked at you then. Really looked. Eyes a little red. Jaw tight. Something raw sitting just under the surface.
“You okay?” he asked.
It came out rough. Low. Careful in a way that made it clear the question wasn’t casual.
You nodded once. “Yeah.”
You put your face in both your hands.
“That was hard.”
Joel’s mouth tightened.
“Shouldn’t have been on you,” he said immediately. “Ain’t your mess to fix.”
“I know,” you answered softly. “I wasn’t fixing it.”
He watched you a long second. Like he was weighing that. Testing it against everything he’d just heard.
Then something in his face shifted. He pushed off the counter and crossed the space between you in two strides.
Didn’t ask. Just reached for you. One arm came around yout waist. Firm. The other slid up your back and into your hair, pulling you in against his chest like he needed the contact more than air.
You went easily, arms wrapping around him in return.
He held you tight. Solid. Like he needed to feel something real in his hands.
For a few seconds he didn’t say anything, he just stood there breathing against your temple.
“…You shouldn’t know that kinda pain,” he murmured. “Not at your age. Not ever.”
Your hands landed on his chest.
“I’m okay,” you whispered.
He shook his head faintly against you.
“Yeah. You are.” He swallowed what felt like a huge lump on his throat “Still shouldn’t have had to be.”
Silence stretched again. Not empty. Full of things neither of you needed to spell out.
His hand slid up and down your back slowly. Grounding. Reassuring. Maybe for himself as much as for you.
“…Thank you,” he said finally. Voice low. Thick. “For not givin’ up on him.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him.
“I’m not giving up on you either,” you said softly.
He swallowed once. Hard.
“Ain’t plannin’ on lettin’ you,” he answered.
A faint, tired huff of breath left him then. Something almost like a broken laugh.
“…Christ,” he muttered. “Family’s a mess.”
Your mouth curved faintly. “Yeah. But it’s our mess.”
He looked down at you again. Eyes softer now, but still raw around the edges.
He leaned down then and kissed you. Deep. Slow. Full of everything he didn’t quite have words for.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours. He let out a slow breath. Shook his head once, almost to himself.
“…How the hell did I get this lucky,” he murmured, voice rough and low.
And this time when he pulled you into his arms, it wasn’t urgency or heat driving it. It was something steadier. Something protective. Something that felt a lot like choosing each other all over again after seeing the worst parts laid bare.
Sarah padded down the hallway a minute later, socks whispering softly against the floor. She’d changed into her pajamas already, hair loose and slightly tangled from brushing it herself.
She slowed when she saw you standing there together in the kitchen, like she’d walked into something quiet and important without meaning to.
“…Frank says he’s bringing me strawberry seeds next weekend,” she announced, because seven-year-olds didn’t ease into anything gently. “So we can plant them before it gets too hot.”
You smiled immediately, softening. “That’s a very serious responsibility.”
“I know,” Sarah said gravely. Then you glanced around the room. “Where’s Uncle Tommy?”
Joel and you exchanged the smallest look. Quick. Silent.
“He headed home,” Joel said evenly. “Wasn’t feelin’ too great.”
Sarah’s face shifted at that. Concern, simple and immediate.
“Oh.”
She stood there a second, thinking it through in that open way kids did. Then she went:
“Should I make him a drawing?”
Joel blinked. “A… drawin’?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged like this was obvious. “He always gets happy when I give him one. Even if they’re kinda bad.”
“They are not bad,” you said gently.
Sarah looked unconvinced but continued anyway. “I could make one with the strawberries. And maybe a dinosaur. He likes dinosaurs.”
“…Yeah,” Joel said quietly. “Think he’d like that a lot.”
Sarah nodded once, decision made, and turned back toward the hallway with purpose. “Okay. I’m gonna do it now before I forget.”
You listened to her footsteps retreat, then the soft thump of her bedroom door.
The house settled again. Quiet and full.
Joel exhaled slowly and reached for you without really thinking about it, hand settling at your waist. You leaned into him easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You just stood there in the kitchen, holding onto something fragile and real and worth fighting for.
************
Joel found it before the coffee finished brewing.
He came into the kitchen half-awake, hair still sleep-rough, reaching automatically for the pot when he saw the folded paper on the counter. His name on it. Tommy’s handwriting.
Something in his chest tightened immediately. He picked it up.
Joel,
By some miracle they had a spot open starting today. Vet program outside San Antonio. Sixty days inpatient. If I didn’t take it now, I wasn’t gonna take it at all.
I know I should’ve said this to your face. I just… couldn’t.
I’m sorry. For all of it. Every time you had to come get me. Every time I made you worry. Every time Sarah saw more than she should have. You didn’t deserve that.
I need some distance to do this right. Need to get my head straight without dragging you both through it again.
Juliet,
I don’t know how to thank you without sounding like an idiot.
No one’s ever talked to me the way you did last night. No one ever told me the truth and still made it sound like I was worth saving.
I’m gonna carry that with me. I mean it.
Tell Sarah I’ll call Sundays if they let me. Tell her I kept the drawings.
Don’t come down there unless I ask. I need to do this on my own feet.
Love you all.
Tommy
He read it once. Then again, slower. By the time he got to the end, his jaw had locked so hard it hurt.
The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hiss of the coffee maker. Morning light just starting to push through the window over the sink. Ordinary. Calm. Completely at odds with the way his chest felt like it had been split open.
He set the letter down carefully. Then braced both hands on the counter and stared at nothing.
Relief hit first. Sharp. Almost dizzying. He’s going. He actually went.
Right behind it came something heavier. Guilt. The memory of every time he’d yelled. Every time he’d dragged Tommy out of a bar by the collar. Every time Sarah had asked why Uncle Tommy looked tired.
And under all of that… pride. Quiet. Fierce. Almost painful.
“…Stubborn idiot,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough.
He heard soft footsteps behind him.
You stopped when you saw his posture. Saw the letter on the counter.
“…Joel?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just picked up the paper and held it out without turning.
You came closer, taking it gently from his hand. He watched your face as you read; the way your eyes moved across the lines, the way your mouth pressed together halfway through.
By the time you reached the part addressed to her, your vision blurred. You blinked fast, but it didn’t stop the tear that slipped free anyway.
“Oh, Tommy…” you whispered.
Joel dragged a hand down his face and finally sank into one of the kitchen chairs like his legs had given out all at once. Elbows on his knees. Hands clasped loosely together.
“He found a spot,” he said quietly. “Starts today.”
You nodded, still holding the letter. “That’s… fast.”
“Yeah.” He let out a slow breath. “That’s Tommy. If he’d waited, he’d’ve found a reason not to go.”
You set the letter down carefully on the table and moved to him without thinking, one hand coming to rest at the back of his neck. Warm. Steady. He leaned into it a fraction, eyes closing briefly.
“I’m proud of him,” he admitted quietly. Like it cost something to say out loud. Then he said, rougher this time: “And I hate that it took this much to get him there.”
You slid your arms gently around him from behind, cheek resting against his temple.
“You didn’t put him there,” you murmured. “But maybe… you helped him get out.”
He swallowed hard at that. Didn’t trust himself to answer right away.
After a moment he reached back, pulling you forward until you stepped around the chair and into him properly. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held on. Firm. Grounding. Like he needed something solid under his hands.
“…Lucky bastard,” he muttered quietly against your shirt.
You frowned slightly. “Who?”
He leaned back just enough to look up at you. Eyes a little red. Honest in that way he only got when everything else had been stripped out.
SUMMARY: You blindly hoped that Joel’s path would seldom cross yours. But when his constant presence around the ranch puts your willpower to the test, can you be trusted to keep a clear head? Or will your fragile resolve crumble under the weight of stolen glances and brushing fingers? 9.8K WC.
TAGS & WARNINGS: 18+ MDN!, Smut, Ranch AU, Sexual Tension, Boss-Employee Dynamic, Thigh Riding, Edging (if you squint), Fingering, Angst, Emotional Slow Burn, Grief, Loss of Grandparent, Blood, Description of Broken Nose, Joel is bad at feelings, Unspecified Age Gap, No Use of Y/N, Reader is able-bodied and has hair that can be braided.
A/N: Forgive me for the long wait. This has been sitting 95% complete on my computer for two weeks and I’ve been dying to post it! May and June are my super busy months for work, but I’m home free to write to my heart’s content after that. I come bearing smut! I adore reading all your comments and reblogs! Game!Joel is pictured in the header, but please feel free to envision HBO!Joel as suits your fancy. It’s your story, after all!
MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3
You were twelve the day you were sent home from school for punching Thomas Smith in the face.
He’d yanked at the hair dangling from your pony tail one-too-many times, your head snapping back painfully with every harsh tug.
Your blood boiled, teeth gritted, as he snickered lamely behind you in math class.
You valiantly tried to ignore him, you really did.
But the final straw was when he muttered, “Horse girl,” under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
Without thinking, you whirled around, throwing your clenched fist into his smug face.
Square in the nose, bone breaking with a sickly crunch. You’ll never forget the way he screamed, crimson blood rolling down his nostrils as he clutched his face.
Your grandmother was watching you that week, parents away on a bi-weekly business trip. Always gone, always moving.
Which you suppose was lucky, considering how your mother would’ve reacted to a call from the principal.
Still, your stomach sank as your grandmother pulled up in front of the school in her old 1980 Voyager.
You carefully shut the car door, as if slamming it too loud would prompt the lecture you knew was coming. So you clambered in gingerly, silent, eyes-averted. Waiting for the torrent of admonishments.
But they never came.
Instead, she regarded with a warm, knowing grin, uttering the last words you expected:
“Wanna go get some ice cream, sweet pea?”
You looked at her incredulously, barely hiding the shock on your face. When she just continued to smile at you, seemingly unphased, you nodded sheepishly.
The car ride was quiet, conversation looming in the air. Your chest softened at the familiar melody of your grandmother’s favorite Stevie Knicks CD, emanating from the ancient stereo system.
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills, where the landslide brought me down.
You leaned your head against the cool glass, gazing out at the world flying by.
When you were sitting at a red picnic table, carefully licking a cherry ice-cream cone, did she finally address the elephant in the room.
“I heard you got into a little tiff today,” she stated. Not accusatory, just confirming.
You stared guiltily down at your Mary-Jane’s, shame coursing through you, tears welling in your eyes.
“Gram, I didn’t mean to,” you choked out pathetically, a tear escaping down your cheek. “He just kept pushing and pushing, and I just…snapped.”
You beseeched her with pleading eyes, silently begging her to absolve you.
“And I’m sure he deserved it,” she chuckled jovially.
Once again, you were utterly perplexed by her response.
Your mother would be screaming at you by now. And she’s…laughing?
You were slightly annoyed with her for not understanding the gravity of the situation. But then again, she wasn’t yelling.
So you simply stared at her, tears continuing to course down your cheeks.
“Sweet pea,” she soothed, bringing a gentle hand to your cheek, wiping away the sorrow.
“Sometimes people got a funny way of showing affection. I’m not saying it’s right, but the line between hate and love is finer than you think.”
Your mind stuttered with disbelief at her implication.
“You’re saying Thom—he—loves me?”
“Oh, hun, I don’t know,” she sighed, patting your arm comfortingly. The golden afternoon sun caught a strand of long, graying hair as she gazed pensively towards the treeline.
“Feelings don’t always show themselves in the way you expect. Knowing you, I’m sure you had a good reason for doing what ya did. Sometimes you gotta stand up for yourself and know what you deserve.”
She looked at you fondly, eyes glowing with affection. Then, growing a touch more serious.
“But sometimes it’s about giving people grace. You just gotta remember that there’s a lot more than meets the eye for some people.”
You lapsed into thoughtful silence, watching the trees sway as you finished the remnants of your ice cream.
You thought of that day often.
On the days when you missed her the most, the absence of her pressing in on your chest like a vice. You’d trade decades of your life for just one more moment with her.
Your grandmother was better than you were. More patient. More forgiving.
She always saw the good in people, gave them the benefit of the doubt.
But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t summon the goodness that seemed to come so easily to her.
You couldn’t find it in your heart to absolve Joel Miller. Not for his condescension, and certainly not for his indifference. Jackass.
Though you’d outgrown your days of thoughtless violence, the thought of him made you want to rage, to scream until your throat was raw.
It seemed that boys who pulled ponytails grew into men who sidled around hard conversations.
They had no problem sliding a hand between your legs, but retreated at the prospect of actually addressing it. As if the act only became real when put into words.
Your grandmother was right: hate and love are two brands of the same drug. If they are indeed one and the same, you can’t tell which side of the line Joel Miller walks on: loathing or desire.
Each morning on the ranch arrives brutally early, the horizon only beginning to shift from inky black to pre-dawn blue as you carefully climb down from your top bunk, sleep clinging to your puffy eyes.
You huddle blearily next to the coffee pot in the kitchen of your staff cabin, the soothing aroma of fresh coffee perking you up, the warmth of the ceramic mug comforting against your chilled fingers.
True to fashion, Marge and Kiara prattle energetically, despite the early hour. You, Maddy, and Claire, on the other hand, stare into space, still becoming reacquainted with consciousness. Claire grumbles as she plops into a chair at the round oak table, slumping forward as she tucks her head underneath her arms.
You’re more awake as you sit astride Lady an hour later, beams of light rising golden over the dark pines. The morning air is crisp against your face, still damp with dew. The cacophony of bird calls grows steadily as the sun climbs higher in the sky, illuminating the jagged surface of the Teton mountains beyond.
The lively jingle of cow bells fills the morning air as you call the horses back from pasture, trotting eagerly towards the promise of breakfast. There’s always a few stranglers that seem deaf to your encouragement to return to the paddock, so you guide Lady through the waking pines, in search of the remaining culprits.
Once the sun is fully risen, you stride into the paddock, a young mustang named Pip in tow. You coax him into a saddle and bit, patiently leading him around the enclosure as he adjusts to the new sensations.
He is apparently unamused, pulling so hard on the reins it feels like your shoulder is going to pop out of its socket. He kicks a hind leg out swiftly, a little too close to your head for your liking. You wisely decide to try again another day.
On Wednesday, Mabel shoves a pair of pruning shears in your hand, sending you, Marge, and Jason out on the ATV to clear the riding trails, overgrown from a rain-filled spring. Sweat oozes down the back of your neck as you and Jason sit on either side of the ATV, hacking away at overgrowth as Marge slowly trundles down the wooded hillside.
There’s a contained sense of panic, an organized chaos, the looming knowledge of an endless to-do list before guests arrive next week. You flop into bed each night absolutely exhausted, but fulfilled.
But contrary to your belief that your paths wouldn’t cross often, it feels like Joel is everywhere you turn, a phantom appearing around every corner.
At the dining hall every morning, he sits at a table with Mabel, chatting casually. He leans back against the wooden chair, ankle propped on his opposite thigh, mug of black coffee in hand. Looking at ease, like he’s meant to be there.
More than a few times, you catch his eyes on you, your stomach swooping with every stolen glance. One day, his wayward glance catches you off guard, sending you choking on your water, coughing and spluttering embarrassingly.
Only when your heart stops racing and you’ve ensured Marge you’re not going to die, do you risk a look towards Joel.
You swear he smirks into his coffee mug.
He’s there, again, at the paddock. His relentless stare burns a hole in your skin as you laboriously dump hay in front of the horses, strands of sweat-damp hair curling at the base of your neck.
Your heart races wildly at the view of him hauling bales over his shoulder, muscles bunching beneath the snug fabric of his brown T-shirt. A sliver of the weathered skin peeks out when he lifts his arms, sending your core ablaze.
Your face flushes beet red as you try to think of totally un-sexy things. Like broccoli. Or jury duty. Definitely not your extremely attractive boss.
“You okay?” Marge murmurs to you quietly, noticing your sudden silence.
You scold yourself internally for being so damn obvious. You’re thankful Marge isn’t a mind-reader.
“Yeah! I’m fine,” you blurt breathlessly, too quickly.
You dip your chin in an attempt to hide the crimson flush across your cheeks, shakily continuing to scatter hay.
But it’s an effort to focus, your body much too aware of Joel’s presence in relation to you. Like an invisible tether, impermeable to your efforts to sever it.
You know you have to cut it out. What happened in that bar bathroom can never happen again. You suspect your presence at Teton Ranch is contingent on your good behavior; you’re determined to be a star employee, if only to avoid giving Joel a reason to send you home.
But being good becomes profoundly difficult when you find yourself alone with Joel late one afternoon.
You stride swiftly into the barn, stopping dead at the sight before you: Joel, leaning against the cluttered table in the middle of the room, polishing a halter, brow furrowed.
You contemplate turning on your heel and running for the mountains.
You freeze as he glances up, eyes darkening at the mere sight of you. Your heart immediately stumbles into overdrive.
He doesn’t speak, but you notice the slight clench of his jaw, the way his breath turns heavy.
Neither of you utter a word, the silence of the barn pressing in on the air between you.
You drop your gaze to his work boots, awkwardly mumbling, “I just needed to grab something,” before hurriedly striding to the tack rack.
You feel his eyes boring into your back like a white-hot iron brand, furthering your resolve to exit the barn as quickly as possible.
But when you look at the rack, searching for a spare brush, you notice it on the very top shelf, far out of your reach. You stretch on tiptoe, fingers straining towards the high shelf, silently cursing the bloodline of whoever put it there.
You irritably brush at a strand of loose hair tickling your face. Your fingers strain towards the brush, your impatience and desperation to get out of the barn growing with every second spent in Joel’s presence.
A huff of annoyance rises behind you. Your stomach drops as you hear him set the halter on the table.
He must think you’re a pathetic excuse for a wrangler, so exasperated with your incompetence he could no longer stand to witness it.
You’re startled, biting back an audible gasp, when his fingers gently brush the small of your back. His large, warm body closes the space behind you.
“I got it,” Joel murmurs near your ear, that Texan drawl sending shivers down your spine.
You nearly arch your back as his honeyed tone.
You think you hear his breath hitch as his calloused fingers graze yours in pursuit of the brush, which he grabs off the top shelf with ease.
You whirl around to face him, light-headed at his sudden closeness.
In the past week, you thought of that night at the bar more than you cared to admit. The way his lips felt against your neck, your thighs, your core. The rumble of his voice in your ear, whispering forbidden encouragements.
In the moments afterward, you only wished to know more about him. To have another chance with the man who made you feel things no one else ever had.
But now, it’s as though you’re looking in on his life through a glass cage. You’re here, in his orbit, but never let in, kept on the outskirts of truly knowing him.
In the past week, you’ve been around him everyday. You knew his daughter’s name, knew how he took his coffee, saw the easy comradery between him and his staff. The easy charm with everyone but you.
You observed the comfortable familiarity, the genuine care when he talked to Mabel or Marge—and it made you jealous. What did he find so undeserving in you that he couldn’t extend the same courtesy in your direction?
Joel Miller was an enigma to you, the phases of his personality changing so quickly you never knew which version you were going to get next. Would you get the ranch owner, your detached boss that only saw you as a nuisance?
Or would you get the man you craved, who touched you so tenderly, that made you feel desired and revered?
There’s a moment where you feel pulled to do something incredibly stupid, chest heaving as you stare wide-eyed, his face mere inches from yours.
What would it feel like to close the space between his lips and yours, for him to thread his fingers through your hair once more?
Would it really be so bad to let his fingers drift between your thighs…
But then, his crimes of the past week come flooding back to you. You remember the way he treated you on your very first day: the blatant ignorance, the condensing tone he took with you.
He didn’t even want you here, thought you an incompetent pest.
You were a woman of dignity, someone who took herself seriously. Who stood up for what she deserved. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be made a fool.
Not again.
You glare at him with ire, snatching the brush roughly from his hand.
“I had it,” you snap in his face, willing yourself to stand your ground.
His eyes flash dangerously at your attitude.
“Sure,” he mutters sarcastically, the hot puff of his breath tickling your face. “Were you plannin’ on wastin’ the entire work day reachin’ for it?”
You sigh sharply through your nose, chest heaving.
So this was how it was going to be today. Why’d he even keep you around if he hated you so much? Surely he could find another wrangler in all of Wyoming.
Suddenly, his eyes flit towards the bottom half of your face, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart pounds so loudly against your ribcage, you wonder if he can hear it.
His eyes rake back up your face, meeting yours with hunger…and a sliver of apprehension.
You’re torn between shoving him away or pulling him the last few inches to your lips.
But then footsteps sound outside the barn door. You and Joel spring apart as if burned as Jason obviously traipses in, sparing you from damning yourself.
He’s blabbing about a fence needing repaired, to which Joel grunts and assures he’ll look at it later.
You retrieve Lady’s saddle off the hook, brush in-hand, and slip out the door hurriedly. Not sparing Joel a second look.
When you start tacking up Lady in the paddock, you consciously remind yourself to deep, soothing breaths.
It’s another hour before your palms aren’t tacky with sweat.
When your hand drifts between your legs in the shower that night, desperate for release, Joel’s face is the one that lingers in your mind’s eye. You pretend your fingers are his, your other hand clamped tightly over your mouth so as not to be overheard by your roommates.
Your mind plays out what might’ve happened in the barn today, if you were feeling more reckless, or if Jason chose any other moment to walk in.
How Joel might’ve slid his tongue between your parted lips, coaxing a wanton moan from your throat.
How he might’ve pinned you against the wall, hips rolling sinfully into yours as he kissed down the column of your throat.
How he might’ve worked open the zipper of your jeans, dipping his fingers into your underwear…
Sometimes the right thing isn’t always the fun one.
In the end, you find yourself replaying that night at the bar once more.
The memory of his mouth between your thighs, his lips whispering sweet nothings in your ear, is what hurtles you over the edge.
You resent the hold he has on you. Which only grows with every day you spend around him, no matter how hard you try to shake it.
Unfortunately, Joel isn’t your sole dilemma when it comes to ranch romances.
Brett seems to regard flirting with you at every opportunity as his new passion project, becoming more and more forward with his blatant advances.
He always seems to be in your vicinity, taking any excuse to brush his fingers on your low back as he shuffles behind you in the paddock (while there is ample space for him to walk around) or lay a presumptuous hand on your arm whilst telling a corny joke.
At first you were amused by it, enjoyed the attention of having a decently attractive guy interested in you. Especially when you were trying to forget someone else.
But Marge’s warning still rang clear in your ears, and as the week dragged on, you found his advances increasingly uncomfortable.
“Where did you disappear to after the bonfire?” Brett inquires curiously one day.
You’re brushing horses side by side, backs to one another.
You’ve been at it for hours, lower back aching as you slowly work your way through dozens of coats.
“I couldn’t find you anywhere,” he adds.
Bonfire night ended in a haze of alcohol and disappointment. Desperate to stave off the torrent of emotions following your fight with Joel, you chugged a beer, took a drag of the nearest blunt you could find, then promptly puked into a bush.
You didn’t see Joel for the rest of the night.
Marge ushered you back to your cabin, holding your hair and rubbing your back soothingly as you knelt on the tile floor in front of the toilet.
You collapsed into Marge’s bottom bunk in the wee hours of the morning, at her gracious request, head spinning and ears ringing.
“I–uh–had a headache,” you hedge.
“Lightweight?” he teases playfully.
“Something like that.”
“You know, we should check out that bar in Teton Village sometime,” he offers casually, “Could teach you a thing or two about drinking.”
He smirks.
Brett’s been flirty all week, vaguely suggesting making plans. Not directly, making it easy to brush off.
But this was the first time he was making an explicit offer, for just the two of you.
If there was one thing you were keen to avoid, it was a night at a bar with another cowboy. You’d had your fair share and were still paying the consequences of the first instance.
The whole situation felt sticky, like honey dripping on your hands; everything you touched became tainted, drawn deeper into the vortex whirling around you.
Between the dumpster fire of the whole Joel situation, Marge’s warning, and Maddy’s claim on Brett, you felt as if you were standing at the top of the Titanic, watching the ship sink beneath the waves.
It seemed everyone’s lives at Teton Ranch were intertwined, a web where repercussions were felt by all.
When your gaze shifts over the back of your horse, trying to think of a polite, yet firm way to let him down, you catch Maddy looking at you, a murderous gleam in her eye.
Dread sinks like a block of lead in your stomach. You didn’t even realize she was in earshot.
As you attempt to telepathically communicate, pleading with your eyes, that this isn’t what it looks like, she suddenly drops her brush onto the hay-strewn ground and stomps off towards the barn.
You watch her trudge away, leaving a trail of tension behind her.
Great, another person on this ranch that hates you.
Brett, back turned and completely oblivious, pushes, “Did you hear me?”
You feel him turn to look at you. Your shoulders stiffen.
“I’m actually trying to cut back on the alcohol,” you lie, determinedly fixing your gaze on your horse, making a show of looking absorbed in your work.
“Oh come on, it'll be fun!” he presses.
The scrape of the brush along horse hair pauses as he turns to face you in full.
His insistence sparks your irritation.
“Maybe another time,” you concede, attempting to keep the annoyance in your voice hidden.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he confirms, finally facing his horse once more.
You had no doubt that he would.
Between Joel’s seemingly constant presence and Brett’s ambitious attempts to ask you out, you’re utterly relieved when the girls invite you along for their lake day.
A day with the girls is just what you need to clear your mind.
Much to your disappointment, Marge is needed in the kitchen for the evening, to help train the new bartenders, being an experienced one herself.
So you, Kiara, Maddy, and Claire, traipse over to the lake on the far end of the property, towels and sunglasses in hand.
You hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Maddy about the whole Brett situation yet.
You had no intention of ‘stealing’ Brett from her, much less harbored any genuine affection for him. Brett’s interest was entirely one-sided. You had enough to deal with as it was.
You were tentative trying to talk to her after Brett asked you out, testing the waters.
While she’s treated you politely, there’s a detached quality to her interactions with you, that’s notable in comparison to the warm smiles and inside jokes she offers Claire and Kiara.
If the other girls notice the tension between the two of you, they don’t mention it.
You silently promise to clear the air with Maddy when you get a moment alone.
The lake is simply breathtaking; crystal-clear water stretches to the opposite shore, swaying pines clustered at the base of the behemoth granite mountains.
There isn’t a cloud in the sky, periwinkle blue covering the expanse. Goosebumps break out on your arms as you walk under the shade of the trees dotting the shoreline.
But your body warms like a black cat curled in a bay window when you stretch out on the pebbly shore, basking in the unfiltered sun.
Kiara sprawls on her back, dozing with her hat tipped over her face, as Claire pulls you onto the rickety wooden dock. You cannonball side by side, the water chill, but refreshing.
You paddle deeper into the lake, the cold of the deep water kissing your toes as you tread water.
You dip your hair back into the clear water, steadying yourself with your arms as you lean back, face to the sky.
You spy a hawk circling far above, the sight filling you with a sense of wonder. The soft gurgle of water shifting as you glide your airs along the surface, puts you at ease in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.
This was Wyoming as you hoped it would be.
Sure, things were a lot more complicated here than you could have ever imagined, but the essential parts of your dream rang true: the scenery, the work, the friends.
The last point could still be considered in the complicated category, but you were determined to ensure it wouldn’t remain there.
Maddy is unusually quiet and you catch her looking at you once or twice, an unreadable gleam swimming behind her eyes.
You shove down a growing sense of unease.
You sprawl on your stomach, propped up on your elbows, letting the sun warm your back. You finger open a book on horse wrangling, the pages yellowed, spine cracked with time.
Not the most enlivening literature, but Marge lent it to you. Maybe if you can summon an impressive fact or two, a certain someone will seem less eager to send you home.
You bookmark a page on the madigan squeeze as Kiara pulls out a container of hummus and chips.
You both munch happily as Claire, who possesses the spry energy of a teenage boy, pulls a reluctant Maddy towards the rope swing, echos of laughter ringing out as they jump from the faded rubber tire into the clear surface.
As the sun starts to dip toward the horizon, a glowing orb streaking the sky a vibrant pink, Claire reveals a bottle of Tito’s from her bag, much to the amusement of the group.
The bottle of clear liquid is passed around, long swigs taken at the whoops and hollers of the others.
Maddy has the grand idea to play truth or dare. Kiara and Claire agree enthusiastically, but you don’t share their excitement at the look on Maddy’s face.
Your gut simmers with thick, sticky dread; you have quite a few things you’d like to keep to yourself at the moment.
Nothing they would have you do could be worse than laying your soul out to them.
“Kiara,” Claire says with mock seriousness, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Kiara giggles with a nervous smile.
“If you could sleep with anyone on the ranch, no consequences, who would it be?”
“Hmm,” Kiara muses, trailing off and looking thoughtfully into the distance. She snorts.
“Would it be crazy to say Joel?”
Your heart stutters a beat.
Claire gasps and Maddy cries, “Um, yes that is crazy!”
Kiara blushes furiously.
“What? He’s like, kinda hot,” she justifies, arms crossed defensively.
You can’t believe the turn this conversation has taken. You attempt to plaster a slightly interested (but not too interested) expression on your face, trying to calm the pounding of your heart.
“Look, he can still get it, or whatever,” Maddy pushes incredulously, “But Joel? He’s, like, old.”
“You asked a question and I answered,” Kiara mutters defensively, turning her nose up.
You’re surprised by the jealousy you have to swallow down at Kiara’s answer.
There was no denying that Joel was attractive, but it hadn’t crossed your mind that there were other wranglers vying for his attention.
And Kiara is gorgeous and knows him better and is a more experienced wrangler than you, an unforgiving internal voice chides.
“Okay, fine,” Maddy concedes, palms raised in mock surrender.
Your stomach sinks as Maddy's eyes turn to you, a mischievous glint in her eye making you uneasy. You try to stuff down the torrent of emotions raging in your mind.
“You’re awfully quiet over there.”
You shrug, hoping that the motion comes off casually.
“Just watching the show.”
“So, new girl,” she says, tracing her finger slowly along the rim of the Tito’s bottle, “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” you utter resolutely, trying to sound braver than you feel.
She pauses, still carefully tracing the rim. A cat toying with a mouse.
“I dare you…” she drawls. She smirks deviously.
Seemingly intent on making you suffer as slowly as possible.
“To jump in the lake.”
Oh. That’s remarkably tamer than you thought it would be…
“Naked.”
Shit.
Claire and Kiara both burst out laughing.
It’s not the worst thing she could dare you with, considering the grudge you suspect she holds against you, but it isn’t exactly kind either.
“Oh, come on Maddy,” Kiara appeals, pushing at her arm, “Be nice.”
Despite everything, you feel a glow of affection for Kiara. But it’s short-lived.
“What? It’s a right of passage.” Maddy grins devilishly.
They all look at you expectantly.
You thought your days of being peer pressured were over, but nonetheless, you find yourself rising from your seat, letting your towel drop from around your shoulders and shrugging off your swimsuit.
You’re determined to fit in here, do whatever it takes to earn the respect of the other ranchers. Whatever it takes to belong.
You’re not going to back down from a stupid dare.
The light breeze is chill against your bare limbs, but you determinedly stride toward the dock. You pick your way over the pebbled shore as the girls watch on in devious amusement.
You step gingerly onto the dock, the wooden planks shifting beneath your bare feet. You tread to the very edge, finally looking back towards the shore with a defiant glare and your head held high.
You catch Maddy’s eye, glinting with the thrill of revenge.
You offer a mock salute, bringing your hand to your forehead and outwards in a swift motion, before jumping in feet first.
Your body breaks the surface of the now-frigid water, stealing the breath from your lungs.
When you surface, kicking your feet to stay afloat, your heart drops as you see the girls running hurriedly across the shore, back in the direction of the ranch.
But not before Maddy reaches down and grabs your clothes and swimsuit.
Kiara hesitates at the treeline, turning back reluctantly, but Maddy grabs her by the arm, pulling her in the opposite direction.
They disappear into the trees, leaving you alone in the dark water.
You kick towards shore, horror sluicing through your veins. Rocks pinch the bottoms of your feet as you head towards shore, mind racing.
Was this why they asked you to the lake in the first place? To humiliate you?
Did Marge know?
No, she couldn’t have, you argue with yourself.
Marge was your friend, and had done everything to make sure you felt comfortable here.
You swallow down your rising panic as you stand in waist height water, arms wrapped over your bare chest.
The water pokes at your bare flesh like icy knives, soaked hair dripping like icicles down your bare back.
One thing you didn’t expect about Wyoming: how cold it could get some nights, especially earlier in the season.
You feel jumpy, scared and alone in the inky black water.
An owl hoots in a nearby tree, startling you.
Deciding there’s no use in delaying the inevitable, you pick your way across the last few feet to shore, frigid water dripping off your body.
You look around for something, anything to cover yourself with, to no avail. Your clothes, towel, swimsuit: all gone.
At least they left your shoes, you think bitterly, sliding on a pair of sandals that does nothing to combat the dropping temperature of your body.
You creep silently back in the direction of the staff housing, ears strained for any sound of movement, ready to hurl yourself into the nearest hiding place at a moment’s notice.
You dread seeing anybody; this would be the fucking cherry on top. So much for respect and belonging.
You make a weak attempt to reason with yourself: it’s late and everyone will be in bed. Or at least you hope.
You’re tip-toeing past the storage shed, about halfway back to your cabin, when you hear footsteps crunching across the gravel in your direction.
You freeze, absolutely horrified at the prospect of being discovered in such a state.
You throw yourself around the corner of a shed, ducking behind a barrel and flattening yourself to the cold metal siding. You cringe at the frigid metal cutting into your back.
You flinch, elbow accidentally knocking into the wooden barrel with a loud thump.
Pain shoots up your arm, and you bite your lip to hold back a cry of pain.
The footsteps pause.
You squeeze your eyes shut, disbelieving at the absurdity of the situation, praying futilely that they just continue walking.
Apparently you’re not so lucky.
“Someone there?”
Your blood freezes as you recognize that voice.
No, no, no. Out of anyone on this whole godforsaken ranch…
You’ve never known such horror as when Joel steps around the corner, flashlight in hand, the beam of his flashlight illuminating your naked body.
His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, eyes wide in shock.
“What in the Sam hell?” he chokes.
He takes in the scene before him, absolute disbelief on his face.
You, bare and crouched behind a barrel in the dead of night.
You try to cover yourself as best you can, but there is no real way to maintain any dignity. Your face is tinted crimson from embarrassment, stuttering with no real words coming out.
You must have truly angered whatever deity ruled out there, broke some unknown rule that brought this luck, or lack thereof, to your miserable life.
He clears his throat, turning his body away from you, averting his eyes.
“What the–” he starts, at a complete loss for words. His gaze is fixed resolutely in the other direction, only his side profile visible, jawing clenching.
“I–I can e-explain–” you force out, body quaking from adrenaline and cold.
“I’d like to see you try,” he huffs out.
You search for something else to say, but come up painfully empty. So much for trying to impress him.
He sighs roughly through his nose, dipping his head to massage between his eyebrows. Utterly exasperated by the situation.
Suddenly, he starts to unbutton his flannel shirt with one hand, tugging roughly at the buttons. He shrugs it off one shoulder, passing his flashlight between his hands as he shrugs off the other, leaving him in a white undershirt.
Your blush deepens.
You stammer, “What are y-you–”
“Put this on,” he says roughly, thrusting the flannel in your direction without looking at you.
You reach for it tentatively, careful not to brush his fingers as you snatch it out of his awaiting hand. You shove your arms through the sleeves, hastily buttoning it back up.
The flannel is like a warm embrace against your bare skin, a welcome reprieve from the cold air biting into your flesh. The hem brushes against your mid-thighs.
It smells like pine, wood musk, and something distinctly Joel.
“Thanks,” you mutter, looking at the ground, face burning.
Now that you’re somewhat dressed, he turns to face you head on. His shoulders are tight, jaw clenched. His expression softens slightly when he takes in the pathetic sight of you.
He sighs. “Yer shakin’ like a leaf.
“I-I’m f-fine,” you stammer, teeth chattering.
He pauses for a moment, as if debating with himself.
Something shifts behind his eyes after a moment. More resolute, steeling himself.
Then he murmurs, “C’mon. There’s a heater and blankets in the barn.” He jerks his head in the direction of the structure, the green metal roof looming nearby.
You know it’s the most logical option. Given how hard you’re shivering, and how you’re only halfway back to the staff cabins.
But the thought of being alone, with Joel, feels like a temptation you’re not strong enough to resist.
“I c-can just go back to my d-dorm,” you mutter quietly, sopping wet hair slowly dripping frigid water down your back.
You shudder involuntarily.
“Quit bein’ so goddamn stubborn,” he huffs impatiently. “Yer gonna catch a cold.”
Right. He’s just worried about an employee taking a sick day. Not out of any genuine concern for you.
“Look,” he elaborates grumpily, hands on his hips. “It’s up to you if you want to freeze your ass off.”
You get the feeling you’re at a dangerous crossroads, but given the choice between hypothermia and the presence of Joel Miller, you suppose Joel is the better option.
But only barely.
“F-fine,” you concede, body shaking, feet throbbing.
“C’mon,” he repeats gruffly, motioning an impatient arm towards the barn.
You scan his face tentatively, unable to read him.
You can’t make sense of the ever-changing tides of his personality, like a language you’re expected to know but haven't been taught how to speak. One moment, he’s gentle and sensual, concerned for your well-being. The next, he treats you as if you’re a nuisance, not sparing you a second glance.
You search his features, trying to discern which version of Joel Miller you’ll get tonight.
Your body gives a painful shudder, cold racking up your spine.
With a defeated huff, you turn and stalk off in the direction of the barn. Joel follows, boots crunching along in the gravel beside you.
You can handle a few minutes alone with Joel. You’ll go to the barn, get warm, and be on your merry way.
You make your way to the barn in tension-filled silence, neither of you uttering a single word.
It dawns on you that this is the first time you've been alone with him since that day in the barn. That near slip-up, what almost happened, it haunted you.
It was so simple to make fragile promises to yourself, in the quiet of your cabin, that you would never entertain the possibility of whatever this was with Joel.
But when he is there in front of you, eyes meeting yours, musky scent reaching you on the night breeze, those promises become meaningless. The closer he gets to you, the quieter your sanity becomes.
And if he were to touch you again, you feared you’d truly go insane.
The only way this was going to work, was if you both cut it out. Let this living, breathing thing between you, die. Nothing good could come out of this, so it was best to let it go.
If only it was that easy.
The wind burns icy against your bare legs, and you try not to let your teeth chatter too loudly.
You’re ashamed of the state you’re in, and even more so that Joel was the one to find you. The one trying to make it better.
He pulls open the barn door, sliding it along its tracks, stepping back to let you inside.
You bite back a sigh in relief as you step into the barn, the temperature positively balmy compared to the frigid wind whipping outside.
You flick the lightswitch on the wall, bathing the room in a dim orange glow.
A row of empty stalls stretches to the left, the end of the long space stretching past the circle of electric light. The door to the storage closet is cracked open on the opposite wall, the large wooden work table standing before it, littered with metal tools and horse supplements.
Joel slides the door back in place, clicking shut with an air of finality.
The silence presses in on you, your heart hammering in your chest at his proximity.
He stalks over to the tack wall, pulling a sarape blanket from a shelf. He hands it to you wordlessly before ducking into the small storage closet, returning with a small black space heater.
He bends down with a low huff, plugging it into the wall behind the central table.
You skirt around the table cautiously, trying not to look too eager as you huddle around the heater. You sigh contentedly as the waves of warmth meet your chilled skin.
Your eyes flutter shut, basking in the heat.
“Better?” Joel asks quietly, startling you.
Your eyes flit open to find his gaze raking your body, your bare legs. His eyes jump back to your face, a slight redness coloring his cheeks, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn't.
Your stomach swoops.
“Yeah…thanks,” you agree reluctantly.
You pause, staring at each other for a moment too long. You’re the first to look away.
Joel scratches the back of his neck, raising his arm above his head.
“So, you wanna explain what the hell you were doin’, walkin’ around like–uh–that,” he gestures towards your half-clothed body.
“I–um,” you start, not knowing how to explain yourself.
Although part of you is already plotting how to get back at Maddy, you don’t want to be seen as a snitch. Maybe it was a misunderstanding, something that could be sorted out. There wasn’t need for anyone to get fired over it. Hopefully you wouldn’t be the one to get fired over it.
You wrack your brain for any explanation that might satisfy his curiosity, but come up short.
“Well?” he pushes, looking at you expectantly.
You’re feeling bolder now that you’re clothed, and annoyed that Joel, out of anyone on this ranch, was the one to discover you in such a vulnerable state. Your pride huddles in the corner of your mind, a wounded animal ready to lash out.
You snap, “What’s the big deal? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
His eyes flash in warning.
You’re treading into dangerous territory, of things best left unsaid and unacknowledged.
But how were you supposed to live, be around him every day, with this looming thing stalking your every waking moment? Mistake or not, that night at the bar demanded to be remembered.
He stalks closer to you, sending your heart thundering. His nostrils flare.
“The big deal,” he grouses, “is that one of my employees is walkin’ around…like that. How on earth would I explain that if a guest saw you?”
Of course. It seems Mr. Miller will be making an appearance tonight.
But a part of your heart stings at being nothing more to him than an ‘employee’, for his concern to be nothing more than professional.
“You think I just walk around like this for fun?” you shoot back, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders.
“I don’t know,” he barks, stepping closer to you. “You seem pretty comfortable gettin’ undressed for strangers.”
“If I remember correctly, you were the one doing the undressing,” you retort, craning your neck to fix him with a lethal glare.
The words hang in the air, consequences reverberating between you both.
His hot breath puffs against your face, heat emanating from his tense body in waves. You will yourself to stand your ground, fixing him with a returning stare. Refusing to back down.
Your body trembles, but not from the cold. Your hands tremor with rage, at him…and at wetness building at your core.
Against your best judgement and profound effort, this man continues to make a fool of you, having you pining after him like a horny teenage girl.
You feel your resolve start to slip.
You’re both panting, chests heaving as you glare at each other, each waiting to see what the other will do. His nose hovers inches from yours.
“You’re an asshole,” you whisper, more to remind yourself than to tell him.
“Yer impossible,” he breathes.
He barely brushes your lips with his own. You suck in a breath at the contact.
Arousal, slick and wet, builds between your legs, slowly seeping onto your thighs.
Your core throbs with anticipation, the sudden closeness overwhelming after a week of wanting. You make a feeble attempt to remember why Joel Miller looking at you like this is a bad idea, but come up empty.
And your body simply can’t resist. Not when he’s staring at you with those hungry, hazel eyes, his musky scent threatening to send your eyes rolling back in your head.
You gasp against Joel’s mouth as his rough hand skims up the inside of your thigh. He takes his time, letting you feel every ridge and callus of his palm as he drags it up your leg, resting his fingers at the hem on the flannel. He rubs small circles against your bare thigh with his thumb, each brush making you swallow down a wanton moan.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his mouth.
A last feeble attempt.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers, pulling back a few inches to scan your face, halting the circles on your thigh.
To spare yourself from admitting weakness, you lean in, closing to the space between your lips. You press your mouth against his fervently, letting the blanket drop from your shoulders as you circle your arms around his neck.
The air is chill against your bare thighs and naked core, making you shudder in his grip.
He feels even better than you remembered: his muscled shoulders under your hands, the way he devours you, leaves you lightheaded, gripping tightly to his shoulders to ground yourself.
You thread shaky fingers through the soft hair at the base of his skull. You tug gently, prompting him to groan into your mouth. Your core throbs with unrestrained need.
His tongue immediately prods at the opening of your mouth, and you grant him entrance, moaning sinfully as his tongue swipes into your mouth.
He tastes like coffee, pipe smoke, and sin.
His hands slide up the outside of your legs to grip your waist firmly, nudging his thigh persistently between your legs. Your bare core brushes against the rough fabric of his blue jeans, wetting it with your arousal.
His erection is hard against your thigh; the knowledge of him wanting you as bad as you need him makes your heart race.
You gasp breathily into his mouth as his hands urge your hips to grind down on his thigh, putting pressure on your throbbing clit. Your hips jump at the sudden stimulation.
You feel like a mere look from him could make you finish, so pent up from the stolen glances, the constant proximity of the past week.
You start to roll your hips against his jeaned leg, gripping tightly at his shoulders to stay balanced. The muscles of his thigh press against your core in a slow, sensual rhythm
You can’t remember anything ever feeling so good.
“That’s it,” he coos as you throw your head back and moan.
You hate that this is the only time you get to hear him talk to you like this. That the only praise you hear from him is when he’s between your legs.
You hate how those little words of praise get you off more than anything else.
He leans down to pepper open mouthed kisses down your neck, slowly working his way along the vein running down the side.
You gasp when he licks a long, wet stripe up the column of your throat at the same time he flexes his thigh, grazing you clit in a way that sends lighting bolts running down your limbs.
“J-Joel,” you moan desperately, gripping his hair harder.
He groans in your ear, prompting more slickness between your thighs.
The friction of his rough jeans against your clit sends a steady heat building in your core, each rut of your hips sending you closer to the edge. Your orgasm starts to build startlingly quick.
You whimper as his hands continue to cant your hips against his thigh, sending tingles of pleasure shooting down your limbs with every press on your clit.
“I know, darlin’, I know,” he soothes in that damnable Texan drawl.
You want to hate him, want it to be easy to walk away. To retain a shred of lucidity around him. But you can’t find the will to do so, not when he makes you feel like he was put on this earth knowing exactly how and where you needed to be touched.
The pressure between your legs builds like a forest fire, and you lose yourself in the sensation. You don’t care what happens, so long as he keeps touching you, keeps whispering sweet nothings against the shell of your ear.
“Don’t stop, please,” you plead.
“Don’t worry honey, I’m not stopping until you’re done,” he pants.
The pace of your hips grows frantic as you near your climax, gripping Joel’s shoulders tightly to stay upright.
Joel lowers his head, pressing his lips to the base of your jaw.
He whispers against the shell of your ear, “There we go, come for me.”
As if on command, you finish with a silent, open-mouthed cry, body convulsing with pleasure as your forehead drops to Joel’s shoulder. His hands slowly continue to roll your hips against his damp thigh, working you through it with soft encouragements that make your heart ache.
“Just let it happen, baby. Let me hear you.”
You mewl pathetically, overcome with sensation.
He murmurs, voice so low and raw you’re not even sure he meant for you to hear it, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Your hips gradually slow to a stop. Your head remains against his shoulder as you both pant hard, feeling the rise and fall of his body underneath your forehead. His hand runs along your spine soothingly.
You wish you could just hide in his shoulder, not wanting to feel the confounding power of his gaze. You’re almost embarrassed by how quickly you came. He’d barely even touched you, getting you off with merely his thigh.
You finally lift your head, avoiding eye contact as he removes his thigh from between your legs. You blush at the circle of your slick arousal dampening his jeans.
Daring to meet his eye, your stomach flutters as you meet his hungry gaze. His pupils are blown wide with lust, looking positively ravenous.
You let him walk you back against the wood table, gasping as the small of your back meets the hard wooden surface.
You crane your neck up to look at him, breathless with anticipation as he stares back at you.
He places one hand on either side of you, caging you in as he leans over you.
“You still want this?” he whispers, scanning your face.
You dip your head in a subtle nod.
“I need to hear you say it.”
You pause, reluctant to give him the satisfaction of saying it out loud.
You lean forward, whispering against his neck, “I want to feel your fingers inside me.”
He groans, hands clenching the edge on the wooden counter.
When you pull back, looking up at him expectantly, he lifts two thick fingers to your mouth.
“Open,” he orders.
You oblige eagerly, parting your lips as he gently pushes his fingers into your mouth. He slides them back and forth along your tongue, urging them deeper. Your lips close around him.
You suck languidly, cheeks hollowing as you pull them deep into your throat.
Joel groans sinfully.
You gaze up at him, wide-eyed, as you twirl your tongue around his digits.
Seemingly satisfied, he withdraws his hands.
He reaches down, between your legs, to massage your swollen core with saliva-slick fingers.
Your hips jerk at the sudden stimulation, eliciting a chuckle from Joel.
He parts your slick folds, sliding two fingers through the center. He groans at the wetness he finds there, gathering it along his already slick digits.
Your eyes roll back and flutter shut.
He slides two fingers back and forth through your folds, breathy whines escaping your lips when he grazes your needy clit.
Achingly slow, he begins to caress around your clit, circling just around it without brushing the center, teasing you with featherlight strokes. Not quite giving you the stimulation you need.
You whimper impatiently, opening your eyes to find him smirking at you.
“Glad this is–ah–so funny to you, Miller,” you breathe between whimpers.
“Just takin’ my time, sweetheart,” he answers smugly. “I’m gonna take my time with you, and I don’t care how long it takes.”
You glare up at him, trying to offer the most withering stare you can muster. Just as he presses two fingers directly on your clit.
His smirk widens as your eyes roll back in your head.
You whimper his name, abandoning all pretense.
“Please,” you beg.
The slide of his fingers against your clit is just enough to keep building the heat in your core, but not quite enough to send you over the edge. It’s maddening, the slow, featherlight motion of his fingers.
“Shhh,” he soothes you, pressing his lips to your neck. His other hand tugs roughly at the buttons on your flannel, your peaked breasts spilling out.
He palms your breast, rubbing tight circles around your nipple, sending jolts of electricity to your core. His mouth dips to your chest, tongue caressing the soft skin, before closing his lips around your nipple and sucking. Hard.
You cry out at the overwhelm of sensations as his fingers continue their slow torture of your your clit.
Tears begin to prick the corners of your eye in desperation.
“Joel–mhm–please,” you beg, not caring how desperate you sound.
Joel releases your nipple with a pop, pulling back to take in the pitiful sight of you.
You imagine how pathetic you must look, hair wild and legs spread as you beg him to fuck you.
His face softens, jaw unclenching slightly.
You cry out as he pushes two slick fingers into your entrance, pushing in until his knuckles bottom out, stretching your entrance deliciously.
Your breath catches as he curls both fingers, stroking your inner walls in a come-hither motion. He begins to drag his fingers along your inner muscles with each entrance and retreat, making you see stars.
“We’ll get you there, pretty girl.”
Your stomach swoops with every morsel of praise he deigns to offer you.
You missed this. Missed him talking to you as though you were precious, desirable.
He finds the spongy patch inside your core, stroking in insistently in a way that makes you clench around his fingers. You’re overstimulated, panting heavily as your mind addles at the feeling of his digits stroking persistently inside of you.
His strokes turn unforgiving, each curl of his fingers stealing the breath from your lungs.
“Please keep going,” you choke out.
You claw at his shoulders desperately, pants punctuated by pathetic breathy whines.
Joel leans down and captures your lips, tongue plunging into your mouth and mimicking the slow, deep press of his fingers. He groans into your mouth, the erotic sound pulling you closer to the edge.
Joel starts to rub your clit more fervently, each circle hitting the right spot over and over again, eliciting a raw moan from your throat.
You break away from his lips, chest heaving and heart pounding fiercely against your ribcage.
“Oh god, Joel. Joel!” you whimper as your walls start to clench rhythmically.
A few more pistons of his fingers is all it takes to send you reeling over the edge.
Your head drops back, back arching, as Joel continues to work you through the lingering spasms of your pleasure.
You’re lost in the feeling; nothing else matters to you other than this feeling, this heaven Joel’s created between your legs. It stretches in tingles down your spine, down your limbs, all the way to your toes.
As your heart rate settles, your breath slowing to a more even pace, you focus on the feeling of Joel's shoulders under your hands, grounding you back to earth.
You raise your gaze to meet Joel’s, your eyes searching his. When you see your relentless hunger mirrored back to you, your fingers brush down his chest and graze the waistband of his jeans.
You tentatively start to work open his belt buckle, fingers brushing against the dense hair peppering his stomach.
You’re surprised when his large hands grip your wrists, halting your motion.
“I dunno if that’s a good idea,” he pants, trepidation clouding his eyes.
Your stomach sinks, rejection burning your face. Your brow knits in confusion.
“Do you not want to?” you ask cautiously, searching his face for an answer.
“It’s not that,” he denies, brows furrowing. He releases your wrists and takes a step back from you.
That distance is forming between you again. That wall snapping back up, shutting you out.
You stay silent, eyes wide with hurt as you wrap your arms around yourself. You start to button up your open flannel. Joel’s flannel.
Your cheeks are ablaze with humiliation, release still coating your thighs as Joel backs away from you.
“Then what?” you prompt, willing your voice to be steady.
“This was a mistake,” he blurts, the words like a punch to the gut.
“A mistake?” you echo, anger seeping into your voice. “Joel, you can’t just fuck me and act like–”.
A loud, metallic rattle echoes from the doorway, followed by a pained yelp. A human yelp.
Both you and Joel whip your heads towards the barn door.
You freeze, glancing back at Joel, who eyes the door tentatively.
He stalks over to the barn door cautiously, sliding it halfway open. He looks back and forth, searching for the source of the sound.
After a few moments, he turns back to you, eyes fixed on the floor.
“No one there,” he mutters, voice low. “You okay gettin’ back to your dorm?”
Your stomach sinks even further.
Shame threatens to swallow you whole at Joel’s averted gaze, the sudden distance. How is it so easy for him to touch you like that, then act like nothing happened? How could you have let this happen, again?
“Yeah,” you mutter quietly, reluctantly.
You bend down to retrieve the blanket off the dusty ground, wrapping it protectively around yourself.
He looks you over for a moment, that same unreadable expression swimming behind his eyes.
What you would give just to know what’s going on in that head of his.
He looks at you one last time, eyes almost pleading, before he strides into the chill night, leaving you alone in the dim orange glow of the barn.
You swallow roughly, emotion threatening to overtake you as his footsteps fade.
You don’t know why you thought this time would be different. That he’d miraculously changed in the past week, seen the error of his ways.
But when he’s looking at you like a parched man, and you’re the last drop of water on earth, you let yourself believe that he wants you.
That he wants something more than a meaningless hookup in a dive bar or a barn.
You thought you could do it, the detached charade. Sleep with a guy at midnight and not look twice at him at noon.
But these damn feelings rise like a storm surge; so slowly they seem harmless, then devastating, fatal upon impact. You heard the warning bells, but you ignored them. And now you were in too deep.
You tug the cord on the space heater unceremoniously, pulling it out of the wall and treading slowly towards the barn door.
As you're sliding it shut, a flash of something metallic on the ground catches your eye. You grip the blanket around your shoulders with one hand, squatting down to inspect it.
A silver earring lays in the dirt, metallic sheen catching the light.
You pick it up, rotating the smooth surface between your fingers. You drop it into the shirt pocket of Joel’s flannel, standing to face in the direction of the guest cabins.
As you start the frigid trek back to your awaiting bed, you mind races with the events of the evening. One thought rises above the rest, another loose thread to this tangled mess.
Someone on the ranch knows about you and Joel.
Thank you so much for reading. Please reblog if you enjoyed!
“You look nice,” Ryland says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that.
“I uh,” You pause, swallowing thickly.
Holy fuck he looks good in a suit.
in which: You need a date to the wedding you foolishly agreed to attend, luckily your co-worker is a willing sacrifice. Extremely willing.
[warnings: eventual nsfw 18+, a bit of fluff, excessively drawn out flirting]
wc: 14.2k (Whoops) [ Masterlist ] [ ao3 Link ]
Woe finds you on a Tuesday at the staffroom lunch table.
Picking apart the leftovers of a miserable thrown together attempt of fried rice that came to be after realising there were no better dinner options with the ingredients you had in the fridge two days ago and the determination to not get take out more than once a week that would surely fade come February. Alas, it is still January and all those new year resolutions are still sticking like cheap adhesive hooks that will eventually be weighed down enough to slip as time ticks on.
Eat take out once a week, maximum. Read one book a month, minimum. Sleep more. Stop turning down social invites
The last one is what leaves you particularly perturbed, as your lunch goes lukewarm and your thumb flicks about on the social media profile.
“I just… I can’t say no.” You lament. “It would be weird.”
“Weirder than going?” Margot asks, pulling her own container of lunch from the oven. It’s also leftovers, but slices of impeccably cooked roast with what looks to be red wine sauce and vegetables- no doubt made by her smokeshow of a house husband (he just works from home, she insists. You’re pretty sure the pair are sitting on a lofty investment profile because no man ‘works from home’ cooks roasts bi-weekly and buys his wife diamond earrings for her birthday).
“I don’t know. Maybe.” You manage, the next bite of fired rice tasting like loneliness packed into an over-salted flavour profile.
“What’s weird?” Ryland asks, sitting down in the chair across from you.
The staff room of E-Block is near abandoned. Of the ten-odd teachers with rooms in the little block of aging brick, most tended to eat in their classrooms. Save for you, Margot and Ryland. Occasionally there will be another visitor, but most days, it is just the three of you.
“Wedding.” Margot supplies, sitting down and shuffling her chair in with a sense of poise so rarely found in Middle-Schools. She’s older, somewhere in her early fifties, and still manages to approach the job with the same level of discipline as before ipads made their invasion into the classroom.
Ryland frowns. “You’re already married.”
He’s… well, Ryland's… actually you’re not sure how to put him into words, which is saying a lot considering the literature degree collecting mildew in the filing cabinet of your apartment.
He’s in the same boat as you in terms of finding yourselves with a teaching career. Studied something else first, got your passion and love for it soured by morons and went back to college for a second round, dishing out more cash for a masters in teaching that has you trying to tame fourteen year olds all day. Delightful, truly. Although, Ryland had certainly lasted a lot longer with that first degree than you had. A doctorate. He hates the kids knowing that though. A handful of them had called him ‘Doctor Grace’ last year, after digging about online and getting their grubby fingers on his linkedin profile.
‘Mr Grace’ as he is now known, is awkward. A little socially inept at times, but not enough to come across as anything other than endearing. Now is one such time, as he looks over the frames of his glasses at Margo, the stack of pop quizzes he’d brought to mark and keep himself occupied momentarily forgotten. His eyes darted from her face to the ring on her finger.
“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head as she chews, then levels her fork to point in your direction.
“You’re not getting married.” Ryland states when he turns to look at you, like it’s a scientific fact, one he’s so assured of.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mr Grace.” You reply, still sort of wallowing at the photos on your phone.
His gaze flickers, a little less sure as the corner of his lips fall and, like he had with Margot, settles his eyes on your hands. Your lack of a ring. “You aren’t, are you?”
“No. My ex is, though.” You sigh, despondent. The reminder glares back at you from the overly-bright phone screen.
“Oh. That sucks.” He manages, clicking open a red pen to start circling and ticking the first sheet on his pile. “Happens to the best of us.”
The kettle rumbles away on the tiny kitchenette. You look at him for a long moment. The best of us. Like it’s happened to him. Ryland’s not one to discuss relationships beyond the occasional quip about quitting to be a house husband like Margot’s. He’s never mentioned past romances, you don’t think he’s been in a relationship in the three years since he started at Grover Cleveland Middle. It’s such a bizarre glimpse at his life, that he doesn't even seem to register what he's revealed, marking as he waits for the boiling water to cook another lunch of instant ramen.
You sit up a little straighter in your chair, weary of knocking your shoes against where his long legs sprawl under the small table. The staff room is meant for ten but is cramped even with the three of you, nothing more than a little kitchenette and big whiteboard in the corner. There’s a shelf against one wall, just far enough away from the doorframe that the door doesn't crash into it when pushed open. There’s a long window the length of the wall on the door’s other side, a good view of the eighth-grade outdoor lunch area. The other staff call it the fishbowl, it’s why they opt to eat in their classrooms, not keen on the kids' eyes on them when it is supposed to be one of the fleeting breaks during their day.
Thank god the door is closed- if the kids heard you whining about this, a wedding, they’d never let up. “I’m considering the pros and cons of skipping it.”
“You were invited?” He baulks, dropping his pen.
You try not to smile, focusing on your self pity instead of the three shoddy attempts Ryland takes to catch his pen from dropping out of his hand, rolling off the stack of paper then off the table. “I already said I’d go too.”
“Why?” Ryland sounds appalled, like that one time you’d caught him trying to explain that the five second rule is not an effective barrier against bacteria to a student.
“It’s complicated.” You say, biting at your cheek.
“Bullshit.” Margot aptly calls. Looking over with the same expression she used to call students on their bullshit. You're not a big fan of having it directed at you.
“We went out for maybe two months in college.” You sigh, setting your phone on the table face-down to stare at your lunch, contemplative. “He’s engaged to one of the girls from my sorority. We’re… friends.”
Margot watches. “With your ex or the sorority girl?”
“Sorority girl. Daisy.” That's the better option of the two at least. You think it is, not that there is much left to save you from the impending train wreck of discussing the relationship woes of your late teens and early twenties with the only two coworkers who care to eat lunch in a communal space. The company is nice, Ryalnd had said once, when you’d asked, gets me out of the classroom.
Margot screws her face up for a second, muttering it again under her breath as if the name offends her.
“You were in a sorority?" Ryland asks, face a little blank as he looks at you from across the table.
It makes you falter, the way his thoughts seem to be buffering like the school's slow wifi. “I… Yeah? That’s the interesting part?”
He shakes his head, looking down at his marking sheets and pushes his glasses up from where they’re slowly slipping down the bridge of his nose. “No, I just can’t picture it.”
You purse your lips, consider pulling up some photos from your sorority days, then remember the kind of outfits the lot of you wore and think better of it. “Well Daisy and I were roommates for a year and a half. She’s nice. Works in PR now.”
“But she’s marrying your ex?” Ryland asks, still kind of baffled.
You dismiss it with a lazy hand wave. “I mean, she asked before they went out and everything. I just think it’s a little weird. I don’t even know why I said I’d go. It’s going to be embarrassing.”
Margot tuts twice, done with her lovingly made lunch that symbolises how successful she has been in the department of marriage when you have all but failed so far. “Why is it embarrassing? Two months is nothing.”
“I was a little head over heels for this guy.” You admit, sheepish.
Ryland stands up, clears his throat as he turns away. “Yeah? How so?”
His back is to you, as he peels the lid off his cup ramen and wrestles with the flavour packet. You come to the conclusion it’s easier to confess this sort of stuff with only one set of eyes on you. “I was sort of convinced he was my soulmate. He was doing pre-law, witty too.”
“Hot?” Margot asks, always straightforward.
You feel a blush rise on your cheeks as you remember the early days of your sorority experience, flopped back on the bed as you made little love sick sighs at your ceiling. “God, his jawline. And his hair- it was so… ugh!”
The thud is dull when your forehead lands on the table, to the right of your now abandoned lunch. “I don’t even know why I said I’d go. It’s dumb.”
You hate how you sound- petulant like the kids you prod for not searching for better words in their assignments, moping like your world is ending over something so trivial. It’s not even the new years resolution that has you mulling this over so intently. You’d agreed to go months ago- six months ago- and said yes to the offered plus one, adamant to yourself that you’d have someone by then, a partner or something. Someone of importance.
Attending alone is going to be even worse than if you had just RSVP’d for yourself in the first place. It’s one thing to watch your college friend and ex-sort-of-boyfriend exchange vows alone, and a whole other monster to do it with a pointed empty seat beside you.
All of it tumbles out your lips in a hurried hurl of word vomit, followed by a few moments of silence that has you cautiously raising your head to peek over the wall of your forearms. Ryland is staring at you, cup noodles steaming in his hands where it hovers over the sink, like he’d been about to pour out the excess water. Margot is looking at you with a frown, the same one she wears when teaching senior mathematics and the children have drawn up an equation for her to solve with the foolish belief they could stump her for more than ten seconds.
And just as in class, Margot is not phased for more than a handful of moments. “Then find someone with a better jawline and better hair to go with you. You can borrow mine.”
You blink at her, mulling the words over before asking, “Are you trying to pimp your husband out to me?”
“Only for aesthetic reasons, of course. It’d be nice to have the house to myself for once. Not like you have better options.”
It would sting more if it wasn’t so true. There were very few options and with the wedding only two weeks away, that was certainly not enough time to squeeze in enough dates with someone to justify taking them to a damn wedding.
“I mean, how good is his jawline?” Ryland finally says, walking over with his little cutlery box, plastic chopsticks he washes and reuses almost everyday, to set his lunch down on the table and settle back in across from you. “Are we aiming high?”
There is no way to un-dig this hole, not now that they’ve both decided to put their two cents in. You concede with another sigh and reach for your phone, arms and chin still on the table as you fish about Instagram for a photo. It’s the one that had reminded you of this awful upcoming event, posted by Daisy. You all but toss your phone on the table between your coworkers, sinking a little lower into your folded arms, awaiting judgement.
The photos must be from a walk though of the venue, the pair of them posed together between some old marble arch where they were having the ceremony at. She was laughing, hand on his chest, showing off the ring on her finger while he looked at her, besotted. The caption made it worse. Only two weeks left till I get to marry my man on these very steps.
You like them both, you really do, but the thought of showing up by yourself, as the lonely friend who’d never found ‘it’, your own version of the love they were celebrating, well it was just nauseating.
Margot looks the photo over critically before humming in a sort of so-so tone. “You can do better.”
Ryland looks kind of at a loss. “This is your type?”
As if to emphasise the point, he lifts the phone up and turns it around to show you the image you were already being haunted by. “This is the hair that had you all…”
He doesn't find the words, just waves the hand with his chopsticks around in a messy motion, looks at you critically over the rims of his glasses.
“He slicks it back now. It used to be… I donno. Messy? Fluffy? Good to run my fingers though.” He scoffs a little to himself, dissatisfied maybe with your excuse.
The only forgiving factor is that the photo does highlight the sharp cut of his jaw, which even Ryland concedes to. “He does have a good jawline...”
Yours is better, you want to say. Immediate and impulsive, because it kind of is. Especially when the shadow of his stubble stretches a few extra days between shaves. Your ex is clean shaven- you used to think that was sexy, at least sexier than the patchy beards boys in college had back then. Now you’re kind of obsessed with the so-called ‘5-o’clock shadow’ Ryland sports on Fridays.
It’s not something you’re likely to tell him though, especially not when you glance at the clock and realise you have a duty across campus in three minutes. Saved by the bell maybe, either way you’re able to liberate your phone from the pair of them and their conspiratory whispers, bin the scraps of your lunch and haul ass out of there.
By the end of the school day, you have reached the conclusion that you will blame it on work. That some mandatory day of ‘professional development’ as it is called nowadays, has come up and you will just have to miss the wedding, truly you’re devastated about it all.
Then Ryland corners you in your classroom. The bell’s long gone, as are the students. He’s dressed like he’s on his way out, his green backpack tossed over one shoulder and bike helmet hanging by the strap in one hand. You’re halfway through explaining your plan and the wording you’re going to use in the tragic text message to Daisy when he cuts you off.
“I’ll go with you.”
He’s a little breathless with it, like he’d been saving up all his oxygen to get the words out, leaving him in one big rush as they topple though the doorway of your classroom and splatter onto the linoleum floor between you both.
“I know that I’m not Margot’s husband with a ‘better jawline and better hair’ but we can go and eat nice wedding food- If he’s a lawyer it’s gotta be fancy, right? And we can make fun of his stupid slicked back hair together and you don’t have to be alone or make an excuse and feel guilty about it.” Ryland’s big speech is as flawed as it is heartwarming
Because he does have a better jawline and better hair. And Margot looks between you both during lunch hours and staff meetings like you’re her personal romance drama, there to occupy her during the day.
But the wedding food will be good, your ex will shill out for the best and Daisy has always had a taste for the finer things in life. Ryland is the best company you can think of to have by your side and he knows you well enough to understand how guilty lying about something makes you feel, how it churns your gut.
“Yeah. Okay.” You smile, something warm and fuzzy in your chest.
His eyes don’t move, maybe widen a little before he speaks again, still a little breathless. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
It isn’t a hard thought to come around to, taking Ryland to a wedding. As a date is something that goes unsaid between the pair of you, not sure whether it could be classed as such for real, or if this is simply a favour between friends-slash-coworkers. It is certainly a date for show, to the many college friends you’re about to reunite with after a few years, for your Ex, Jack who’s obsessed with his wife, for Daisy who you’d told years ago to ‘go for it, he’s a nice guy’ working under the assumption that she’d only last a few months by his side too.
You’re not sure which answer you’d prefer, honestly; a date or a favour.
He texts you a lot- after school, on the weekend- asking about what he should wear, what you’re going to wear, how he should prepare for this sort of thing. It’s sweet, cute in a way that has little butterflies flapping around in your stomach.
“Okay, I’ll show you. Wait, hold on.” You placate, setting your phone down on the bed, screen up.
“It’s a lovely ceiling fan, but I doubt it fits the dress code.” Ryland drawls, and you can hear the smile there.
“Ha ha.” You reply, a little echo-y as you lean into your closet to pull the dress out.
He’s up in arms about what to wear, says he needs to know what you’re wearing too so he can match. The invite’s dress code called for formal attire in ‘dark colours’. On the facebook page she’d made for the event, Daisy had a full post going into more detail, about how she’d love any and all dark tones- forestry green, navy, even burgundy was fine. You had taken a firm stance against burgundy considering there’s some old wedding traditions that state wearing red indicated you’d slept with the groom. Which you had, but you were not about to advertise that.
So navy it was.
You’d sent Ryland a picture of the invite, where it was stuck to your fridge with letter magnets spelling out ‘woe’- it had felt fitting when you’d stuck it up there- and several screenshots of the lengthy dress-code post Daisy had made that went into excruciating detail. He wasn’t satisfied though.
Even your attempts to describe the dress you’d bought didn’t work well enough.
“I mean it! you expect me to know what any of those words apart from ‘floor length' means?” he bemoans from your phone speakers, face time call crackling. “I need all the data.”
“Oh listen to you, Mr. Science,” You drawl with a smile, pulling the dress out. It’s too long to hang from a door knob so you have to stretch up on your tip toes to hang the coat hook over the curtain rod of your bedroom window.
“I was thinking of changing my name. Very to the point, don’t you think?” He replies, still smiling as you collect your phone. His eyes are sparkling with something cheeky when you appear back in frame.
Ryland’s dressed down, in one of those dumb science t-shirts he wears on ‘Casual Fridays’ as it is called in staff meetings. This one’s dark blue and has the periodic table on it in worn down white transfer ink. You’ve seen it enough to know the punch line sprawled over his lower stomach even though it’s not in frame. I wear this shirt periodically. He finds an extra layer in humor that the shirt is factually correct as well, that he does in fact, wear the shirt in regular intervals as he’d explained to you during a free-period on one of those casual Fridays.
He’s at his kitchen bench, phone propped up against something, while he taps away at his laptop. You’ve not actually been to Ryland’s apartment before, but it sorta feels like you have, the cramped studio always on display in the back of video calls like this one.
It’s just one long rectangle. Kitchen by the front door, a bench, a gap that is probably intended for a kitchen table but he’s stuck a desk there instead, his bed that’s almost always unmade with a tv wall mounted across from it, and a balcony. Like this, you can see the expanse of it behind him. The stacks of paper piled up on his desk, the extra monitors and little trinkets gifted from students, the sage green sheets of his bed, peeled back on one side, sun shining in through his big glass balcony doors. Honesty, you kind of want to see the view from his apartment in person, he’s a little higher up than you are, in a better part of the city too.
Ryland’s not brushed his hair, it’s all spiked up in different directions and you wonder if the mug he’s been sipping from, periodically, is his morning cup even though it’s just past ten. He’s blinking slow behind his glasses, sitting a little too still for his brain to be fully functional yet.
“I’m sure the kids will love it. Harder to spell on their assessment sheets, though.” You can imagine it, the staff badge, the name on his board in fun bubble writing where it would stay untouched for a whole school term.
You flip the camera, showing him the dress he’s been complaining about not understanding for the last half hour over text before he gave up and called you.
It’s cute, how his head tilts and he leans towards his phone for a second before just picking it up and holding it close enough so his eyes and forehead are just about all that is in frame. “Is that velvet?”
“It’s fake satin. I think.”
“Fake satin?” He repeats, confused.
The dress was one you already owned, bought a year or so ago for another friend’s wedding that you had attended alone but not felt crappy about, even if it did seem like everyone your age was getting married nowadays. It’s got a fitted bodice, but there fabric is a little drapey, looks like it pools over the chest and down towards the fluid skirt. "Wasn't expensive enough to be real satin.”
“Okay, I know what you mean by delicate straps now.” That had been his main hang up, whining about, What do you mean delicate straps? Like they’re about to break?, swearing that the shit he was googling was just not helping the mental image considering there were about six different results for everything.
“Yeah, and here, the lace up back.” You say, stepping up to twist the dress away from where it sat flush against the curtains to show the corset style back, with thin cord lace just a little thinner than the straps.
“Isn’t that going to be a nightmare to put on?” He asks, squinting still.
“There’s a zip.” You say, dragging the little hidden zipper down, showing him how the dress fabric parts and slips open. “So it’s fairly easy to get on. The cords are about as tight as they should be anyway, it isn't hard to pull to fit.”
You fumble a little trying to get the zip back up but eventually just conceded to leave out like that until you put the dress away. When you glance down at your phone, Ryland has moved, no longer sitting down and if you had to guess, is now walking the length of his apartment instead. He looks a little distressed.
“Come on, you’ve got the easy part.” You try, a little concerned he’s about to say he shouldn’t go. “You just have to put on a suit.”
“I can’t just ‘put on a suit’.” He whines, flopping down onto his bed like the world is ending. “I’m supposed to be like, your big ‘fuck you’ to the girl who got with your ex. I’m supposed to look good with you. I don’t know if I have a suit nice enough for that dress.”
“Ryland. It’s not about saying ‘fuck you’ to Daisy, or pulling some revenge stunt. I just didn’t want to go alone like a loser when I said I was bringing someone.” You can’t really help the little breathy laugh that weaves its way though his name, because he sounds like you did four days ago acting like the world was about to end, face down on the lunch table. “You don’t have to come.”
“No, I’m coming. I just need to go through my wardrobe.” He’s cute, you decide, in a round-about sort of way. The determination to play this self elected role well, to perfect it and give it his all, like he does with everything else in his life. The whole situation was elevating your ‘aesthetic appreciation’ of Ryland that you’d been attempting to suppress, to a new sort of level.
You flop down on your own bed, roll over on your side and let him derail the conversation towards lesson planning, listen to him talk about the plans he has for the next weeks worth of classes, a couple of activities he’s got in the works. All while you consider the pros and cons of having him beside you instead.
Ryland was probably the teacher you got on best with at work, despite being from two very different teaching areas. When he’d first arrived, you’d assumed he would be a little pretentious, with his Phd and professional experience beyond the classroom. You weren't expecting him to be so awkward. The children took to him so quickly, and Ryland had told you time and time again that he doesn't understand why they think he’s cool.
Over the years you’ve found that he can be cocky, in certain bouts of confidence seemingly appearing via divine-intervention. A local bar had run trivia nights for some six odd months, and it had unleashed a beast within him.
On Monday afternoon he sent you a photo. A little black bag with a logo you’d googled, realising it was a menswear store before the second photo had come though. A tie, sleek navy like your dress, rolled up neatly with a matching pocket square beside it, both nestled in a box that screamed expensive. You’d sent back a random string of praise, imagining him lulling it over in the store. It was nearly five in the afternoon, he’d left work pretty much on the final bell. You wonder how long he spent comparing the seemingly endless ties the shop’s online store offered, considering what would match best to your dress.
It makes you a little giddy, to be honest, has you dreaming of a situation where you’d asked him to come to the wedding, or where you’d already been together long enough that it was simply a given when the invitation turned up in your mail box.
Neither of you mention it during school hours, not keen on the kids hearing whispers of you and Ryland doing anything outside work hours- students will take anything and run with it.
But he messages you about it constantly. Makes a plan; he’d come to your apartment and you would uber from there to the venue, it was a sunset ceremony and evening reception. He lived close enough that it was a brisk walk or quick bus trip. He pointedly mentions that he would not be cycling- ‘In a suit? God, never’- and makes sure you know that the uber would also drop you both back to your flat and he’d walk home or take another separate uber.
There’s talk about your ‘backstory’, which he takes as seriously as he does exam periods. You tell him it’s not super necessary, that saying you met at work is more than enough exposition for the gaggle of college friends you’d not seen in years. But he was never one to do things in halves.
“We obviously would have met at school.” He says, like it’s a given. Ryland is laid out on the reading rug at the back of your classroom, staring at the ceiling. And the fake clouds that are actually just a hobby-fill glue gunned to paper and taped to the ceiling, he’d turned the fairy lights that are threaded though them on before he’d decided the floor was his resting place. “Maybe trivia is where it happened. We liked trivia.”
“We did like trivia.” You agree, pointedly.
It’s almost impossible to not just sit there and watch him, the student folders that you’re sorting worksheets into acting as a very inefficient distraction.
He’s got a button down on, some pale blue that looks nice under his grey wool blazer. The pale wash jeans and white converse are a bit more casual, but he wears the combination well. Too well. Laid out like this, with one knee up, he looks far too attractive for you to swallow. Glasses pulled down to hang off his jaw, sitting there catching the afternoon light as it came through the windows, casting rainbow refractions onto the back wall.
“Maybe trivia was a date. What would you have done?”
“If you’d asked me to trivia as a date?” You glance up. He’s already looking at you, head tipped to the side, something soft, tentative there in his eyes.
“Yeah.” You can see the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his chest rises with each breath.
Ryland sounds… nervous, in a way that does remind you of the first trivia night you’d gone to. He’d been dressed similarly there, you remember thinking he looked nice, polished up a little more than he did in the school day with dress shoes and what smelt like cologne. Handsome where he waited by the entrance, backlit by the bar’s warm lighting. He’d been a little twitchy for the first hour or so, but settled into himself by round two.
With the way he’s looking at you, now as he plans out the false scenario that’s beginning to sound a lot more like a confession, you’re starting to get the idea that trivia could have been a date. If either of you had put it into words.
“Enjoyed it, probably.”
“Really?” He looks shy, a bit of a flush working its way up his cheeks.
You smile at him, thinking about how nice it would have been to kiss him in that bar with a sweet cocktail on your lips, dizzy from his flattery about your trivia skills. You hum, nodding a little as you look at the folders and sheets spread out over your desk, feeling a flush rise to your own cheeks.
He knocks when you’re halfway through lacing up the back of your dress, holding the cords with one hand as you open the door. Ryland’s not been to your apartment before, something you’d failed to realise until he called you and asked during his walk over, if you’d have to buzz him in.
He was appalled to find out the front door to your building was sporting a broken lock and had been tied back with a length of rope for the last two months while the landlords procrastinated fixing it.
“See,” You say, opening the door for him, keeping it propped open with your foot as he shuffles in. “My door locks.”
“Still one less lock that you’re supposed to have.” he grumbles, stepping out of his very nice dress shoes. They look expensive- black leather shined up propper.
Actually, Ryland looks expensive.
“You look nice,” he says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that.
“I uh,” You pause, swallowing thickly.
Holy fuck he looks good in a suit. It’s the only thought spinning around your head. It’s a proper one, tailor made no doubt. Blazer, slacks and undershirt, all three of them a deep inky black. The navy tie he’d sent you a photo of is done up around his neck in a knot neater than you’ve ever seen him wear to work. The pocket square is folded too, fluffed up with a little volume that suggests he did so intentionally.
Suddenly you’re reminded of all those times he’d complained about all the formal conferences and charity gala’s he’d attended during his days in academia. You realise you have made a grave error.
There have always been little parts about Ryland that oozed wealth, the glasses he wore for one, that he told you were antique when you’d asked. The watch on his wrist that you thought looked like some practical sporty thing but found out was actually worth three months rent when you’d googled it out of curiosity. These little things fall out of the spotlight and become footnotes that are often ignored when he’s in his classroom, or tiny apartment.
Dressed in such a nice suit, here in you apartment definitely wearing cologne- the same from that very first trivia night, something a little warm, woodsy like oaky bourbon, sharp and contrary to the fresh nothingness he smelt like at work- Ryland seemed so far beyond you.
“You look good.” You manage, letting the door slip shut and dropping the lace of your dress, it loses its tension a little but stays in the same spot for the most part, to run a hand over the lapel of his blazer. “How long have you had this?”
“Ages. Dug it out of the back of my closet. A little tighter than when I last wore it, but it will do the trick. Right?” He tacks that last bit on, like he’s waiting with baited breath for your approval.
“I’ll say.” You slide your hand down the lapel a little bit, down over the press of his chest. The tightness just shows the subtlety of his build, lean muscle that comes from idle exercise and good diet, maybe even a splash of genetics. He’s tidied his facial hair up a little, slid the electric razor over all of it to make sure it’s the same length, no doubt. Ryalnd’s still got his glasses on, you were a little worried he might have opted for contacts and are very relieved you get to see this outfit complete with the lenses that frame his face so well.
With a realisation you might be getting a little lost in your head, you drop your hand, turning to walk further into your apartment, towards the couch where your shoes for the night sat on the floor. “Right, we'll, I'm nearly ready. The uber will be here soon.”
“Do you need a hand?” Ryland asks, and you’re about to turn, ask him, ‘with what’ when you feel his fingertips against the small of your back. It sends a jolt though your skin, he’s cold. From the outside air, where as you’ve been nice and cosy with the heat on while you’d done your hair and make up.
Goosebumps rise under his hands as they gather the ties for the back of your dress. Something low swoops in your gut, like the dip of a roller coaster, free falling as he chuckles a little behind you. “Sorry, cold fingers.”
You swallow. “It’s.. it’s okay.”
“How tight?” He asks, giving the strings a gentle tug. You almost sway with the moment, feeling a little swept off your feet already.
“Bit tighter.” You manage, as he presses a flat palm against the small of your back, over the criss-crossing cord, and gathers both ties in one hand to pull slow and firm. It tugs you back into his hand, a steadier hold than you’d expected.
“There?” He questions when the dress is pulled in to sit flush with your skin but not dig in. You get the feeling he might have done some research, when he plucks at each string to even them out and make sure none of them are too tight, on how these dresses are supposed to sit.
“Yeah, perfect.” It leaves you like a sigh, as his palm dips, brushes where the zipper sits before pulling back to tie a neat bow, tugging the cords out carefully so both loops are even.
All of it has you lightheaded, directing more effort than necessary to get yourself to the couch and pull your heels on, black mary janes that are comfortable enough to walk in. As you fiddle with the buckles, you eye him.
Ryland’s hair is tousled, intentionally a little messy, not combed or slicked back. Looks like it would be nice to run your fingers though, and you find yourself wondering if that’s why he’d opted for the style, if he’s here, dressed up as the guy with ‘better hair and a better jawline’ that Margot had pitched, unaware that he already was exactly who he’s trying to be.
He holds an arm out for you to loop yours though, walking down the stairs in steady but slowed steps. You smile. “Wow, full gentleman experience.”
“I told you, I can't just ‘put on a suit’. It’s more than that.” He chides jokingly, and you pity the version of you that didn’t realise this was an option.
He opens the door for you- the car door, the door into the building door tied back by a rope (he glares at it when you pass it)- then rounds the back of the little toyota that’s polished up to try and seem fancier than it was. You don’t talk much on your way to the venue, comfortable silence that the driver thankfully settles into.
It’s nearing sundown when you pull into the driveway, a big circular road that’s already crammed with other cars and guests climbing out.
“You can just let us out here.” Ryland says to the uber driver, unbuckling his seatbelt to hop out, then rounding the car again to open your door, hand held out like it’s necessary, when the car is nowhere near low or high enough to warrant such assistance.
You place your palm in his anyway, letting him pull you from the car, no more temperature disparity in your hands since you’ve both been in the car for fifteen minutes, but it still makes your skin tingle. He’s got cufflinks, the same pale gold as his glasses, in the shape of atoms. You flick one lightly. “I like these.”
He smiles, something a little smothered like he’s trying to stamp it down from a grin as he threads his arm though yours again, beginning the small walk to the venue's front steps. “Well I like your dress, so I think we’re even.”
It’s a ballroom, with these big stained glass windows in the room they hold ceremonies in, you’d seen some lovely shots on the venue’s website of sunset light streaming through them. Imagining Ryland in the warm sunlight has you in a good mood, he’s always suited it, even if the city’s never had much to offer.
“Not too much for our first date?” You tease.
Something like a laugh tumbles out of his lips, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “First date was trivia- and you were underdressed. Keep up.”
You flush, crowding a little closer to his side to make it through the entryway without shoulder checking anyone. Had you been? It was so long ago you could hardly remember anything other than jeans, tight ones that dug into your waist when you sat down- tight jeans hardly felt like being underdressed, they probably meant you wanted him to stare at your ass. Either way you let him have the win, as minute as it is.
Doesn't really matter what you wore back then when you’ve got him like this now.
Together you sit about halfway down on the bride’s side, the pew’s nearly empty, only someone on the other end you don’t know but looks vaguely enough like Daisy, that's you’d guess extended family.
“So why’d you like this guy so much?” Ryland asks, quiet enough for it to just stay between the two of you. He’s glancing around, but his eyes keep bouncing back to Jack at the front of the venue, where he’s talking to gaggle of similarly dressed guys, his groomsmen.
“What?”
“Him,” Ryland says, tipping his head a little to gesture at Jack. “What had you talking about soulmates? Couldn't just be the hair, tons of guys have good hair.”
“They do.” You answer, raising a hand to tangle one of the longer stands where it’s dangling over his forehead around your pointer finger and give it a light tug. Ryland’s eyes settle on you, like there’s nothing else to look at. “He made me feel like the only girl in the world.”
“That’s a cliche.” He refutes. “And a song lyric.”
You smile. “I’m serious. He’s like that with every girl he went out with. He’s like it with Daisy. He just loses sight of every other woman, so attentive.”
Ryland stays silent for a moment, eyes searching for something in yours. Maybe permission, or a want, for him to keep digging, it’s almost as if he’s scared what he might find. “What'd he do? To make you feel like that?”
It’s cute, how nervous he is, despite the fact it feels as though all week, the pair of you have been laying this ground work, a path to follow that will lead you somewhere inevitable, like a trivia date, or the messy sprawled sage green sheets or Ryland’s bed. You smile at him, wondering if he’s thought about you in them. You wonder if he knows how easily you could be, that you might just follow him to the edge of the universe.
Still, you answer his question, offering a peek into your brain, the way you used to operate when teenage giddiness was closer than adult yearning. "Took me dancing. Kissed me slowly, cared about how I wanted things to go. It was like he just couldn’t stop looking at me, for me. It was intoxicating.”
“I can’t.” Ryland blurts out, all reckless abandon, and he’s looking at you like you’ve already kissed him breathless just by being here. You let your leg shift to press the length of your thigh against his, warm even through the layers of fabric.
You breathe in deep through your nose, the scent of his cologne sticking dizzyingly to the air, a scent you think is enough to get drunk on even without the assistance of wedding champagne. "Can't what?”
“Stop looking at you.” He clarifies, eyes darting down to your lips. “I can do the other things though.”
A flutter knocks about your chest, unsteady and uncoordinated. “Yeah, you like dancing Doctor Grace?”
“If it’s with you.” He amends.
“And slow kissing? You like that too?”
“Yeah I do.” He’s not even trying to hide it now, gaze settled on the dusty pink line of your lips, his own a little slick with spit when he darts his tongue out to trace one quick line along them.
You almost asked him to prove it, but in your peripherals, down the aisle and pausing at the sight of you, was Macey, another one of your college friends, smiling. So you place a hand on Ryland's thigh, just above his knee. “Good. Really good.”
Ryland looks dizzy with the praise, like it’s all rushed straight to his head.
“Hey Macey, good to see you.” You greet, using your hand on Ryland's knee to tip his legs towards you, making room for Macey to shuffle into the pew.
“Oh my god, good to see you too! It's been awhile, hasn’t it?” She leans down a little awkwardly to wrap you in a hug as you half stand, and it’s good to see someone after so long, to look at them and remember times when things were simpler and you were allowed to be a little stupid, a little dangerous. It’s nice to see her here, for her to sit next to you- Macey’s always encouraged you to be a little wild, and with the way Ryland’s been looking at you all night, you might need her ego-bosting tonight.
“I’m Macey, nice to meet you.” She extends a hand to Ryland over your lap and he shakes it curtly, offering his own introduction.
There’s a big rock on her finger, and you remember seeing it on an instagram post, some dreamy forest scenery with a ‘coming soon to a theatre near you’ caption under it.
“I suppose it will be your wedding next then,” You tease, “Where’s Jamie?”
“Oh she had a work trip, couldn't avoid it. She wanted to come though.” Macey waves off. Her and her fiance met on some film set, both camera operators, at the time, although you faintly recall reading something about Jamie’s name working its way up to director for some upcoming project, amongst the throws of social media posts from people who once knew everything about you and now you only see once every few years.
“So Ryland,” Macey starts with a glimmer in her eyes, something evil and mischievous that throws you back to seeing her in the living room with a bottle of tequila and monopoly board. “How’d you two meet?”
“We teach at the same school,” He grins, a hand sliding to your knee, just along the inside of it, where your dress fabric hangs low with slack, enough for his palm to press there, thumb drawing slow lines back and forth. “A little cliche but I don’t mind.”
Macey smiles, fans her face a little like that’s just soooo romantic. “What do you teach?”
“Science, opposites attract I guess.”
“Please tell me you used that line.” She practically swoons.
Ryland huffs a little laugh. “No, the kids threw that one at me actually.”
“Really?” You question, a raised eyebrow because that was not part of the backstory he’d been cooking up all week.
“Oh yeah. You should hear them. “Mr. Grace, you and Miss are ,like perfect for each other. You should ask her to the spring dance. They’re relentless, I swear.”
He pitches his voice a little, lazy tones and improper grammar leaking out in the way it did when he did impressions of your students and you can’t help but giggle a little.
“Their heads might explode when they find out.” Macey laughs too, then like a stroke of inspiration, slaps her hand against your arm a few times in pure, unrestrained excitement. “God- remember when we found out Professor Morisaki and Professor Collins were married? Holy shit it was like our heads exploded.”
You bark a laugh, muffling it under your hand considering the rather low level of idle chatter in the venue. “Oh my god, I forgot about that.”
“Professors of yours?” Ryland asks, this soft smile spread across his lips still.
“Yeah, we were doing a car-wash fundraiser! They were kissing in the background of one of our photos!” Macey still whispers gossip like she did in college, like your students do now.
Ryland looks a little red in the face when he asks. “A car wash fundraiser?”
Macey smirks, always too good at picking things up from others' words and you kind of want to stomp your heel over her toes to tell her off before you remember how this evening had been going so far. “Oh? Don’t you know? We were a little wild in college.”
You scoff. “A little?”
“Okay, a lot.” She corrects. “The car wash was an annual thing. White tshirts, bikinis. There’s definitely pictures. I have pictures.”
“Macey.” You scold, mostly joking.
She shrugs, straightens up and sits to face the fronts, pointedly not looking at you with a smirk on her face. “Hey- I’m just reminiscing on good times. Don’t you remember the kissing booth we ran? Of course you do you were the most requested-”
Now you stomp your foot onto hers, although she doesn’t do anything but laugh to herself.
Ryland is back to that dazed look, like he’s on some far off planet in his mind, when he murmurs, "Kissing booth?”
You glare at Macey, for a sharp moment. Before patting one hand on Ryland’s chest, leaning in close when you say, loud enough for Macey to hear. “Tell you about it later, handsome.”
He ducks his head a little close to you, a tiny little movement that stops as soon as it starts. His cheeks are the reddest you’d ever seen, looking a lot like he’s about to kiss you now, when there’s a music cue somewhere further up the aisle and a hush falls over everyone. He doesn't look away at first, eyes glued to yours for a long second before he bites his lower lip, to stop himself saying something and reaches a hand up to lace his fingers together with yours over his chest. He pulls it gently to his lap, smothering it in between his warm palms, fiddling with your fingers as the ceremony starts.
It’s beautiful, truly. The light lowered through the stained glass windows, reflecting and casting colour across the whole room, gentle music and teary vows. Picturesque really, and it reminded you of that time you’d all made ‘vision boards’ as a bonding activity, and Daisy had a little corner on hers that outlined the life she’d like to live, from a small sunset ceremony to the little white picket fence outside a cottage. You’re happy she’s finally arrived there, that she has a man who’s willing to give her everything she’d dreamed of.
You tell her as much, when you catch the pair of them in the reception hall. A warm hug for each of them and a firm hand shake between Jack and Ryland. It’s a lot less daunting than you had thought it would be, seeing them with the knot tied, no bad blood lingering or awkwardness about what once was. Just contentedness, with where your lives had led you each.
The food is good and the atmosphere is better, seeing people from a previous life chapter all reunited, laughing and catching up. The reception is held in a ball room, with gorgeous polished hard wood floors and lovely low lighting that hangs from the ceiling in delicate chandeliers. There’s a classical band, a memento board for people to take polaroids and write well wishes on them, a corner with photos from Both Daisy and Jack’s lives, in albums and tacked up on walls, showing where they meet and things bleed together into their future. All of it’s beautiful.
It’s heading into the later part of the night, when some people have excused themselves and cake has been cut, a hefty supply of the champagne depleted, that a nice slow song comes on.
You aren’t really paying that much attention to it, until you see Ryland shift beside you, rising and holding out one hand, palm up, towards you. “Care to dance?”
Something warm spreads over your face, a flush probably, as you lay a hand in his and he ever so gently pulls you to your feet, right in close to him. He leans down again, lips pressing feather-light to your temple before he leads you towards the dance floor.
It’s littered with other couples, celebrating the love they have for each other as well as the bride and groom.
All of it has you a little dizzy, settling a hand on Ryland’s shoulder as his palm slides around your waist, fingers slowing around the lace up back of your dress, pressing into your skin with gentle intent. He’s warm, firm against you, breath fanning across your cheek as you look up at him. “I know this isn’t the kind of dancing you meant, but it’s the best I can do for now.”
You humm, feet shifting in time with his, a slow waltz you weren’t even aware he knew. “I think I prefer this kind of dancing nowadays.”
Ryland’s lips tick up into a smile. “Yeah?”
He looks as good in the warm lamp light as he does in sunlight, kissing across his tanned skin and stubble, showing off the highlights of his hair. You want to run your hands through it, press a kiss to the scruff of his jaw. You settle on talking instead, worried he’s not one for such public displays of affection. “Left my wild nights behind in college.”
He sighs, like this is a devastating blow, hanging his head slightly, glasses slipping a smidge down his nose. “A shame. I was looking forwards to an appearance.”
You purse your lips, lifting the hand from his shoulder to cup his jaw, tilting his head back up a little, the pad of your thumb pressing his glasses back up to where they're supposed to sit. “Might do a private showing. Just for you.”
“You going to wash my car?” He asks, teasing. Eyes following the movement of your hand as it slips back down into place on his shoulder.
Your forehead falls, pressing against his collar bone as a furious blush blooms over your face, the worst it has been all night, murmuring, “You don’t have a car.”
He must have known what you were going to say, or some semblance of it because you certainly weren’t speaking loud enough for him to catch all of it, but he still sighs, a little dramatic. “Guess we’ll have to go with the kissing booth then.”
You lift your head a little, to look up at him where he’s smiling down, mirth dancing about in his eyes. “Oh, what a shame.”
The drawl has him crack a grin, cheeks flushed as he looks away. Fingers dancing slowly along the skin of your back, between the cords he’d tied up so perfectly for you.
For you, all of it. His nice suit he’d dug out from the back of his closet, the smart shoes nudging against yours with every step of the waltz. Ryland would do a lot for you, the realisation comes a little late, considering everything. You lean forwards a little, resting your cheek on his chest, as the song slows right down, indulgent.
“You got plans after this?” You ask, and it sounds so cheesy, so bland once it’s left your lips.
Still, when he answers, the smile is audible in Ryland’s voice. “Thought I was getting a private show. Is that offer off the table?”
“Think I can manage it,” You murmur, listening to the final few chords echo about the ball room, basking in the way his voice had rippled and rumbled through his chest, low against your cheek.
He lingers for a few seconds in the quiet, holding you close against his chest. You wonder if he, too, is basking in it. The closeness, the idea of having something that you’ve both been pretending couldn’t happen, wasn’t there in the air of exhaled breaths and weighted stares.
When he pulls back, there is nothing but adoration in his eyes, hand that holds yours falling low, but not releasing it, palm soft against your waist, almost as if he doesn't want to let you go just yet. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Bit forward, Ryland,” You tease, “we’ve not even taken photos yet.”
His eyes follow yours to the polaroid board in the corner, considers it for a moment before he’s pulling you gently by the grasp of his hand around yours, towards it.
The polaroid camera is a little hand held thing, there’s a stand for it, and poster board instructions on how to set a timer delay.
Ryland insists on taking one of just you, and while you’re grinning, trying to convince him to join you against the black fabric backdrop, the shutter goes off.
He rolls his eyes, but lets you drag him in beside you for the next photo. The timer is set, and just as you’re preparing to smile, something a little sweet and knowing, he gets one hand around the small of your back, knocks one of those very smart shoes against your heel and tilts you into a dip. It leaves you a little breathless, as he smiles, nose almost touching yours, shutter flashing off to the side.
He lets you choose which photo goes on the memo board. “Whichever one you don’t put up there, I’m keeping.”
You look a little silly in both, at least you think as much, caught off guard, and laughing a little out of breath. Ryland insists you look amazing in both. Something a bit selfish pulls at your gut, as you apprise both photos, and eventually, hand the one of you and Ryland to him- liking the idea of getting to see it again, of having a physical reminder of the night you two have spent together.
He grins like he’s won something, pulling his wallet out from his jacket pocket- a crisp brown leather that looks worn but well cared for- and to your mortification, tucks the photo into the clear slot. The one most people put their licences, or photos of loved ones, like heart-shaped lockets back in the old days. Ryland says nothing on the matter and he folds his wallet back up and slides it back into his pocket, waiting for you to write your message on the other polaroid’s back.
You scrawl some comment about happy endings and humble crazy beginnings, Signing your name on the bottom under the image of your laughter, and tack it up on the board next to the one Macey’s left.
Ryland’s got his arm out, hooked there for you to loop yours through again.
You manage to catch Daisy by the bar on your way out, and give her a tight hug, telling her again how beautiful the wedding has been, how happy you were for her.
The night air is crisp and the second you’re outside, waiting for the uber that’s just a few minutes away, Ryland strips off his suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders with a lack of hesitation that makes it seems as if he’s been waiting to do it all night.
You look at him and raise a brow, but don’t say anything when you catch sight of his pleased smile. It’s almost devastating to realise he looks even better in just the black button down and tie than he did in the full suit.
Again, the drive is mostly silent, but you notice pointedly, that you’re not going back to your apartment. And when you tilt Ryalnd’s phone and tap the screen awake, you recognise his street name in the trip’s destination.
“Presumptious.” You smile.
He grins back, lets a warm palm wander to the curve of your knee, fingers curling around it then venturing to settle a little higher around your thigh. “How are you going to wash my car if we don’t go to my place?”
“You don’t have a car.” You repeat, curious where all this teasing confidence has come from, if perhaps your very clear signals have finally given Ryland the means to throw out all of that unnecessary nervousness and doubt.
“Right,” He hisses, patting his other hand on his leg, as if to say ‘drat, there goes that plan’. Then he leans in close, whispers to you, “What was the back up plan again?”
“You are much bolder after a few glasses of champagne.”
He hums, a considering sort of sound that rumbles in the minimal air between you. “More so when I know I'm right.”
“And what, pray tell, are you right about?”
“That you like-like me.” He teases, like a child on the playground and if you were a little less level-headed, you might have kissed him right there, leant across the middle seat to lock lips with him in an uber.
But you don’t want the first time you kiss him to be viewed through a rear view mirror by a driver who looks very unimpressed by the conversation happening in the back seat. “You gonna prove that hypothesis in your apartment?”
“That’s very forwards of you.” He teases, head tipping down like he is going to kiss you.
Expect you turn your head, and his lips brush against your cheek, as you tut. “All scientists say experiments are supposed to be conducted in controlled environments.”
He leans back, still close enough for his warm breath to fan across your face. “You’ve been seeing other scientists? I’m heartbroken.”
“Give yourself some credit, your classes are very interesting.”
“Earsdropping, huh? Didn’t think you were the type.” He looks far too pleased by the idea that you’ve listened to him teach, like he doesn't know that when you come for something during class hours that you linger by the door and wait for him to finish whatever he’s saying, as if you could look at anything else when he was so captivating.
“I’ll Tell you exactly what type I am in,” You glance down to tap his phone awake, checking the ride estimate. “four minutes.”
He nods and you wonder if he’d get that head-rush distant expression on his face if you praised him for the patience. It’s something you want to save for later, you decide, for private. Just for you.
Ryland manages to wait, even keep his hands to himself, once you’re both out of the car, leading you though his building with a sort of reverent silence, that you get the impression wouldn’t return once broken. You stand across from each other in the elevator. With both his hands braced on the bar at hip height, Ryland fixes you with a look that echoes in the space, though the mirrors surrounding you and over the idle hum of machinery. You’re still wearing his jacket, over your shoulders, a slight barrier between the handrail and the curve of your back, as you stand with your arms crossed smiling at him.
The giddiness that bubbles up and about inside you, as you huddle in close behind him through the hallway, as he unlocks his door and lets you squeeze in past him, is something you’ve not felt in a long time. There’s not much room for childish excitement in the modern dating landscape, it feels as though everyone is in a rush, trying to get where they want to be with a relationship before it’s too late.
Ryland though, he’s here. You watch him latch the door, before he turns, standing there to let his eyes run up you again.
“Soooo,” He says, pursing his lips and tangling his hands together in front of him, like he’s suddenly nervous.
“So?” You ask, taking a few steps forwards to run your hand down the plane of his chest again, feeling it under your palm just like you did when he’d turned up at your apartment that afternoon.
“It’s been four minutes.” He swallows, and this close you can see how his adams apple bobs. Your other hand reaches up to scratch feather light against the stubble of his jaw, hand on his chest catching on the silky soft fabric of his tie, the one he’d picked out just for you.
Rylands hands are slow, one moves to the dip of your waist, landing where it had during your waltz, if not a little more firm as it presses you close against him. He catches his jacket by the collar, lets it slide back off your shoulders and hang from his grip as it slides to settle on the curve of your hip.
“It has.” You lick your lips.
Tuggin on his tie was not supposed to be a demanding thing, more so a gentle tease like you have been doing all night, stepping around that first move like it was a pitfall trap you’d never make it out of. Expect he pitches forwards much easier than you expected and Ryland's lips are pressed against yours.
Soft and still a little honeyed by the champagne, he moves slowly against you. He takes one step back, then another, pulling you with him and not letting his lips leave yours as he backs himself up against his apartment door.
Your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and a sharp inhale escapes him, almost a gasp, before he melts into the wood at his back, parting his lips and slipping his tongue up against yours.
It’s slow kissing, it’s dizzying and it’s want. Everything he’d promised you hours ago, in the afternoon sun of that venue, looking like a dream come true.
For what could be hours, you stay there, pressed up against him, kissing at his skin, until he shifts his legs, just slightly, enough to press one somewhere between yours, a soft presence halted by the fabric of your dress.
Breathless, you break the kiss and he lays a sweet peck against your temple, an echo of earlier, before he begins to nose at the line of your jaw, your neck. Kissing then sucking at the divot along your collar while you pant. “Ryland,”
He says your name, just as breathless against your skin, his hand dropping the jacket to pull at the chord of your dress.
“Is your doorway where you take all the girls?”
“There are no other girls.” He murmurs like a confession, far more earnest than you’d been prepared for.
“Just me?”
He pulls back, pupils blow wide and face flushed blotchy and red. “Yeah.”
Ryland leans forwards, crowds impossibly close until your feet begin to shuffle, back, back, back into his studio apartment. It passes in a blur as he presses in to kiss your lips again, glued to them until he deems it’s been enough backwards paces and presses another kiss to your jaw. Using his grip on your sides, Ryland turns you around, folds in around behind you.
His bed’s unmade, messy sheets splayed out in front of you, a pile of sage green cotton that feels like a promise, a sight you’ve dreamed about far too many times.
There’s pressure there, against your ass, a hard length that’s tight against his slacks and it makes your stomach swoop to know he’s so turned on by the slow kissing you’d been thinking about all night. His shuddering breath rushes like wind by your ear, as his fingers pull at the bow he’d tied himself. “Been thinking about this for too long.”
“Yeah?” You shudder when his lips find their place against your neck, sucking and biting at the skin there in a way that will probably result in a lasting reminder. “Since you laced it up?”
“Since you showed me this zipper." He pulls at it and the fabric gives, parting to sit low on your hips. Ryland kisses at the juncture of your throat, biting, and nipping.
The dress doesn’t fall, not with the straps still hanging loosely from your shoulders, but it’s a damn near thing. One of Ryland’s hands winds around your waist, dragging you back against him as he presses up with one slow grind that has him choking on a groan. His cock, still trapped in his slacks, drags between the zip and against your underwear in a tease that’s maddening with far too much still left to your imagination.
You try to turn but he’s got you wrapped up so firmly in his arms that it’s not plausible, so instead you reach a hand back, over your shoulder to tug at the knot of his tie, fingers slipping against the silky marital, catching in the bulk to it to tug. A particularly hard tug has him whining.
“Okay,” You huff out as he sucks a little harder just under your jaw that will definitely result in a hickey if you let him continue for much longer. “Come on, don’t you wanna fuck me?”
You punctuate this by groping around between you both until you get a hand over his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Need to remember this bit.” He mumbles, hand around your waist retreating to slip inside your dress from behind, curving back around so his fingers can skate over the soft skin of your stomach, tips slipping just under the waistband of your panties.
It has you clenching down on nothing and you become actually aware of how uncomfortably wet you’re beginning to get. You squeeze your thighs together, squirming in his grasp.
“Next time, Ry-” He splays his hand over your stomach, using it to press you back into him. “Ryland, come on. Need you.”
It tumbles out in a breathy whine, and it’s like you’ve said the magic words. He’s turning you around in his grasp, hands reaching up to slip the straps off your shoulders and marvel at the sight.
He swallows as you reach for his tie again, loosening it gently now you can get your fingers into the knot properly. Ryland’s hands hover nervously before settling against your rib cage, fingers brushing anxiously against the underside of your breasts.
Your dress was not one that lent itself to a bra, so you’d gone without. You had assumed that he’d figured that one out, given how he’d both laced and un-laced the back of it, but now that it’s out of the way, he’s looking at your chest like he hadn’t expected to see it so quickly.
“You mean it?” He manages, sounding all tongue tied as you pry the tie off, letting it fall onto the floor, blending into the puddle of your dress- a perfect shade match. “I.. I get a next time?”
“Yeah.” You breathe, working on his shirt buttons, one after the other, coming apart as easily as Ryland did under your gaze. “As many as you want.”
When you get to the bottom of his shirt and reach for the belt buckle, Ryland’s hands move from where they’ve been gently nudging your breasts, to your wrists, snagging them gently as he pulls them back. His shoes nudged against yours, another one of those silent signals to step back that you didn’t know you understood so well until tonight.
“Let me.” He says, one hand coming to your hip to push you gently back and down onto his bed.
You land softly, mattress springing underneath you as you shuffle back, leaning on your elbows to gaze up at him as he toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks, a little off balance like the whole path from the door has altered his centre of gravity.
Ryland is a sight, heaven-sent.
His hair’s spiked out in six different directions, and you want to scratch at his scalp and pull at the strands all over again. He slides his glasses down his nose and sets them on the nightstand. The skin of his chest is just as tanned as his arms, a wide expanse that’s begging to be marked up with your teeth and nails.
The belt buckle clinks softly in the empty air as he slips it open, unbuttoning his slacks before he shrugs the black dress shirt off. God, you want to bite his shoulders.
Your teeth clamp down on your tongue at the thought, kind of wishing the tie was in the picture so you could pull him down on top of you. Just when you’re about to reach up, aiming for his shoulder or maybe even his cheek, Ryland surprises you by taking a knee.
His fingers are a little clumsy as they wrap around the heel of your left shoe, pulling it up onto his bent knee as he fumbles with the buckle. He’s gentle with it, more careful than he was with his own shoes that are certainly worth more than your cheap pair, right shoe, then the left.
Still, it has your stomach tied up in knots to witness with just how much reverence he’s treating you. And the sight of Ryland between your legs is certainly one you could get used to.
He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee before blinking up at you. “Are you… Can I-”
Ryland cuts himself off and that same unwarranted nervousness from before takes over his face, fingers curling tightly around your ankle, as if to ground himself. You smile at him, something that feels a little too giddy and a little too much like your 20 year-old self from college, fumbling and laughing your way to bed. “What is it Ry? You’ve already got me on your bed, no need to be shy.”
He bites his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth as he considers the words. “If you say so.”
Then he gently leads your leg, by the ankle that’s still gripped tightly in his palm, off his propped leg as he drops it to kneel, and hooks it over his shoulder. Ryland kisses a path up your calf and along the inside of your leg and with an overwhelming flood of realisation, you fall back against the bed, bracing for the moment where he presses a soft kiss on your clit, through the fabric of your underwear.
Despite his earlier hesitance, Ryland does not dilly-dally. Once he hears your shuddering breath that sounds more like a moan than anything else, he hooks a thumb though the crotch of your panties, pulls them to the side and presses another slow kiss against you.
It’s maddening, has you gasping out his name as he licks a stripe up your cunt, sighing into it like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. He’s been teasing you long enough that when he presses two fingers along your folds, teasing the resistance of it, they sink in easily. He hooks them up, pressing up against the spongy wall and pulls another moan from your lips.
You're not sure how long Ryland spends between your legs with your hands in his hair and name on your lips, but it’s got you dizzy, clenching around his fingers as he strokes them inside you, languid and slow as he lays gentle kisses over your clit. His stubble scratches against your thighs in a way you’d expected to hate, but are getting rather fond of.
It’s a slow build that crests with you moaning his name and clenching around his fingers as his tongue slows, your hips twitching a little with overstimulation post-orgasm. He moves his kisses to the inside of your thigh, the one not hooked over his shoulder as you catch your breath and it’s highly plausible that he’s leaving another hickey there.
When he does pull back, Ryland is just as breathless as you. Cheeks flushed and chest stuttering as he licked his lips clean. His pupils are blown wide, so much so you can hardly see the blue as he gazes up at you. “You said I could fuck you, right?”
“Yeah,” you swallow, throat scratchy and dry. “You can.”
With your head still spinning from the attention and care he’s taking with you, it’s a moment before you realise his hands are back at your hips as he shuffles you around the bed, up until he can fit his palm behind your head and lift it onto a pillow that smells like him.
Ryland’s above you, propped up on one elbow and a knee to keep his weight off your body. You can feel each heavy exhale on your cheek. “Like this?”
“Just like this.” You say, nodding hand reaching up for his cheek to pull him down into another slow, languid kiss.
He leans in close, whining against your mouth as you part your legs for him to set his between and get a hand on the small of his back, pressing until he gets the hint and grinds downs. It has you both moaning and panting against each other.
You’re getting impatient, and while he must have ditched the pants somewhere between eating you out and repositioning you right side up on the mattress, he’s still got his briefs on and you’re still wearing your underwear.
“Off,” You grunt, hand pulling at the waistband of his briefs.
Ryland’s head drops to the space beside yours, just above your shoulder as he reaches a hand down to pull his underwear down over his cock and down his legs, kicking them off somewhere at the end of the bed.
He gasps, a shaky exhale hitting your skin as you wrap your hand around the length of him.
Warm and heavy in your palm, he’s bigger than you’d expected. When you slide your hand up, swiping a thumb over the head of his dick, there’s so much precum that it pools on your thumb pad. You give him a slow pump, slide eased by the wetness.
Ryland mouths at the skin of your shoulder, and the hand he’s not using to keep himself above you finds its way to your hip, slipping under your panties, pulling at them.
“Condoms. I need-” He cuts himself off with another groan, biting into your skin then kissing it softly like an apology. “I need a condom.”
His hand slips out from your underwear and he gets his knees up either side of your hips to reach over, straining for the nightstand. You take the moment to kiss along his collarbone, using the hand that’s not wrapped around him to tug your panties down, wriggling them off and down your legs.
It doesn’t go unnoticed, and he drops the condom wrapper somewhere beside your head as his gaze whips back to your face. “I was going to do that.”
He sounds a little bit thrown, like he’d really been looking forwards to pulling your panties off.
“You were also going to fuck me.” You prod, giving his cock another languid stroke, watching his face contort with pleasure as he groans. He eases himself back over you, legs between yours and his weight pressing down in a way that has you sighing in contentment.
“Not fair.” He pants, forehead dropping against yours. A hand, so gentle and far too tender comes up to brush the hair by your temple, away from your eyes. “Next time, you let me take my time, okay?”
You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We’ll take turns.”
The condom wrapper crinkles in your fingers and you pinch the edge of it between your teeth and rip the corner off, splitting it open with your thumb. Ryland whines, louder and needier than you’d heard him all night, when you roll it over his dick, hips bucking into your hand and cock bumping against your stomach.
He gets his hand down between your bodies, runs three of his fingers through your folds, making your breath hitch. Then he nudges your hand out of the way and runs his cock though them next. You whine, high pitched and stuttered.
It’s a slow steady push when he slips inside you, one that draws out a long moan from your lips. Ryland moans your name, panting and kissing at your throat.
“God,” he pants. “You feel so good, baby.”
A broken whine sneaks past your lips, one hand reaching up to slide around the back of his neck, to lead his face back to yours so you can kiss him all over again.
This type of slow kissing might have been your new favorite, Ryland’s tongue teasing the seam of your lips before you slip them apart, tracing the line of his teeth with your own tongue. He rolls his hips, grinding down in a slow motion. The curve of his cock drags along your walls, along that spongy spot before bumping so deep inside that it must hit your cervix.
You hook a leg up around his waist and it has his stomach pressing up against your clit when he moves again. Moaning into his mouth, you see stars. “Fuck, that’s perfect- so good.”
Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling in a way that earns you a whine and a jerky thrust of his hips. “Y-yeah?”
“Yeah Ry- perfect. Feel so full.” The praise kicks him into gear and his slow occasional grinds turn into a building pace, hips pushing against yours and he buries himself to the hilt with every thrust.
You kiss at the line of his jaw, mouthing and biting at the stubble there. He moans, sharp exhale hitting your cheek. “‘M not gonna last much longer, sw-swetheart.”
“S’okay. Let go, baby.” You murmur by his ear, free hand slipping down to press against your clit.
The pressure alone is almost enough to tip you over the edge, pussy spasming around him. Ryland groans, loud and unrestrained, his rhythm falling apart as you do.
When he does come, he manages a couple more thrusts, shallow as they nudge up against that perfect spot inside you. Ryland whines, shaking a little with over stimulation.
“Couple more.” You moan, fingers winding tight little circles over your clit. “Almost there.”
Your spine goes stiff and a drawn-out whine slips out as you cum, clenching around the weight of him. Ryland stills inside, buried deep as he pants.
Slowly, he eases himself down over you, the gentle pressure of his weight relaxing. Ryland only takes a few moments there though, before sliding an arm under you and around your waist, slowly rolling you both, so he’s sprawled out with his back on those sage green sheets with you draped over him.
He kisses your temple, mumbling your name like a prayer. “‘S a good kissing booth. Might be a repeat customer.”
You push up a little to look at him, hands either side of his chest, and a hitched breath sputters out of his lips as you shift, his cock still inside you. “Might? What happened to ‘next time’?”
He smiles at you, hands reaching for your hips as he draws slow lines up and down your skin with his thumbs. “Well, I don’t wanna push my luck.”
“You’re not pushing anything.” You murmur, leaning back down to kiss him proper.
Once the aftershocks of your orgasm have faded and the idea of being empty no longer pulls painfully at your chest, you raise your hips up and let Ryland’s now soft cock slip out. He exhales heavily, and you lay beside him, eyes on the slow spinning ceiling fan.
He sits himself up not long after, slips the condom off and wanders off to the tiny door that you now know is his bathroom. He comes back with a damp cloth, smiling at you shyly as he cleans you up, gentle swipes over your core and along the inside of your thighs.
Ryland walks over and pulls some boxers on, then returns to the bed to slide a pair over your hips too. “You want a shirt?”
You bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to smother a grin. “Only if it’s one of your nerdy ones.”
He kisses the smile off your lips and wanders back over to his wardrobe, throws a shirt in your general direction then goes about fixing the sheets.
You admire the sight. It had never occurred to you how nice his arms were, you want them around you again. He pulls the sheets straight, then up over you before he crawls in beside you.
“This okay?” He asks, pulling you over to lay up against him.
“More than okay.” You snuggle closer, cheek pressed against the warm plane of his chest. “Been thinking about this.”
The confession slips out in a rush of endorphins, like you’re so happy to be wrapped up in his arms and sheets, smelling like him, that you just can’t help but let him know.
You can hear the confusion in his voice when he speaks. “Having sex with me?”
No. You almost say, even though you had. It wasn’t where you were trying to go with this though. “Sleeping in your bed. With you.”
The rise and fall of his chest, of a heavy exhale, moves beneath you. “Oh.”
“I think our next date should be trivia.” You declare, a quiet sort of smile on your lips as his fingers trace slow little circles on your back between the waistband of your borrowed boxers and the ridden up hem of the shirt. “So we can get it right this time.”
“Deal.”
[ Masterlist ]
baby's first Goose fic? more proabaly on the way, although next fic published will proabaly be an oc one, with either Ryland Grace or Holland March from the nice guys.
Check the series masterlist for full description/tags/etc. You worked with Ryland Grace on the Project Hail Mary and there was a growing relationship between you two before Ryland was forcefully placed on the Hail Mary. You were trying to solve superluminal (warp) speed, could you bring Ryland back before any more time passed?
Chapter eleven, 3k words.
Blip A was cooler than anything that Grace could have imagined. Still, saying goodbye to Rocky had been tougher than expected. He'd only known his alien friend for a matter of months but he'd like to think they grew pretty close. Trauma bonding over being the last two crewmembers alive sent to save their dying start might do that. But Rocky was more than just the circumstance. Rocky was smart, caring and funnier than Grace wanted to admit. Not to mention brave, for all the times Rocky called Grace brave (he still felt like a fraud), his alien friend didn't seem to think the same of himself. Dragging Grace's lifeless body to the med bay in an atmosphere intent of killing him certainly put that to rest, it was the bravest, most selfless thing anyone had ever done for Grace. He'd never be able to truly articulate his gratitude to Rocky.
And now they were heading in opposite directions toward their respective homes. Saying goodbye in many ways felt surreal and only after the fact did Grace realise there were a few things he forgot to say. Still, he had been glad he'd been able to say goodbye – thank god Rocky didn't die. Besides, he knew what it was like to not be afforded the opportunity to say goodbye... His heart twinged in his chest as he thought of what transpired in your office, of your blood-soaked knitwear. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, Stratt had hell to pay for.
Although he'd have to hear her say ‘I told you so’ and that might irritate him more than the attempted murder. She's lucky that amnesia they inflicted on him actually wore off, being the sole surviving crew member that could've ended horrifically.
He felt that pang of guilt as he thought of his late crewmates - they'd been brave enough to volunteer for the mission and they died in transit. The one they had to drag in kicking and screaming survived. How horrifically and morbidly ironic. Not that Yao or Ilyukhina knew any better, Yao hadn't wanted anyone to be forced into the mission, so they would've lied about why Grace was put into an induced coma early. Besides, by the time he remembered what had happened to him they had completed the mission and he doubts he'd out himself as a coward.
Though that had him thinking about his arrival to Earth: he would be heralded a hero. That made his jaw flex just picturing it. He was a fraud who didn't have the courage to volunteer, even with eight billion lives in the balance.
Give yourself grace – Dr. Grace, your words echoed in his mind.
He sighed as he pulled out the Xenonite necklace out of his pocket, something he asked Rocky to make for him. Rocky of course kept inquiring why he'd ask him to make him such a thing for just a friend, not a mate. He hadn't had the heart to tell Rocky you two were mates – but your chance together had passed. Regardless, he wanted to bring you back something... if he saw you again. It would be a very long trip home, by the time he would get back to Earth some odd twenty-six or so years would have passed. He balled the necklace up into his fist, you'd look completely different if you were still alive. You would have lived twenty-six years without him.
That fracturing feeling arose within him, feeling as if he was being torn open from the inside out. In desperation he pocketed the necklace again and wrapped his arms tightly around his torso to try to hold himself together.
He wouldn't be going back to life as he knew it on Earth, for all he knew Stratt was right and World War Three broke out. Billions of people could be dead, animals too, from a never-ending winter. Would there even be capabilities left on Earth to make use of the Taumeoba he was bringing back with him? Was there even an International Space Station left to get him home? The Hail Mary wasn't intended to take off from Earth or re-enter either. Did NASA still exist if priorities had shifted?
The endless possibilities made him pace around restlessly, made that sinking feeling in his gut deepen. Surely NASA and other space exploration entities still existed, the globe had sunk trillions of dollars into the Hail Mary spacecraft alone, they wouldn't abandon it now. That reassured himself somewhat.
He opted to go to the mental health room, looking out onto a misty lakebed framed by pine trees. It seemed like something you'd like, you had told him you loved living in Washington state because you loved the rain – loved when the raindrops filtered through the trees. He wishes he could smell the rain, feel the rain. Of course, it was all a simulation so he could do neither.
He blinked away the moisture in his eyes as he thought about that dream he'd had, the one where you visited his classroom. Before he was put on the Hail Mary you had told him that you had considered becoming a professor, even joking that you could be persuaded to teach middle kids science. He had to bite his lip to stop it from quivering. Maybe for a time or in another life you'd both work at the same school, be teachers of the same faculty. Could help each other when it came to grading papers, when it came to field trips or other teacher duties. He could imagine spending the lunch period together, both bringing food from home that you had cooked the night before...
That damn quartermaster. He winced at himself, not for the first time, about being so angry at the quartermaster back in the Russian Cosmodrome, it had been an honest mistake. And a mistake that took their own life. However, he selfishly couldn't help his annoyance – that measuring mistake cost him the life he knew on Earth. He took in a deep breath to ground himself, there had been many things that lead up to that measuring mistake. They had this insanely powerful substance that they were handling with less care than nuclear energy! There hadn't been enough safeguards in place, it was bound to happen one way or another. He immediately regretted the anger he felt towards the quartermaster, it's not as if it was intentional.
Besides, he got to meet Rocky and became the first human to make first contact with sentient alien life! He'd also been deeper in outer space than anyone in human history. He'd done many firsts so that was pretty cool. Looking out onto Tau Ceti E had also been astonishing, so it wasn't all bad – he had to look at the positives.
He felt absolutely drained emotionally, it had been a tolling few weeks. It's not everyday you say goodbye to your alien best friend and then make the long journey home to your planet that you don't know if it survived. At least he'd only be experiencing four or so years, probably best if he spent some of that in a coma. Though that made him nervous for obvious reasons so he hadn't quite made up his mind out it – but going insane from isolation also wasn't a good alternative. At least he had Armando.
Regardless, he needed rest right now, his eyelids felt heavy. So, he made his way to the dormitory and ignored the sadness that swelled in him when he saw Rocky's atmospheric material on the spare bed next to his. The ship felt devoid of fun now that Rocky was gone.
He'd only been asleep for what felt like a few hours, dreaming of Earth and even his damn forced coma, before he was rudely awoken.
Awoken by flashing red lights and sirens. He bolted upright, feeling sick to his stomach.
“Contaminate detected!” Wailed Mary over the speakers.
Grace had never heard such haunting words before in his life.
****
He allowed himself a full day to decide what to do, to think through every avenue. It would be nice to have more time to mull over the choices but even a day could make all the difference for Rocky. Leaning against Rocky's atmospheric ball in the mental health room he pulled out the Polaroid of you two from his pocket. This tiny little picture had to be his most cherished possession, alongside the little Xenonite figurine that Rocky had made of Grace. It should be a no brainer, all of Erid needed Rocky to make it back with the Taumeoba. The typical trolley problem; one life for billions, again.
And years ago Ryland had made his decision, he didn't want to be the one the trolley ran over. But now... could he do it? He had been staring at the picture of you and him for so long now he's sure it's burned into his retinas.
Luckily, there were seeds and plants onboard the Hail Mary so he may not starve to death, though he'd still have to be careful to ration his food. There was enough food for each crew member to last a year if not over consumed, so he'd have enough to last him the journey to Erid. But once he got to Erid... well he might have to live on the Hail Mary for the rest of his life. He'd have to find a way to keep the plants alive and producing more food. Initially it was only supposed to be a few months worth of food for each member, but Grace remembers you arguing with Stratt about that; what if the astronauts needed more time to figure it out? There are so many possibilities as to why Tau Ceti wasn't dimming and we wouldn't have wanted to waste humanity's literal last-ditch effort to only have them die of starvation. That's also why there were plants and seeds onboard. So, he had you to thank for that – you were still looking out for him, even eleven or so light years away. That made him nauseous, chest twisting in a sickening way.
Humanity is lucky that Tau Ceti E truly had the solution – what if they got here and there was no Petrova Line? What if Tau Ceti the star was just simply immune to Astrophage with no tangible reason? With all those odds stacked against humanity, dying to starvation would be the cruellest.
Sighing he knew his mind was made up. With his resolve in mind he headed to the lab to set up a recording. He could only hope you would forgive him.
Once he had got the Taumeoba contained he had changed into his white jumpsuit and now as he saw himself in the recording screen he's glad he did as it actually made him look like an astronaut.
He made two videos, one for Stratt or whoever was in charge of stopping the end of the world, and another for you. Though he's sure that everyone in NASA will watch both videos.
Unsurprisingly as soon as he was about to record the second video he had to take breather to calm himself down, this was going to be more upsetting than he originally anticipated. He paced about for a few minutes before he sat back down, willing the tears to stay at bay, the last thing he wanted to do was see him like this. Goodness knows if the roles were reversed seeing you visibly upset would break his heart even further.
He started the video by addressing you by your credentials, then your first name and stopped himself from calling you ‘sweetheart’. That type of intimate familiarity couldn't be afforded now, what if you had another partner? Or what if it was triggering?
“Rocky was a life saver, quite literally and without him this mission would have failed. I owe him my life but that's not why I've decided to go back for him.” He took a pause, looking around at his surrounds.
“I have to go back because that's what friends do and he... he's one of my best friends. The other of course being you.” He scratched the back of his head, not sure about his admission but carried on, “He's been here in the Tau Ceti solar system longer than either of us have been alive. I can't imagine that kind of isolation. And now... now he'll die a slow and painful death if I don't try. I have to try.”
He had to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay – there was a possibility that in the weeks it would take him to reach Rocky that he would be too late, or that he wouldn't be able to find him. And then Grace would die for nothing. “Besides, I'd get to travel to another planet – maybe if the Eridian scientist can figure it out I might even get to live on it.” That sounded really farfetched given how strong the gravity and thick the atmosphere was on Erid, but still, a man can dream. Besides, they can build a spaceship, surely they could figure out something for Grace. Otherwise the Hail Mary would be his home forever, stuck in Erid's orbit.
“I'm truly sorry for everything that has happened, I know it's not my fault but... I'm also sorry I was too much of a coward to do it voluntarily. I saw your video, and I'm sorry they broke your nose and threw you in a jail cell, I hope you gave Stratt a little bit of hell for that. If not, give her some hell on my behalf, thanks,” he tried to keep the last part light hearted but the joke sounded flat even to his own ears.
“I hope I'm not too late, but I know you'll all put the Taumeoba to use immediately. But as for us...” he bit his lip for a moment before continuing, “Being your lab partner was the honour of my life. Not this, not being the one to make first contact. Working with you, getting to know you... making you laugh. I think back to our shared time together with such gratitude. So, thank you. And of course thank you for getting more food supplies on the ship, it's come in handy. Still looking out for me even now.” His smile was wide and geinue, but tinged with sadness that he couldn't hide. “And for the record – and it's selfish to say, I know, I'm sorry – but I fell for you too. Hard.” He wanted to say those certain three words but decided not to, he can't imagine how devastating that would be to hear from a dead man walking.
“Selfishly I wish you could have been here, you would've liked Rocky and he would've liked you. I won't lie, being in space is scary stuff and doing it alone... well, as the only human, it's been tough. I bet you could've done a better job piloting the ship,” he tried to joke but his voice hitched on the last word. He hated thinking about that incident, almost dying from his lungs being crushed to death... Rocky burning in the oxygen to save him. A sharp and unpleasant sensation jolted through his body.
He sighed as he straightened himself in his seat, “I uh, I've included something for you in the Beetles.” He held up the Xenonite necklace and his figurine, “Rocky made these. The figurine is of me when I had to catch his cannister and the necklace...” he swallowed hard, voice thick with emotion, “Um, I had him make it for you.”
“I'm not sure if you remember but a couple months into working together on the Startt Vat you had mentioned some film you had wanted to see, but being stuck out at sea we couldn't go... I would have loved to have gone with you, though I can't even remember what the film was about, sorry. But I'd take any excuse to be able to spend time with you.” His heart was racing, thundering in his chest. “Oh, and I found that iPod nano, I listened to all the Twilight soundtracks more than once. I even sung Phil Collins with Rocky when I showed him karaoke. So, I hope I've made you proud,” he joked. “And no doubt you'll have watched all my logs I hope I... I hope I didn't give you the ‘ick’ as they used to say with my fumbling about.”
He cleared his throat, voice going back to something more serious, “Most of all, I hope I'm not too late and I'm sorry I'm not coming home. Please forgive me. Captain Doctor Ryland Grace from the Hail Mary signing off.” One tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it, so he quicky wiped it away as he ended the recording.
Letting a few more hot tears escape he allowed himself a moment of sadness, a moment of grief for the life he lost... again. Before he could second guess his videos he made multiple copies with his logs and put them on different hard drives as well as uploaded them to the cloud system on the Beetles. He wanted to make sure his videos reached Earth, reached you. He put the figurine and necklace one two different Beetles just in case one of them didn't make it, but he kept the Polaroid for himself.
Once the Beetles were safely on his way he had to calculate the time it would take to get to rocky; a little under two months. Hopefully his calculations were right and Rocky hadn't gotten too far. Hopefully he wouldn't be too late.
Until then he had time to kill... he debated watching the Twilight saga, even though you had told him that you also found it absurd. You claimed you only liked the series ironically, whatever that meant. However, he ultimately decided against it, at least for now, it would just dredge up more emotions and he was already worn out as it was.
He had a long, arduous journey ahead of himself. Maybe he should reminisce about the times you two had slept together and jerk off, that would certainly relax himself. A pang of lust and guilt simultaneously went through him at the idea.
Author's note: it never made sense to me in the book they didn't take more food/plants onboard. This is humanity's last ditch effort, it could take forever to figure out anything! Glad the movie had plants, lol.
Also this is it for being on the Hail Mary! End of an era! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
Thanks for any likes/comments/reblogs, it means a lot! Requests are open btw!
