Proof that even in space, Ryland Grace is always in teacher mode
my top 3 favorite teacher moments

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blake kathryn
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we're not kids anymore.

titsay

⁂
taylor price

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dirt enthusiast
i don't do bad sauce passes
AnasAbdin
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

Product Placement
d e v o n

@theartofmadeline

Andulka
Show & Tell
Cosimo Galluzzi
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
trying on a metaphor
seen from Brazil
seen from Mexico

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia

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@scuro-sky
Proof that even in space, Ryland Grace is always in teacher mode
my top 3 favorite teacher moments
i find it funny to think that the version of grace that took pills from strangers without knowing what they were (assuming that he wasnt *entirely* joking when he said that) is also the same version of grace that called the leading scholar in his field a "staggering waste of carbon" lmao... i would read a full novel about grace's college experience / 20's im so serious
1 song per 1 birthday
I really tried to tip the scales in your favor
PHM spaceships gijinka
for the good of all mankind
Midnight Rain - Strattland
Summary:
Some people prefer sunlight. Eva Stratt always liked storms better.
Inspired by Midnight Rain - Taylor Swift
Staring: Ryland Grace x Eva Stratt, Rocky
Rain hammered against the deck through the middle of the night while the naval vessel serving as the Project Hail Mary command center continued along its scheduled route toward shore. They would reach port in only a few more weeks.
Dim orange safety lights glowed across the outer corridors, reflecting against the wet metal floors while automated announcements repeatedly warned the crew about slippery surfaces. Past midnight, even those warnings finally fell silent.
Stratt stood alone near the edge of the deck, one hand wrapped around the cold metal railing. Rain soaked through her hair and clothes alike, plastering strands of red against her face as if she intended to let the storm pass straight through her.
She knew it was dangerous.
She also knew standing out here made absolutely no sense.
But after weeks of caffeine, sleeplessness, endless meetings, endless decisions, endless people demanding answers from her every waking hour, she was tired.
Their voices had become too loud.
Too constant.
The rain made the world quiet for a little while.
“Hey!”
The familiar voice shattered the silence beneath the storm, followed by hurried footsteps slipping slightly against the wet deck.
Of course it was him again.
Ryland Grace emerged through the rain wearing his bright yellow waterproof jacket, looking somewhere between worried and irritated.
“This is dangerous,” he called out over the storm. “What are you doing out here?”
One hand gripped the railing to steady himself while the ship rocked beneath them.
“Use your brain,” Stratt replied flatly. “The rain calms me down.”
Grace frowned as the downpour continued around them.
“You’re going to get sick.”
“Probably.”
She sounded completely unconcerned.
Grace let out a long sigh before pulling down the hood of his jacket.
“Okay,” he said. “Then I’m staying with you.”
Stratt turned slightly.
“You’re doing what?”
“Use your brain,” he repeated, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Research is stressful. People should be allowed to have time alone sometimes.”
Then he added:
“And if you jump overboard, I’m jumping too.”
That finally made her laugh.
“Titanic?” she asked. “You watch more movies than I thought, Dr. Grace.”
“If you actually jumped, no, I definitely wouldn’t jump after you,” he admitted with a quiet laugh. “Education robbed me of all my dramatic instincts. But I would try to save you.”
Silence settled over the deck again.
Grace stayed there beside her, letting the rain soak through his clothes just like she did.
After a while, he spoke softly.
“It’s cold.”
“Mhm.”
So they stood there together, completely drenched.
The night ended with security officers yelling at them through a megaphone for being outside while the warning lights were still orange.
They both received written warnings.
Not that it mattered much.
Everyone on the ship knew exactly who held the most authority there.
The next morning, Grace found a bottle of fever medicine and instant mint tea sitting on the corner of his lab desk.
He had a pretty good idea who left them there.
The whole thing had started because he couldn’t sleep.
While wandering the inner corridors late at night, one of the younger security guards had nervously stopped him and claimed there was a woman crying alone on the outer deck.
A ghost.
Ridiculous.
They were running the most advanced scientific project in human history, not starring in a haunted ship documentary. Besides, what kind of ghost stood in the rain just to get soaked?
His second thought had been more reasonable.
Burnout.
Too many people trapped together for too long in a confined space. Too much pressure. Too little rest.
Someone might have been close to breaking.
So despite being very much the kind of person who hated horror movies, Grace forced himself to go outside and check.
The woman turned out to be Stratt.
And she had not been crying.
She had simply stood there alone beneath the storm, letting the rain drench her completely.
Grace still did not fully understand why.
But a rain-soaked warship deck in the middle of the night was not a place she should have been standing alone.
Was she okay?
Or had the pressure finally become too much—
He stopped himself there.
Better not to assume.
So he walked over to her instead.
. . . . . .
Rain tapped softly against the biodome.
Grace stirred awake slowly, half buried beneath sleep, still caught somewhere between memory and reality.
For a moment he thought he was still dreaming.
Rain?
On Erid?
“Grace. Wake up. Open door.”
Rocky’s voice echoed from outside alongside several impatient knocks.
Grace dragged himself upright, washed his face, brushed his teeth badly and quickly, then stumbled toward the entrance.
“Coming, coming.”
The moment the door slid open, cool damp air rushed toward him.
Rain.
Actual rain.
Grace blinked in disbelief as the scent of wet soil filled the air. Technically the smell came from bacteria in the dirt, but that still counted.
“You guys made rain?”
His blue eyes lit up immediately.
“We make ocean for Grace,” Rocky replied proudly. “Why not make rain for Grace too? Close door.”
“Right, sorry.”
Grace pulled his cap on to shield himself from the drizzle.
“Rain helps soil. Plants grow better. Grace can grow more trees.”
“There’s already one,” Grace said, pointing toward the large tree near his home. Special, of course, because of the xenonite reinforcement, but still.
If the biodome became stable enough, maybe someday he really could grow forests here using the seeds left aboard the Hail Mary.
“Want many more,” Rocky said happily. “Trees. Flowers. Rare woods. Hardest material in galaxy.”
That still amused Grace a little.
Wood truly was one of the rarest materials in the galaxy because trees could only exist in worlds capable of sustaining life.
The Eridians found that endlessly fascinating.
“Okay,” Grace agreed.
It was a good first step.
Together they walked along the artificial shoreline beneath the gentle rain.
After a while, Rocky asked:
“Why Grace wake up late?”
Grace smiled faintly.
“I dreamed about someone from Earth.”
“Friend of Grace? Person Grace send Beatles to?”
“Mhm.”
Rocky made a small dissatisfied sound.
“Rocky not like her. She force Grace.”
Grace laughed quietly.
“Yeah. She did.”
Then he glanced upward toward the falling rain.
“But if she hadn’t forced me, I wouldn’t have ended up here either. I think she had her reasons.”
“Still not like her.”
“That’s okay, Rocky.”
Grace smiled softly.
“We probably won’t ever meet again anyway.”
The rain reminded him of her.
And suddenly he found himself wondering if she still stood in storms like that.
. . . . .
A woman in a yellow rain jacket stood quietly beneath the falling rain.
No longer cold.
No longer exhausted.
No longer carrying the weight of the world alone.
— End —
Notes:
It's raining in my town today. I was talking to a friend and we got the idea that there are people who prefer rain to sunshine, and we thought Grace might like rain too. And yes, Eva does as well. And I saw some fan art of Eva wearing a yellow jacket; it matches perfectly. Enjoy reading as always, and yes, as always, I'm translating from my own Thai writing. Please forgive any awkwardness in reading.
One last kiss - Strattland
Summary:
Humanity survived. Earth became beautiful again. And somewhere between the sea, the sunset, and fifty years of distance, Ryland Grace finally remembers who his last kiss belonged to.
Inspired by One Last Kiss - Utada Hikaru Starring: Ryland Grace x Eva Stratt , Rocky, Dr.Lamai, Dr. Lokken, Carl
The launch date for the Hail Mary mission was drawing closer by the day. After spending what felt like an eternity aboard the military vessel serving as the project’s headquarters, the researchers and crew had finally returned to life on land. Outside working hours, most of them took every chance they could get to relax somewhere beyond the base perimeter.
Ryland Grace, however, exhausted from months of relentless work across every phase of the project, chose to spend his free time inside the prefabricated housing units provided by the ESA and the Russians instead.
There were strict regulations regarding key personnel, especially the astronauts. Separate accommodations were mandatory. Though from what Grace had seen, DuBois and Shapiro were not particularly dedicated to following that rule.
As for him, a scientist who had somehow ended up doubling as Stratt’s administrative assistant, he apparently did not qualify as “important personnel” enough for anyone to care very much. During his free hours, he still occasionally sat around chatting with Dimitri and Lokken, though lately he had the strange feeling she was avoiding him. She never quite looked him in the eye anymore.
As for today’s plan?
Sleep.
Yes. The grand ambition of a sleep-deprived man in his thirties who had barely rested in weeks. Honestly, what could be better than sleeping?
By the time he finally dragged himself out of bed, lunchtime had long passed. He had not even decided what to eat yet. His hair was still a complete mess when a knock sounded at the door, followed by a familiar calm voice.
“Dr. Grace. Are you in there?”
Stratt.
He quickly grabbed his favorite jacket and threw it on. Opening the door, looking freshly dragged out of bed, probably was not a good idea. He ran his fingers through his hair in place of an actual comb, attempting to make himself look at least remotely presentable before opening the door.
“What’s the emergency?”
His voice still sounded half asleep.
As far as Ryland remembered from the schedule, today was supposed to be Stratt’s day off, too. Still, she did not look that different from her usual work mode.
A long coat layered over a knitted vest and a gray shirt. Wide, dark trousers that almost resembled a skirt, hanging low enough to cover her favorite sneakers nearly. Her red hair was loosely tied up into a half-bun that looked far less severe than usual.
…Okay. Slightly different.
Softer, maybe. More relaxed somehow.
Apparently, he had been staring too long because she cleared her throat at him.
“Come with me.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
Grace finished getting ready in less than ten minutes before Stratt practically dragged him out toward the parking area.
Apparently, she had borrowed a car from the administrative division.
What surprised him even more was this:
“You sit. I drive.”
“…Where are we going?”
“Using our day off.”
That was all the explanation she offered before climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.
Grace sighed and obediently slid into the passenger seat.
Honestly, he was getting used to this by now. Stratt dragging him around without warning had somehow become a recurring event in his life.
There were regulations regarding important personnel, especially the astronauts. They were supposed to stay separated as a precaution against accidents. Yet somehow, he and Stratt seemed to exist in a strange little loophole outside those rules.
He fastened his seatbelt automatically, then paused before leaning across the console to pull hers over as well.
“Uh… safety first,” he muttered awkwardly.
The corner of Stratt’s mouth curved upward slightly before she pressed down on the accelerator.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The launch facility for the Hail Mary had been built near the mouth of the bay facing the open ocean. Naturally, since the area was heavily restricted, the surrounding landscape remained far more untouched than most places nearby.
The weather today was perfect.
Warm sunlight.
Cool wind.
Not too cold.
Not too hot.
Stratt rolled down the car windows slightly, letting the sea breeze drift through the vehicle alongside the soft music playing on the radio.
The atmosphere was so nice that Grace briefly considered sticking half his body out the window just to feel the wind better.
He wisely kept that thought to himself because, somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was starting to resemble a golden retriever enjoying a car ride.
They barely spoke during the drive.
Grace had no idea where they were going, though, considering Stratt had chosen to drive out alone with him without Carl or any sort of security escort, the destination probably was not far from the base.
Eventually, the forest lining the roadside gave way to the sea.
Grace stole a glance toward her from the passenger seat.
She looked… lighter today.
Her expression was softer than usual, and the tension she carried during work hours loosened just slightly. Her fingers tapped quietly against the steering wheel while she hummed along to the music beneath her breath.
Relaxed.
More relaxed than he had ever seen her.
The car slowly turned onto a smaller road.
At the very end of it stood a beach and a long stone pier stretching toward a white lighthouse overlooking the ocean.
Stratt parked near the viewpoint.
Once the engine stopped, Grace unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped outside.
Apparently, this place was some kind of scenic lighthouse stop. He had never been here before, though Stratt clearly had. She walked ahead toward a row of small shops before slipping into a blue wooden building that turned out to be a café.
Grace followed closely behind her.
“I already ordered coffee,” she said. “What do you want?”
Grace had not eaten anything all day, and his stomach had finally begun protesting loudly enough to become impossible to ignore. He settled on a bagel sandwich, one of the few savory items available on the menu.
Even though he already knew eating it would probably require enough force to shake the entire table.
“Okay,” Stratt replied before handing her card to the cashier.
“I can pay for myself.”
“I already did.”
Then she simply walked away toward what was apparently her usual table outside, leaving Grace standing awkwardly at the counter.
Always two steps ahead.
Always deciding everything first.
Never particularly concerned with how anyone else felt about it.
He honestly could not decide whether that was her greatest strength or her worst flaw.
After lingering near the dessert display for a moment, Grace eventually noticed the staff bringing their drinks and sandwiches outside. He headed toward the table where Stratt sat facing the ocean.
She lifted her coffee cup with both hands, blue-gray eyes drifting toward the shoreline while the sound of waves rolled quietly through the air.
“You mind if I interrupt your moment?” Grace asked as he pulled out the chair beside her.
Truthfully, she could have come here with anyone.
It was probably coincidence that their schedules aligned today.
And maybe she simply did not have anyone else she wanted to bring.
Grace had always noticed the distance she maintained between herself and the rest of the staff. A clear boundary between commander and personnel.
Oddly enough, that boundary seemed almost nonexistent when it came to him.
Maybe because, according to everyone else aboard the project, he had somehow become her unofficial second-in-command.
Technically, she was still his boss.
And Grace had learned long ago that antagonizing people more powerful than himself rarely ended well.
As long as she did not cross his boundaries too far, he found himself letting her get away with almost anything.
“No,” she answered softly, offering him a small smile.
“You’re probably hungry. Eat.”
Thankfully, the bagel sandwich had already been sliced into manageable pieces.
Grace usually hated eating in front of other people, but Stratt seemed far more interested in the ocean view than in him, so he finally relaxed enough to start eating.
“Do you come here often?” he asked.
“Every break.”
She set her coffee down and stretched her legs slightly beneath the table.
“People from the base rarely come here because they don’t serve alcohol. The coffee is average. The food is average. The view is the only thing people remember.”
Grace glanced toward the ocean.
“I agree.”
The sandwich disappeared embarrassingly fast.
Honestly, it was absurdly overpriced.
Grace only noticed then that Stratt had slipped off her shoes and socks, letting her bare feet sink into the soft sand beneath the table.
She must have been exhausted.
At the end of the day, she was still human. A person carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Pulling herself away from the suffocating atmosphere of work, even briefly, was probably necessary.
Grace was not entirely sure whether she had anyone to talk to besides Carl, Lokken, or Dr. Lamai. He knew almost nothing about her background, her family, or the life she had before all of this.
Maybe taking off the Commander Stratt persona for a while and simply becoming Eva again was good for her.
By the time they had left the base and driven all the way here, several hours had already passed. When she finally drained the last of her coffee, the sun had begun sinking lower toward the horizon.
Gathering what little courage he had, Grace suggested they take a walk along the beach.
Stratt did not refuse.
She walked barefoot across the shoreline, carrying her shoes loosely in one hand as she headed toward the stone pier leading to the white lighthouse in the distance.
Grace walked quietly beside her.
“How many sunrises and sunsets have you watched this year?” she suddenly asked.
The sky around them had begun turning orange, streaked with pale violet, beautiful enough to belong in a movie scene.
Grace glanced sideways at her.
“I didn’t think someone like you would ask questions like that.”
“This is outside working hours, Dr. Grace.”
She frowned slightly before nudging seawater with her foot.
“Mostly sunrises,” he admitted. “Because I stay up working all night. But I never counted. After spending so much time on the ship, my internal clock feels completely broken. You too?”
“Mm.”
Her voice softened.
“I suppose I’ve been working you too hard.”
“You work hard too, Eva.”
The moment he called her by her first name, she slowed.
Then stopped entirely.
She turned back to look at him.
His bright yellow jacket stood out vividly against the colors of the ocean and evening sky wrapped around them.
“Sometimes I forget you have another side to you,” Grace said honestly.
“Like that night on the ship. Your voice was beautiful.”
Stratt stared at him silently.
“I didn’t think you sang,” he continued, quieter now. “I think… I’d like to hear it again someday.”
The sound of waves swallowed the silence between them.
Then suddenly, soft warmth brushed against his lips before he could process what was happening.
Grace froze.
Her face was close.
Too close.
Her lips had touched his for only a second before she pulled away again.
Thank you.
He read the words from her lips beneath the fading light of sunset.
The sight of her standing there beneath the deepening purple sky, wind catching strands of her red hair as they streamed behind her, was almost painfully beautiful.
For one impossible moment, Grace wanted time to stop.
Just a little longer.
But reality returned abruptly when seawater crashed against his legs hard enough to soak the cuffs of his pants and his shoes.
Then came Stratt’s voice again.
Calm.
Composed.
Back to sounding like herself.
“We should head back now.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
Several weeks had passed since the explosion at the facility. Now, standing before Eva Stratt was the hospital bed where Ryland Grace lay unconscious, already sedated in preparation for the coma procedure.
“I’m giving you ten minutes.”
Dr. Lamai’s voice was calm and professional. Everything had already been prepared. The life-support systems only needed to be connected.
She didn’t know every detail behind the situation. Only that Dr. Grace had volunteered to take DuBois’s place, and that to prevent him from panicking during launch procedures, he had agreed to be placed into a medically induced coma. The consent forms bore his signature clearly enough. Dr. Lamai had no objections.
Once the door closed, the room was left with only the highest-ranking commander of Project Hail Mary.
Stratt stepped closer to the bed and looked down at his sleeping face. Carefully, she brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead with her fingertips.
“Carl and I packed all your things for you,” she said quietly. “We even bought a few extra things.”
She took his hand gently in hers and gave it the faintest squeeze.
“Can I kiss you goodbye, Grace?” she murmured. “Though I suppose asking now is pointless. You can’t answer me anymore.”
Her blue eyes lingered on him once more.
They had known each other for quite some time now. Nearly five years spent together on this project. Their relationship had always been difficult to define — part colleagues, part friends, part commander and subordinate… and something else neither of them had ever truly named.
And now…
This was how it would end.
No.
This was how it had to end.
Eva Stratt had long accepted being hated, condemned, cursed to hell itself if it meant the world would survive.
And for her, hell was standing right here.
The world had to come first.
It always would.
So she kissed him goodbye there, beside the body of a man who would never know she had done it.
Not long after, Dr. Lamai returned to continue the procedure.
Eva made her way to the observation deck for the launch.
It was a bright afternoon, clear skies stretching endlessly overhead. She stood in silence, watching the culmination of years of sacrifice, the project she had given her life to, rise toward the heavens in a blaze of fire and light.
“May God protect you.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Several decades had passed on Erid.
By now, the biodomes worked perfectly. The Eridians had dug through every corner of humanity’s archives, consuming Earth’s knowledge with endless curiosity, including human relationships.
“What is a kiss, question?”
Rocky asked it suddenly one late afternoon.
Grace, who had been sitting in his living room unsuccessfully trying to repair his own clothes, answered in the same patient tone he used with his students back on Earth.
“It’s… physical contact humans can’t really do alone. Let’s go with that explanation.”
“When last time Grace kissed, question?”
Of course, Rocky immediately dug deeper, as he always did.
Grace set the half-mended fabric down onto the table and rested his chin against his palm.
Honestly… he couldn’t remember.
He truly couldn’t.
For the longest time, he assumed it had been with Linda. And by now, who knew what had become of her and Mark? They had probably grown old together decades ago.
“It’s been a really long time,” he admitted. “Long enough that I probably forgot how to kiss someone.”
“Grace's memory is bad. Courtship also bad.”
Rocky sounded dissatisfied with the answer.
“Well, I don’t exactly need to court anybody here.”
It was the truth. He was the only human being on this planet. Survival alone had taken everything he had: food shortages, Erid’s gravity, adapting to an alien world…
Romance had not exactly been a priority.
“Anyway,” Grace said, “what brings you here this late? You usually come by in the morning.”
“Oh. Important thing for Grace.”
Rocky rummaged through the bag strapped across his body for a moment before pulling out a small storage device and handing it to him.
“Hail Mary receive message from Earth. Took time to figure out how to remove data. Rocky thinks it is important for Grace.”
Grace stared at the hard drive in surprise.
Even though he still hadn’t agreed to return to Earth, the Eridian engineers continued maintaining Hail Mary regularly just in case he ever changed his mind.
“Okay,” Grace said quietly. “Let’s watch it together.”
He plugged the drive into his computer.
It surprised him that messages were still arriving at all.
By his rough calculations, nearly half a century had passed on Earth. Relativity had distorted time strangely enough that he himself had only aged a few decades since leaving, but back home…
Almost everyone he knew was probably gone.
Including…
The image on the screen was different from the one in his memory.
Her bright red hair had faded with age into pale silver-white. Fine lines marked the years she had survived through. But her eyes remained the same sharp, steady, unwavering blue-gray eyes.
And the beanie on her head…
Wait.
Was that his old beanie?
Maybe not.
Maybe.
“Dr. Grace,” Stratt said through the recording, “if this message reaches you, I want you to know that humanity survived because of your sacrifice.”
Then she smiled faintly.
“Thank you for the journey.”
And suddenly…
something surfaced in his memory.
The road is unfolding beside the car window.
The scent of coffee.
The sound of waves against the shore.
A lavender-purple sky at sunset.
A white lighthouse standing at the edge of the sea.
Oh.
Oh no.
Like something buried for so long he had forgotten it was ever real, the memory finally returned to him.
It hadn’t been Linda.
It had been…
“Okay, buddy,” Grace said softly.
“I remember my last kiss now.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
More than thirty years later…
Earth had become beautiful again.
Just like it was before you left.
-End-
Notes:
Hello again! The "Writing Out of My Head" project has begun again. I got the idea for this fanfiction from Utada Hikaru's song "One Last Kiss." Try reading the translation if your mind is strong enough. As always, I translated it from my own Thai fanfiction. I hope you enjoy it. I would be very happy if you like it and leave a comment. Happy reading!
I’m out of patience and world is out of time
hail mary, full of--
SHORT FIC - Memory #strattland
Summary:
When someone is gone, what's the first thing people tend to forget? Scent, Voice or their Face? For Eva, It start with his scent
Notes:
Hello everyone! This fanfiction is a translation of a Thai fanfiction I wrote. English isn't my native language, so please forgive any mistakes. I hope you enjoy it! I included a small reference to a quote from Number Six in "The Gray Man". If you've seen the show, you'll know which line it is. I did quite a bit of self-doubt before finally posting this. I hope you'll leave some comments. Thank you, and God bless you.
Trigger Warning – Mentions of death, funerals, imprisonment
_______
When someone is gone, the first thing people forget is their scent.
His… Dr. Ryland Grace's signature scent was the coffee he drank cup after cup to keep himself awake, mixed with fabric softener that smelled like sunshine, or perhaps just ordinary deodorant, nothing remarkable. Probably because he worked at a school, wearing cologne like some vain young man wouldn't have suited him. And once he holed himself up in the lab, these academics never cared about anything except their discoveries anyway.
Because it wasn't particularly memorable, a strong woman like Eva, who devoted herself to work more than to sleep, had already forgotten it.
Next comes the voice.
The voice that she remembered was probably his soft humming in the lab. The song "Memory" from Cats, the musical, which Eva assumed must be a favorite of his, judging by the T-shirt Ryland always wore.
"Memory All alone in the moonlight I can smile at the old days I was beautiful then I remember The time I knew what happiness was Let the memory live again"
Whenever he was caught humming while working, he'd scratch his head awkwardly to brush it off, then turn back to whatever he was doing, or report his latest findings in a stern voice. As the days passed, a feeling Eva hadn't felt in a long time came rushing back. It always showed its telltale signs whenever she encountered Dr. Ryland Grace, her sly fox. (The crew called him that; how could she not know? The ship wasn't that big.)
"Please. I'm begging you. Don't do this."
The last words she heard from Ryland's lips weren't even a farewell. They were a plea, a helpless supplication with no room for resistance.
Deep down, Eva wished their parting could have been simpler, more dignified. But since the one being forced into a one-way mission couldn't come to terms with it, she had no choice but to take a harder approach.
She must have fallen in love with his brain. They had both fallen in love with each other's brains. Strip away the emotions and leave only the science: falling in love is just a chemical process in the brain. What she was responsible for was far too great to let brain chemistry take control.
When the Hail Mary finally launched into the sky, all she could do was say a silent goodbye, hoping quietly that the little fox charm and the Saint Christopher medal for travelers would keep him safe on his journey. That was something she could accept and do without betraying her principles.
The last thing to go is the face.
Time passed slowly as the Hail Mary traveled through our solar system before crossing into another star system. The first signal received from the Hail Mary was not good news. Instead, it was data confirming Captain Yáo's death. Though they had lost one, hope remained. Stratt continued to insist on the success that would come if the Hail Mary reached its destination.
Countless things can go wrong in space. Years later, when the signal from the Hail Mary returned to Earth, it was bad news once again. What was supposed to be a progress briefing became a memorial service for those lost in the depths of the cosmos.
The faith that the international community and the public had placed in the Hail Mary flickered out. Yet Stratt stubbornly maintained, believed with all her heart, that Ryland Grace was still alive.
The memorial was held simply, lasting one week for people to pay their respects. Photos of all three were arranged together in the great assembly hall, adorned with flowers and wreaths according to each person's religion.
Eva hated that photo. But she couldn't find a better picture of Ryland. The face of the man who had traveled billions of miles from Earth looked far too solemn in that memorial frame.
On Grace's side, former students now grown enough to accept that their favorite teacher had departed on a mission to save the world came to lay flowers and letters.
When the enormous international budget was wasted, and humanity's hope was extinguished, the world naturally needed someone to bear responsibility for this despair.
On an ordinary Thursday, leaders and nations around the world betrayed her just as she had betrayed him, sending him unconscious on a journey to the great beyond, above the atmosphere. Her immunity from prosecution was revoked. Eva Stratt, the iron-willed woman who had held absolute authority over the project, became a prisoner in a high-security French prison.
They spared her the death penalty but gave her something worse: life imprisonment. An orange uniform replaced the dark-toned clothes she usually wore. Its color resembled a space suit. As time on Earth passed, days into months, months into years, wrinkles began to show clearly on her face, and her hair started to fade. The routine inside her cell wasn't so different from a routine in space, really, everything had to follow a schedule and assigned duties. Wake at the designated time. Eat at the designated time. Work. Sleep at the designated time.
His face in that memorial photo haunted her for a long while on sleepless nights. In that state between sleep and waking, she half-dreamed of seeing him in his yellow jacket, standing still and watching her from a corner of the room. Eventually, he would fade away. As the days went on, the repetitive daily routine made her forget his face at last.
And yet, Eva still believed in the Hail Mary. Even as her memories of Ryland Grace grew hazy with time. In the end, through connections she had built over her career, she finally got herself out of prison.
The world had changed by now, just as expected. Wars had broken out in many regions. People were beginning to starve as the climate grew colder by the day. She assembled a small team to revive tracking of Project Hail Mary once more.
And on an ordinary Thursday, hope arrived safely on Earth.
He didn't look much different from before. Time in space was a wondrous thing. Her memories of him began to return, vivid once again. This time, it seemed Ryland Grace was no longer alone.
"You're a smart person. You'll figure out what to do."
So that's what his voice sounds like. A shame the little beetle couldn't bring back his scent.
Stratt smiled, then softly hummed the song she once heard Grace singing in the lab.
"Daylight I must wait for the sunrise I must think of a new life And I mustn't give in When the dawn comes Tonight will be a memory too And a new day will begin"
-End-
SHORT FIC - PHM Fic - Waltz in Vienna, Before the world ends #strattland
Summary:
Commander Eva Stratt does not waste time. Not on social events. Not on unnecessary travel. Certainly not on dancing. And yet— For one night in Vienna, she makes an exception. Rylan Grace almost crosses a line. Stratt chooses to remember it.
Note: I tried to find the place for strattland nation I wrote this after coming across a post on X where someone mentioned wanting to see Grace and Stratt at a gala together. I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so I decided to write it and translate it from Thai to English.
I’ve never been to Vienna, but I hope I’ll get the chance to visit someday. If there are any mistakes, I truly apologize. English isn’t my first language.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this 💛 I posted it on AO3 too. https://archiveofourown.org/works/84145816 __________________________________________________
The sea is calmer than usual today.
Another day aboard the research vessel stationed in international waters for Project Hail Mary. Some of the newer researchers, fresh from land, are still dealing with seasickness despite how steady the ocean looks.
Grace barely notices it anymore.
He has adapted to life at sea, or at least something close to it. The ship is large, but everything is regulated. Time, resources, even comfort. The system is designed for efficiency, to keep operations running smoothly without relying too often on supply runs.
Even water is controlled.
Some systems convert seawater into freshwater, but that does not mean freedom. Showers are timed. Usage is monitored. Rules are rules.
Sometimes he goes up to the deck and looks for land out of habit. There is never anything there. They are far beyond the point where the coastline exists.
So he looks up instead.
In the sky. At the stars.
Like some ancient sailor navigating by things he cannot touch.
Today is another day of data.
Grace stares at his screen, already annoyed.
Outlook crashes again.
He exhales sharply and refreshes it for the third time this morning, watching it fail in exactly the same way.
“Of course,” he mutters. “Perfect.”
Right as he is deciding whether to restart the entire system or just give up on email as a concept entirely, a voice cuts through the room.
“Doctor Grace.”
He turns almost immediately.
Eva Stratt stands at the entrance to his lab space, red hair unmistakable, posture as composed as ever. No warning. No preamble.
As always.
“You have ten minutes,” she says. “Pack what you need and meet me at the helipad.”
Grace blinks.
“…I’m sorry, what?”
His brain lags behind the words. Too early. Not enough sleep. Possibly both.
Something small arcs through the air toward him. He catches it on instinct.
A bottle of motion sickness pills.
“For the helicopter. And the plane,” she adds, her tone even. “You will need them. You now have eight minutes. Are you coming or not?”
“Wait, wait. Where are we going?”
“Vienna.”
That is all she says.
Then she turns and walks away, as if the explanation is complete.
Grace stands there for half a second longer, staring after her.
Then it hits him.
“Wait. Vienna?”
He is already moving, grabbing what he can before rushing out of the lab and down the corridor toward his quarters.
____
At the helipad, the moment the engine starts, the wind from the blades slams into them.
“This is really necessary?” Grace shouts over the noise.
“Yes,” Stratt replies without even looking at him.
Being the head of Project Hail Mary is not just about allocating resources, tracking progress, and reporting outcomes. There are endless documents, constant decisions, and, occasionally, public appearances.
Even with absolute authority, Stratt’s refusal to bend for anyone comes at a cost.
So sometimes, for the sake of the project’s image, Eva Stratt shows her face.
“This isn’t my job,” Grace tries again.
“The world is dying. Everyone has a job to do. Including me,” she says, her voice calm despite the chaos around them. “And yes, even so, we can attend one social event.”
He opens his mouth to argue.
Then closes it again.
There is no point.
____
He is very glad he took the pills.
He will never get used to the way this project moves.
Helicopter. Airfield. Jet.
And then, suddenly, the tiled spire of St. Stephen's Cathedral appears in his line of sight, unmistakable.
Vienna.
The entire trip feels unreal, like something out of a spy film where distance means nothing and everything happens too fast to process. Their host handles everything. A car and security detail are already waiting when they land, ready to escort Stratt and Grace straight to their destination.
Hotel Sacher Vienna.
It is… excessive.
Grace steps inside and looks around.
The suite is enormous, closer to a penthouse than a hotel room. A central living area connects two separate bedrooms. The furniture is elegant, soft-toned, expensive in a way that feels deliberate but not loud.
It is nothing like the places he usually stays for conferences.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Stratt says, setting her bag down as she moves toward the other bedroom. “You have thirty minutes. The team will be here.”
“…What team?”
A knock comes at the door.
Stratt answers in German. A group of strangers enters moments later, carrying garment bags and large cases.
…Right.
That kind of team.
____
It is surreal.
After being told to shower, without any time limit for once, Grace stands under the water far longer than necessary until someone knocks to remind him he is not alone here. Then a group of people descends on him, adjusting, fixing, arranging, turning him into something that looks far more put together than he feels.
Clothes. Hair. Details he has never cared about.
At some point, when they finally leave him alone for a minute, he pulls out his phone and opens YouTube.
Search: how to waltz beginner
Stratt told him they would have to dance tonight.
Of course she did.
He did not win that argument either.
“Okay… one, two, three… one, two, three…”
“Please stay still,” the makeup artist says.
“…Right. Sorry.”
“Okay…”
____
Grace looks at himself in the mirror once they are done.
The tuxedo fits perfectly. Black, clean, tailored.
“…not terrible.” He squints a little.
“If you squint hard enough,” he mutters to himself, “this is basically Ryan Gosling. Just… the nerd version.”
He nods, as if that settles it.
Contacts were not an option, so the glasses stay.
“Good enough.”
It is already getting dark outside. He glances toward the door, then heads out to check if Stratt is ready.
The moment he steps into the shared space, the door across from him opens.
He looks up.
And stops.
Stratt steps out.
A black evening gown, off the shoulder. The line of her collarbone catches the soft light. Her red hair is pinned up, revealing the length of her neck, a diamond necklace resting against her skin.
Everything about this entire day has felt unreal.
This is no exception.
Grace forgets whatever he was about to say.
Should he compliment her? Should he say anything at all?
“We’re leaving,” she says, cutting cleanly through the moment.
Flat. Precise. Unchanged.
As always.
____
The ride is quiet.
On one side, Grace is busy worrying about embarrassing himself on the dance floor. On the other hand, Stratt seems almost… distant, her gaze drifting past the window as if she is allowing herself a rare moment of rest.
The limousine slows to a stop in front of the Vienna State Opera.
The building is alive with light.
Crowds gather at the entrance, dressed in full evening wear for the Vienna Waltz charity event. Influential figures, public faces, people who belong in rooms like this.
Grace does not.
Inside, everything is brighter.
Voices overlap in German, flowing too quickly for him to catch even a single word. The sound fills the space, layered with music, laughter, and movement.
Stratt changes the moment they step in.
She speaks. Responds. Shakes hands. Smiles, just enough and never too much. She moves through the room as if she has always belonged here.
Grace follows.
Sometimes beside her, sometimes a step behind.
He nods. Shakes hands—repeats “nice to meet you” more times than he can keep track of.
And tries very hard not to think about the one thing waiting for him.
The waltz.
____
After what feels like an endless series of introductions, an announcement cuts through the room.
German again.
The performance is about to begin.
Professional dancers enter the floor in formation. The men in formal tuxedos, fresh flowers pinned neatly at their chests—the women in white gowns, square-necked, reminiscent of another era, something almost regal.
When the music starts, they move as one.
Precise. Effortless. Practiced.
Grace watches, trying to memorize patterns that slip away the moment he thinks he understands them.
The performance ends in applause.
And then it is their turn.
The guests begin stepping onto the floor with their partners.
Grace exhales under his breath.
“...You’re kidding me.”
“Do I actually have to dance with you?” he asks quietly.
“I came here with you. Who else would I dance with?” Stratt replies, already stepping forward as others take their places.
“I’m going to embarrass you.”
“Then don’t.”
Before he can argue further, she takes his hand and leads him onto the floor.
Applause rises around them as they join the others.
That does not help.
She positions him with practiced ease.
His right hand at her back. His left holding hers. Her hand comes to rest lightly against his shoulder.
Everything is closer than it should be.
“Step. Step. Turn. Don’t think.”
The music begins.
Around them, couples move in perfect rhythm.
Grace starts counting.
“One, two, three. One, two, three.”
And then he steps on her foot.
Of course he does.
“You’re thinking again,” she says.
“I’m a scientist. That’s kind of the problem. If I don’t think, if I don’t count, what am I supposed to do?”
“Stop being a scientist for three minutes. Let yourself follow the music.”
He looks at her.
“Just follow me.”
It sounds simple.
It is not.
Grace lets out a breath.
Fine.
No thinking.
Step. Step. Turn.
Let go.
The noise in his head fades.
The rhythm stays.
Her hand is still in his.
He stops counting.
And somehow, that makes it easier.
He adjusts. Follows. Moves with her instead of against the pattern.
It is not perfect.
But it works.
At some point, as she spins and returns to him, her hand finding his shoulder again, their eyes meet.
Direct.
Unavoidable.
She is… stunning.
Not in a way he can easily define. Not something that fits into equations or categories. Just something he has never seen before.
Something very few people probably ever get to see.
The realization hits him all at once.
This moment matters.
His grip tightens just slightly, not enough to be obvious, but enough to say something he cannot put into words.
You can trust me.
The music ends.
Applause fills the room.
The woman curtsies. Stratt inclines her head, measured and precise.
Grace mirrors her, a little less graceful but close enough.
He does not let go of her hand.
Not immediately.
Not until they have stepped off the floor and the moment has already passed.
Only then does he seem to realize.
He lets go quickly.
“Sorry,” he says. “I mean, sorry, I didn’t… I wasn’t…”
He stops himself before the sentence collapses completely.
____
It is late.
But the city is still awake.
The lights of Vienna glow beyond the tall windows as they step back into the suite. Stratt enters the living area first. Grace follows, closing the door behind him.
The silence between them feels heavier than it should after a night filled with music and carefully negotiated alliances.
He fumbles with his bow tie, fingers clumsy.
“I hate this thing,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
Stratt does not respond.
She walks past the furniture and stops by the window, looking out over the city. Her reflection lingers faintly in the glass. Still. Controlled. Unreadable.
The same as always.
Is it?
Grace glances at her, then finally manages to loosen the knot.
“You did well tonight,” he says.
“I had to,” she replies, her voice even, her gaze still fixed outside.
Silence settles again.
“They don’t like me,” she says after a moment.
Grace frowns slightly.
“Who?”
“Anyone with power. The kind of people who can make my work… difficult.” She pauses. “No one likes being told what to do. When this project is over, the ones who resent me might decide I’m a problem worth removing.”
Her tone does not change. It is not anger. Not bitterness. Just fact.
“Tonight was performance,” she continues. “A reminder of that.”
Grace does not answer immediately.
He steps closer, but not too close. The same careful distance as before. Close enough to stay, far enough not to cross a line.
“They think you’re a problem,” he says slowly, “because you don’t play their game.”
Stratt glances at him.
“Or because I break it.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs lightly. “That too.”
A beat.
“But from where I’m standing… that just means you’re doing the right thing.”
The silence that follows is different this time.
Not heavy. Not uncomfortable.
Stratt turns to face him fully, studying him a little longer than usual, as if weighing something that has nothing to do with politics, or the project, or the world.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she says.
“Why?”
“Because it makes me want to believe you.”
Grace smiles, just a little.
“Then maybe you should. Just for tonight.”
The space between them feels smaller now.
Too close.
Too long.
Neither of them moves.
Stratt looks away first.
“Go get some rest, Doctor Grace,” she says, her voice returning to its usual sharp clarity.
He nods, even though she is no longer looking at him.
“Yes… Commander.”
He walks to his room, stopping at the door.
“Hey.”
She does not turn, but she listens.
“You’re a good dancer.”
“I know,” she replies, softer this time.
He steps inside.
The door closes.
For the first time in years, Eva Stratt does not feel entirely alone.
The city lights stretch below, gold threading through the streets of Vienna. The music has long since ended, but the rhythm lingers in her mind.
One, two, three.One, two, three.
Her fingers feel cold.
Not from the air.
She should not be here.
There is no space in her schedule for things like this. Leaving the ship. Attending events. Dancing.
None of it helps save the world.
A waste of time.
The thought comes easily, as it always does.
She should go back. Back to work. Back to control. Back to where everything makes sense.
She stops herself.
She is still here.
Below, the city continues as if nothing is ending. People walk the streets. Cars pass. Life moves forward, unchanged, even with the knowledge of what is coming.
One, two, three.
She remembers the rhythm.
Not just the music.
Him.
Grace.
At first, he counted. She heard it clearly, even when he tried not to let anyone notice.
One, two, three.
Careful. Precise. Like a student trying to get everything right.
Then he stopped. And somehow, he got better.
Her fingers shift slightly, as if recalling the exact placement. His hand on her back. Steady. Certain.
He adapted.
Of course he did. He always does.
She knew that before she brought him here.
She knew everything she needed to know.
Except this.
She closes her eyes for a moment.
That look they shared.
Too long for what it was.
Too close for what it should be.
A mistake.
It has to be.
When she opens her eyes again, her expression is calm once more.
Controlled. Categorized. Contained.
Not important.
Not relevant.
Not something she needs to keep.
Just this once.
The thought comes quietly. She does not push it away.
The memory of his hand. The rhythm they shared. The music that has already faded.
Stratt inhales slowly, steadying herself the way she always does before making a decision.
He will not remember this the way I do.
Good.
He should not.
It should not weigh on him. It should not interfere with what matters.
The world matters more.
Always.
She turns away from the window.
Pain flickers through her feet, a reminder of the heels she has worn for too long. It pulls her back to the present. She slips them off and leaves them there before walking toward her room.
The silence returns, swallowing everything.
____
The door closes with a soft thud.
“Idiot…”
Grace runs a hand through his hair.
His heartbeat is too loud.
Or maybe the room is just too quiet.
He exhales, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto the bed.
She is still there, in his mind.
The black dress. The movement. The way she followed the music. The way she looked at him.
Stratt like that is not the Stratt he knows.
Not the Commander.
Not the one who gives orders.
Something else.
Something he should not spend time trying to define.
“Get it together,” he mutters, pressing a hand to the back of his neck.
That was close.
Too close.
Another step, and he might have said something he should not. Done something worse.
This city is ridiculous.
The architecture. The lights. The music that refuses to leave his head.
It does not help.
“Yeah, right. Blame the atmosphere,” he scoffs softly.
But he knows better.
He falls back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time before sleep finally takes him, still fully dressed.
____
By morning, everything is back to normal.
Or as close to normal as it gets on this ship.
Grace finishes catching up on the work he missed and eventually retreats to the common area. There is a new ice cream machine. He notices it just as shouting echoes down the corridor.
“Grace! This is what you call souvenirs?”
Ilyukhina appears, holding up a bag filled with neatly packed chocolates, her expression dramatically betrayed.
“You went all the way to Vienna. City of art, culture, history. And this is what you bring back?” She pulls out a box from the bottom. “Cocoa blocks?”
Grace sighs.
“It’s called Sachertorte.”
“It’s chocolate cake,” she shoots back immediately. “Where’s everything else?”
He removes his glasses and rubs his temples.
“I went there to work. Not shop.”
“But you went to Vienna.”
She emphasizes the name like it is an argument in itself.
He glances around, then reaches into another bag beside him and pulls out a glass bottle, amber liquid catching the light.
She freezes.
“…Okay. That’s interesting.”
“For you,” he says.
She takes it immediately, far too quickly to be subtle.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about, Doctor Grace.”
He gives her a look.
“In exchange, you stop spreading weird rumors about me.”
She smiles.
“I never…”
“You do.”
He cuts her off.
A small laugh escapes her as she turns the bottle in her hand.
“Fine. Deal.”
A pause.
Then she tilts her head.
“But you really went with her, right?”
Grace closes his eyes slowly. The tips of his ears turn red.
“I’m taking that back.”
“Okay, okay. I surrender.”
She raises both hands, still grinning.
____
Across the room, unnoticed, Stratt watches.
Just for a moment.
When Grace pulls out the bottle, when he tries to bargain, when his composure slips just slightly, something in her expression softens.
Barely.
Not enough for anyone else to see.
But enough.
She turns and walks away before anyone can notice her.
____
The rumors spread fast.
Faster than they should.
Faster than light, it feels like.
They begin as whispers in the lab.
“…Is it true?”“I heard that…”“In Vienna…”
Grace looks up from his screen.
That is never a good start.
He tries to ignore it. Focus on the data. Numbers. Models. Things that make sense.
“…they danced all night.”
He stops typing.
“…Okay. That is getting very specific.”
____
Within half a day, the rumors evolve.
Version one. He attended the ball with Stratt.Version two. He was forced to go.Version three. He volunteered.Version four. He is an excellent dancer.Version five. He stepped on her foot three times.Version six. He could not stop staring at her.Version seven. She stared back.Version eight. They disappeared together after the event.
Grace sets his tablet down very slowly.
“I stepped on her foot once.”
Someone nearby looks up.
“So the rest is true?”
“That’s not the point.”
This is getting out of hand.
Which means it is time to deal with the source.
Grace heads straight for the astronaut training section. Ilyukhina is exactly where he expects her to be, lounging on a couch, far too relaxed, idly swirling an amber drink in her glass.
“Hey. We had a deal.”
He does not ease into it.
She does not even look at him. Just watches the liquid in her glass.
“Yes. We did.”
“You already got your payment.”
“Yes. And it’s excellent.” She lifts the glass, admiring the light through it. “Very distinct oak notes.”
Grace inhales slowly.
“Then why are the rumors still—”
“Oh please, I didn’t start them,” she cuts in, far too quickly, her tone suspiciously innocent.
“I just… didn’t deny them.”
“That’s the same thing as spreading them.”
“Not quite.” She shrugs. “I call it strategic ambiguity.”
Grace squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head.
“…You just made that up.”
“And yet, it works.” She smiles.
He looks increasingly stressed.
“Listen.” He leans forward, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Nothing happened.”
She takes a sip.
“Of course.”
“I just went to the event with her.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And we danced. Briefly.”
“Mhm.”
“And then we left.”
She tilts her head.
“…And?”
“That’s it!”
A beat of silence.
She sets her glass down gently.
“Doctor Grace, you’re really bad at lying.”
He looks up immediately.
“I’m not lying!”
A small smile forms at the corner of her lips.
“I didn’t say you were. Rumors aren’t about truth,” she says lightly.
“They’re about what people want to believe.”
Grace opens his mouth, then hesitates.
“…No one wants to believe that.”
“Oh, on the contrary.” She leans back against the couch.
“Brilliant scientist plus intimidating commander plus one of the most romantic cities in the world.”
She counts on her fingers.
“It practically writes itself.”
Grace stares at her.
“…You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
“I’m taking the alcohol back.”
She freezes for half a second.
“…You wouldn’t.”
He reaches for her glass. She pulls it away immediately.
“Okay, okay! I’ll help reduce the rumors.”
“Stop. The rumors.”
“Reduce,” she insists.
“Stop.”
“Reduce.”
“…Fine. Reduce.”
____
By evening, the rumors evolve again.
“He went to Vienna with her but tried to hide it.”“There was alcohol involved.”“That means there’s something to hide.”
Grace stares at the screen.
Then slowly lets his forehead drop onto the table.
“I hate everyone.”
Down the corridor, Stratt pauses mid-conversation.
“…there is nothing to be concerned about. Everything remains under control.”
Her voice is steady.
But her gaze shifts, just slightly.
Toward the lab, Grace just left.
He looks more frustrated than usual.
She is quiet for a moment, long enough for the other person to notice.
“Is there anything else?”
She refocuses immediately.
“No. Thank you.”
The conversation ends.
She turns again, watching the space where he disappeared.
She has heard the rumors.
All versions of them.
A faint smile touches her lips.
This time, just a little more visible.
Not because she believes them.
But because she does not intend to deny them either.
They were not there.
None of them.
That night belongs to only two people.
Her.
And Ryland Grace.
And that is enough.
End
____
make me move (M)
↣ PAIRING: Johnny (NCT) + reader (female)
↣ GENRE: baby daddy; a rollercoaster of emotions; smut
↣ SUMMARY: You were pregnant when Johnny left to follow his dreams and not a day goes by that you don’t wonder if you did the right thing by keeping his daughter a secret from him. Then, unexpectedly, Johnny comes back into your life, but neither of you are sure if he’s ready to be a father.
↣ WARNINGS: mild language; some alcohol use; explicit sexual content
↣ NOTES: listening to make me move by culture code feat. karra; this is a one-shot, there will be no sequels; check the masterlist in my description for other one-shots in this collection; happy reading!
Keep reading
Gosh, This make me cry out for an hour. I loves all parts of this fic this is a master piece for me 😭😭😭😭 Thank you yutaholic
maid of honor - s.jn
summary: selfless. that is the word you lived up for so many years. everybody knows that. but not everybody understands. so when you decide to let everything go, even your happiness, they didn't question it because again, it's you. you've always been like this. selfless. so when you say goodbye to the man you love for the happiness of your best friend, everybody thought it was fine. it might seem strange to start a story with an ending, but all endings are also beginnings. because no one ever says goodbye unless they want to see you again.
genre: fluff, angst, smut
warning: mature themes, infidelity, exes to lovers, language
wc: 10.3k
an: finally ㅠㅠ i've been working on this for way too longㅠ anyways, this is my first time trying smut, i'm still working on it, so if this seems cringey pls huhu give me time i'll be better!! i hope u guys enjoy it! xx
--
"i'm marrying johnny suh!" you heard your friend scream once she enters the diner you work at.
you halt your movements, shocked at what she just stated. your heartbeat went faster than usual, blinking as you processed what you just heard.
"you're.. what?" you looked at her, finally, and you saw her hair dishevelled, make up's ruined and she stumbled uppn walking to you.
"he asked me, to marry him at the club! you should've been there-- bestie we were making out in the dancefloor!" oh, she was drunk, alright. the hiccups between her words says so. not to mention the alcohol reeking through her scent.
just for a moment, you wanted to pinch yourself thinking all of this was a dream. it can't be, johnny is marrying your best friend? how.. why so fast?
"mina, you've been dating him for six months. are you sure you're getting married?" you managed to blurt out, fixing her hair in the process.
"yes! i'm fucking sure! i mean, have you seen him?! and have you experienced the dick game?! well-- ofcourse, you dated him but somehow it got bigger after college!" yes, you guys just graduated from college. its only been a year, and six months to be precise.
and yes, johnny was your boyfriend back in college.
you two have been going out for a year and a half before you two broke up. why, you might ask?
well, all because of you.
Goshhh 🥹🥹 this is my fav of the year love this dynamic , Thank you for your hard work
these hands
✘ [pairing]: rock climber!Johnny x afab!reader
✘ [synopsis]: on an autumn evening, your lover returns from hours spent rock climbing and missing you.
✘ [warnings]: hand kink, Slight daddy kink, muscle pain, massage, praise, use of body butter, body worship, fingering, squirting, dumbification, multiple orgasms, size kink, manhandling, unprotected sex, etc…
✘ [au’s]: non idol au, established relationship, domestic, autumn aesthetic
✘ [word count]: 2.7k ✘ [genre]: 🔞smut & fluff
#80 in the 1000 days & 100 fics with Smileysuh celebration
It’s just around dinner when your boyfriend returns from a day spent rock climbing with friends. Stepping into the house, Johnny is met with the smell of soup, and your perfume lingers in the air when he closes his eyes to take a happy breath in.
“Baby?” he calls, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter. “I’m home!”
“In the bedroom!” comes your response, and your lover immediately charts a course in search of you.
“Still in bed?” Johnny says fondly when he arrives in the doorway, eyes taking in your form. You’re wearing one of his shirts, and it makes you look so small, legs exposed-
Keep reading
The Salesman - Johnny Suh
✘ [synopsis]: y/n is approached by a handsome salesman, and after getting a taste of her for himself, he decides to offer her something she can’t refuse.
✘ [warnings]: dom/sub themes, pain kink, bondage, smacking, big dick, contractual/consensual bdsm, oral (m receiving), mirror sex, deep throating, dirty talk, degradation/praise, sir/master/daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, taunting, multiple orgasms, spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, anal, butt plug, squirting, sadism/masochism, unprotected sex, passing out from sex, power play, etc…
✘ [pairing]: Johnny Suh x afab!reader ✘ [word count]: 9.6k ✘ [genre]: 18+ smut
✘ [squid game au]
Prologue:
Your cheek sears red hot, and you take a deep breath as the tingles of echoed pained pleasure wash over you. There’s a slight metallic taste of blood in your mouth from where your lip has split, and it takes you a moment to recover.
When you open your eyes again, straightening and removing your fingers from where you’d pressed them to your face, covering the spot his own hand had just made contact with, you find the gorgeous businessman watching you with blown pupils.
The affect you’re having on him is obvious, and you’d be lying to say it’s not making you just as excited-
For what feels like the billionth time since he’d approached you, you wonder why he’s even doing this.
You’ve had men come up to you for all sorts of reasons before, but no one has ever offered to play a kids game with you in return for money- and no one’s ever looked you down the way he had, stating pointedly, ‘you can pay me with your body’ when you’d inevitably started Ddakji at a loss.
You’ve lost count of how many times he’s hit you now - unable to keep track of the blows the same way your wins are marked by the bills in your hand - Maybe you should start counting, you think maybe he’d like that.
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I’m Glad We Met
summary: you’re a designer, and you meet Johnny Suh when you get the chance to design his outfit for the Met Gala. That night, the starting point, brings together two strangers, unavoidably attracted to each other even over long distances, thousands of miles and interruptions OR johnny suh holds your hand once and you never want him to let go again
length: 20,789 words
tags: strangers to friends to lovers, long-distance, slowburn, fingering, titty head, slight dacryphilia, big dick johnny, multiple orgasms, marathon sex
The moment your team threw Johnny Suh’s name into the list of potential celebrities to wear your design to the Met Gala, you knew it had to be him. He had the perfect look. The perfect figure. He had the dazzling charm that you knew would wear your design confidently on that infamous set of stairs.
You could scarcely believe it when his team reached back out to yours with a confirmation.
A lot of the planning is done virtually. Comments on designs, his measurements, scheduling and planning for when exactly he will arrive in New York in advance. You speak with Johnny and his team a couple times over video call, but the first time you actually meet him in person is only two days before the momentous event.
“Are you nervous?” Johnny asks with an easy grin after the greetings and introductions are made. “It’s your first Met Gala, right?”
It is.
You were surprised to score the invitation, to be acknowledged in any way by Anna Wintour, to be offered the opportunity to not only walk the carpet and attend the event but to have your designs on display for the world to love or hate.
“I’m a bit nervous,” you admit to Johnny.
He laughs. “I’m a seasoned pro now,” he jokes. “This is my second year, so I can hold your hand through it all.”
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