rocky asking a question about humans and grace letting the reader explain because he knows they’re particularly interested in the topic <3
I'm a sucker for quietly supportive bf Ryland
Ryland bends down to be eye level with Rocky's ball, a grin already forming on his face.
"I don't know much about that, buddy, but they do, you should go ask them"
Rocky chitters and happily rolls away to ask you and Ryland can your face light up from where hes standing.
A couple hours later he finds rocky and asks like "did you have a good chat?" And Rocky happily taps his ball "Very good. Much good data!"
And when he sees you next you excitedly ramble about how Rocky asked you about something you love and he just nods, not telling you he directed the eridian to you or that he noticed your passion.
Ryland pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, frowning. "Still feverish" he murmurs as he lays another cool cloth across the sweaty skin.
He had been fussing over you for hours, he even called into work so he could care for you. He had made sure you always had a clean bag in the trashcan by your bed, just in case. He made sure you took medication on a schedule to optimize the relief time. He made fresh pots of soup and made sure you had plenty of fluid.
You were splayed out on the pull out couch in your living room, blankets nested around you and TV playing quietly in the background. Ryland slid under the blankets with you, wrapping himself around you "this okay?" He murmurs, kissing your temple "you're going to catch my sick" you huff out in response "but..yeah" he grins, sighing contently "I'd let you give me the black death"
And in that moment, you knew he was telling the truth. You were his everything.
i’m a total sucker for simon calling grace angel as a pet name. what about him calling reader something like dove since they represent peace? i think doing something with symbolism for peace (doves, olive branch, white poppy) could be cute :]
grace having to win over the cat that the reader adopted a few months after they first split. it’s quite entertaining.
Yess !!
Its this grumpy old shelter cat (I'm imagining a longhair of some kind) and she hates EVERYONE. you named her like princess or smth and Ryland is like "aww so cute! Owie she scratched me:(" he's a little scared of her
And it takes a WHILE of treats and very carefully letting her get used to him, but she warms up. You'll walk into a room and find her curled up on his chest, meowing lazily.
College ryland crashing on your couch for a while cause your apartment is close to campus and the heating in the dorms is out.
You dont charge him rent but he makes it very clear he isnt a freeloader. He stocks the fridge, fixes leaky pipes (after watching several YouTube tutorials), he pays for dinner, he leaves you little encouraging notes during finals.
He becomes your unofficial roommate, even after the heating comes back he stays most nights at your place. And you let him, partly because he's cute, partly because he's helpful to have around.
He sleeps in your bed sometimes but thats neither here nor there.
grace x artist!reader where he sits and watches them when they’ve Locked In
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YES okay
You're sitting in your shared bedroom, cross legged on your bed, sketching. Maybe a commission project, maybe for fun.
But Ryland is mesmerized he loves seeing you so focused and in your element, sitting across from you or maybe with his arms around your middle so he can watch.
He just loves seeing you so relaxed, so focused on doing something you enjoy. Every now and then he pipes up with questions about posing or colors, happy to understand more about what you do.
No gendered pronouns used, description of car crash, light hurt/comfort
Summery; a minor car crash serves to bring you back into the orbit of your ex boyfriend, who's changed but not moved on.
≈ 2k words
The rain in Massachusetts had a way of turning the world into a blurred painting of sorts, gray and oppressive. For you, it had been a Tuesday like any other, as far as you remember at least. The afternoon was coming back in flashes: the grocery store, the thunk of rain on your windshield, the black sedan hydroplaning across the I-95 towards you. You remembered the cold, the dull throbbing in your temples, and the blue and red lights before you slipped into unconsciousness.
The hospital was a haze of fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic. You remembered the paramedics, the cold air of the ER, and the dull, throbbing ache in your shoulder and ribs. You had a mild concussion and a hairline fracture in your clavicle—nothing life-threatening, but enough to keep you confined to a sterile room for a few days of observation and recovery.
As the nurse processed your intake forms, she had paused, looking at the tablet in her hand. "Your emergency contact has been called, he has asked us to let you know he's on his way"
Your heart had stuttered, a sensation more jarring than the crash itself. You had meant to change your emergency contact listed for months, you never thought you would end up in the hospital so you could put it off while you mourned your relationship. It was still Ryland.
You hadn’t spoken to Ryland Grace in a year. A whole year of silence, of avoiding the coffee shops you used to frequent, of almost sending him articles, nearly buying him silly shirts, of your mind wandering to him in the night. Now, your own procrastination was pulling him back into your life.
The door to the room creaked open about 15 minutes later. Ryland sort of spilled into the room, he was wearing a rumpled tee shirt(one of his signature goofy ones) and a baggy jacket, and his hair was a chaotic nest as if he’d been running his hands through it in a panic for the entire drive over. He looked exactly as you remembered: brilliant, frazzled, and wearing an expression of sheer, wide-eyed terror.
He stopped dead in the center of the room, his gaze locking onto yours. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the steady *beep... beep... beep* of the heart monitor. "You're alive," he breathed, his voice cracking slightly. As if he hadn't been sure, despite the fact you only sustained minor injuries "you came " you retort, your voice sounding small and raspy.
Ryland let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh, and he practically collapsed into the plastic chair beside your bed. He didn't touch you—not yet—but he leaned in, his eyes scanning your face, the bandage on your forehead, and the sling supporting your arm with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.
"I got the call and I—I think I forgot how to breathe for a full minute," he rambled, the familiar cadence of his nervous energy returning. "I was in the middle of a lab demo, and I nearly knocked over a beaker of chemicals because my hands were shaking, and I just started driving. I didn't even realize I'd left my headlights on high until I hit the parking lot. Why didn't you change the contact? I mean, not that I'm complaining! I'm glad I was the one called! But it's been a year, and I thought... I thought maybe you'd hate me enough to delete me from every single database in the tri-state area." You managed a weak, tired smile. "I didn't hate you, Ryland."
He looked away, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "Right. Yeah. Of course. We just... we drifted. Or I pushed. Or we both stopped pulling. It was a systemic failure of communication." Even in the middle of a crisis, he spoke in terms of systems and variables. It was one of the things you had loved about him—the way his mind categorized the world—and one of the things that had made your relationship so difficult. He lived in the abstract, in the theoretical, often forgetting that the person standing right in front of him needed something more tangible than a logical explanation.
"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice softening. "Sore," you admitted. "And tired."
"The doctor said a concussion," he explained, glancing at the chart at the foot of the bed. "Mild traumatic brain injury. Essentially, your brain took a little bounce inside your skull. Not a bad bounce, but enough to cause some inflammation and brain fog. You should be resting. Why are you talking to me? You should be sleeping." "I was. I'm awake now," you laughed.
Ryland finally reached out. His hand hovered over yours for a second, hesitant, before he gently rested his fingers against your skin. His touch was warm, familiar, and it sent a jolt through you that felt more potent than any medication the nurses had administered. You didn't pull away. Instead, you turned your hand over, interlacing your fingers with his.
He squeezed your hand, his grip tight, as if he were afraid you might vanish if he let go. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"Why? You didn't crash my car" you try to joke, blinking back hot tears "Not for that," he said, looking you in the eyes. "For everything else." You smile for the first time since the crash, "I know"
The first twenty-four hours were a blur of medication and fragmented sleep. Ryland didn't leave. He had called his department to tell them he was taking a personal leave, and he spent the hours in the uncomfortable hospital chair, reading aloud to you in a low, soothing drone when you couldn't sleep, or simply holding your hand while you drifted off.
It was a slow, tentative dance. The hurt that had simmered for the last year had been extinguished by the sheer terror of the accident, replaced by a fragile, aching vulnerability. You found yourself watching him when he thought you were asleep, watching the way he chewed his lip when he was thinking, the way he meticulously organized the water pitchers and tissues on your bedside table.
On the second day, the need for comfort decided settle in. The initial shock had worn off, leaving behind the raw edges of your shared history. "Why did you stay?" you asked him during a quiet afternoon. The sun was filtering through the blinds, casting golden slats across the linoleum floor. Ryland paused, his hand paused in the act of peeling an orange for you. "What do you mean?"
"Why didn't you just call a family member? Or a friend? You could have just told the nurse you'd notify someone else and left it at that. You didn't have to come here. Not after how we ended." Ryland set the orange slice down on a plastic plate and looked at you. The awkwardness was still there, but it was layered with something deeper—a profound, enduring affection.
"Because you were the one who called me," he said simply. "And because... well, logically, I've spent the last year trying to convince myself that I was better off focusing on my work, that the distractions of a relationship were hindering my productivity. But the second I heard you were hurt, all that logic just... evaporated. It was like a chemical reaction. One catalyst, and the whole structure collapsed. I realized that I don't care about the productivity. I just care that you're okay." You felt a lump form in your throat. "Ryland..."
"I missed you," he added, his voice barely a whisper. "I missed the way you challenge me. I missed the way you tell me when I'm being an idiot. I've had plenty of people, friends who agree with me or argue with me on a technical level, but no one who actually *knows* me. Not like you did."
You reached out with your good arm, brushing your fingers against his cheek. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. For a moment, the hospital disappeared. The smell of bleach and the sound of distant paging vanished, replaced by the memory of late nights in a shared apartment, the smell of old books and burnt coffee, and the feeling of being completely understood. "I missed you too," you admitted. "I hated that we stopped talking. I just didn't know how to start again."
"I'm a scientist," Ryland said, opening his eyes with a small, tentative smirk. "I'm usually much smarter than this, but..I dont know if I want to be this time"
Over the next few days, the conversations shifted from the accident to the gaps in your lives. You told him about your new job, the places you'd traveled, the way you'd learned to live in the silence he'd left behind. He told you about his frustrations with the school, his students, and softly, the crushing loneliness that had settled into his bones the moment you'd walked out the door last year.
There was a tenderness to his care that felt new. In the past, Ryland had been prone to neglecting the "small stuff"—forgetting anniversaries or losing track of time. But here, in the sterile confines of the ward, he was meticulously attentive. He made sure your pillows were fluffed, he advocated for you with the nurses when your pain medication was late, and he brought you a specific type of peppermint tea from a shop three miles away because he remembered it was your favorite.
One evening, as the nurses were finishing their rounds and the room dimmed into a soft twilight, Ryland was helping you sit up. He was being incredibly careful, his movements slow and deliberate as he supported your back. As he pulled away, he didn't move far. His face was inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. The air between you felt charged, heavy with everything that had been left unsaid for years. "Can I?" he whispered, his eyes searching yours.
You didn't answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward, closing the gap. The kiss was hesitant at first, a question asked in the dark. It tasted of peppermint and longing. It was a reconciliation, a bridge being rebuilt brick by brick. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily. "I'm not letting you change your emergency contact again," he murmured. You laughed, a genuine sound that made your ribs ache, but you didn't care. "I think I can live with that."
The discharge process was a flurry of paperwork and instructions. Ryland insisted on driving you home, treating you like you were made of the finest, most fragile porcelain. He helped you into the passenger seat, buckled your seatbelt for you, and drove at a speed that was probably ten miles under the limit.
Once you were settled back into your own home—a place he hadn't seen in a year—the reality of the situation set in. You weren't the same people they had been all that time ago. The edges had been sanded down; the arrogance had been replaced by humility, and the silence had been replaced by a hard-won honesty. Ryland didn't leave that night. He stayed on your couch, though he spent most of the evening sitting on the floor by your bed, talking to you until you fell asleep.
The next morning he was up at six, making you breakfast and helping you ease up in bed. Pain meds and pancakes for breakfast. He chilled water bottles and made sure you weren't spending too long looking at screens.
Every ounce of care that had fizzled out of your relationship was pouring out in droves, kissing your forehead, checking on you every couple minutes, everything you needed and more.
He's got you again, and now he's never going back.
Reader who is pregnant but you and Ryland broke up or wtv and you never told him but then smth happens and you dont have anyone else to call and you call him and he thinks you moved on super fast (its been some months but hes hung up) and you have to awkwardly explain it to him and he'd be horrified because he left you and your baby and hes terrible and youre like I never told you lol and hes like !!! Still, !!! And then you have a clingy bd always checking up on you cue second chance romance
Ryland is the type of bf to watch you play a game and look up a walk-through and give you little hints "maybe try x baby..." and then get so excited for you when you get it
You struggle with executive dysfunction, Ryland handles middle schoolers who also famously struggle with things like that.
Say you have a favorite little treat from the corner store by your house. You're struggling with assignments? Ryland is right there with you. "We can go get your treat after this one"
Ryland is helping you clean and youre struggling to not get distracted? "One more episode after we mop"
Struggling to get out of bed, even? "We can go get breakfast after you get dressed"
He never labels you lazy or stubborn, he understands neurodivergence (he is too, albeit on a different scale) and does his best to help you.
Being Grace's student teacher, his kids love you and like to make up problems for you to help them out
"I dont know how to do this" while holding the instructions
"Did I do it right?" A star student. Did it exactly like ryland demonstrated
Ect ect.
It starts putting ideas in Ryland's head, you're such a good teacher, so parental and in your element.
He starts thinking about you having kids together, youre not even dating.
Its not even sexual (okay sometimes it is), he just thinks about how gorgeous you would look with a baby on your hip or reading storybooks to a toddler.
He wouldnt expect you to quit school or your job in these fantasies, but he'd want you to work at Grover Cleveland middle, so he could walk to the car with you, arrive and leave together and just be close to you as much as he possibly can.
One day he'll work up the courage to make those fantasies happen. For now watching is enough.
