I love Chuuya and Dazai *cough*mainly Chuuya but emotionally love 15 Dazai (he just a baby that needed love AND A GOOD CHILDHOOD)
Even though I’m mainly obsessed with fictional characters T^T I love Ryan gosling he SO FINE especially in Fall guy, Nice guys, and project Hail Mary
LOVEEEEEEE reading fics it’s why I’m on here beside art hehehehehe will basically ONLY relog art/fics etc :p
I’m in MANY fandoms like bsd
Haikyu, Jjk, demon slayer, blue lock, Gachiakuta, paswg, soul eater, Tokyo revengers, Tokyo ghouls, Aot, kPopdemonhunters, Dan Da Dan, cells at work and many more I just can’t remember :p
song rec for this : Unhealthy Obsession | a/n: this my first time writing for alnst/zombie stage so pls spare me 🥹 (I hc that when they lose they get a limb removed) might be ooc but fuck it we die like hyuna
thinking about.. zombie!luka who became obsessed after spotting you in the crowd during one of his performances. the way you seemed like you were actually admiring the show instead of seeing luka as an object for entertainment captivated him.
thinking about.. zombie!luka who purposely loses whenever he notices that you aren't in the audience or when you don't pay attention to him when he's singing. why would you put your focus on someone other than your favorite idol, do you suddenly hate him? :(
thinking about.. zombie!luka who dreams about infecting you so that way you'll be a duo and perform side by side on stage.
thinking about.. zombie!luka who'd literally give all his limbs and body parts to you if asked, he wouldn't hesitate if it makes you happy.
thinking about.. zombie!luka who finally builds up the courage to spot you in the crowd and attempt to make his way to you so he could at least get your name. even though it did end with him losing and getting a limb removed, he still thinks it was worth it.
summary: your life was finally gluing itself back together after falling apart 18 months ago. but will a certain stuntman coming back into your life break everything again?
tags: fem!reader, set designer reader, some colt pov, secret kid trope, daugher has a name, colt's accident, inaccurate movie set things, some angst, language, colt being a class a yearner, oh no its a series
ryan gosling masterlist | join my taglist
The only thing Colt could think to describe Australia was sunny. Bright. He squinted his eyes, hand above his brow to try to block out the sun, as he stepped onto the set of Metalstorm for the first time. He knew he was supposed to be looking for Dan so they could discuss the upcoming stunt Colt was doing, but really, he was looking for you everywhere. Every group he passed he scanned their faces for your features that he knew so well. Every tent he passed, he tried to get a peek inside the flap.
You had to be somewhere. Gail said you were the set designer for Metalstorm. The corner of Colt’s mouth ticked up at the thought. The last time he saw you, you were just a set dresser. The worker who made the designer’s vision come to life — moved furniture, distressed props, scribbled on bits of paper. But now you were the one with the vision, the one telling other people what to do. He just knew you were amazing at it. He didn’t even have to see your designs to know.
He just did.
Gail also told him that you were the one who insisted that Colt be hired as the new stuntman for the film. He didn’t know why you would do such a thing, you hadn’t split up on exactly the best of terms. But he wanted to thank you. And he wanted to think that maybe there could still be something between you if you thought that. He really wanted that to be true. Because no matter how hard Colt tried, he was still madly in love with you.
Dan found him before he found you, unfortunately.
An air canon. A car roll in the sand. Colt swallowed something thick as he was handed a helmet and led to the shore. Of all the stunts to be the first one he did after his accident, it just had to be a car roll. In loose sand. He tried to tell Dan that it wasn’t a great idea to do it in those conditions, but Dan was convinced it was just Colt trying to get out of the stunt. That it was just Colt being scared after what happened to him. Colt denied that of course, but…There was some truth to it. He was scared. He hadn’t performed any kind of stunt in over a year. What if he didn’t remember how to do anything? What if he got into another accident? What if he got killed before he had the chance to make up with you?
There wasn’t time for any more excuses. The director was calling for the scene to be shot now, the light was fading fast.
Colt was crawling out of the upside down car before he even really knew that it was happening. It was all a blur of roaring engines crunching metal and wind in his face. He gave a thumbs up as he was pulled from the wreck before he even really knew if he was okay or not.
“That was incredible! Eight and a half rolls! That’s going to look great in Hall H,” the director said as she came up to Colt, who took off his helmet with a deep breath, knowing as soon as he saw that it was Jody that he was in for it. “Colt? What’re you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Gail called me. Said you need a stunt guy.”
“I mean…We do and — and I’m glad to see you’re well but…She is not gonna wanna see you.”
He knew what she Jody was referring to. You. It physically hurt remembering all those terrible things he said to you.
“Will you just leave! I don’t want your help!”
“I don’t care about some stupid book on some old movie set!”
“I bet you like this don’t you? Me flat on my ass so you can feel better about yourself.”
It didn’t matter that he was in pain and miserable, he shouldn’t have been such an asshole to you.
“But…Gail said she insisted I get called out here,” Colt said, confused.
“No, she absolutely did not,” Jody replied with a disbelieving chuckle.
There. Over Jody’s shoulder. In front of one of the prop tents. It was you. Colt’s heart thundered in his chest. He smiled despite the nerves that suddenly seized his stomach, ten times worse than before he got in that stunt car. You looked beautiful. Different from the last time he saw you. Your hair was shorter. Your smile more free as you went over something on a clipboard. Your skin was kissed by that bright Australian sun and Colt no longer minded it.
He missed you so much.
Jody looked over her shoulder to see what he was suddenly distracted by then turned back to Colt with a stern point of her finger. “Don’t you —”
“It was nice seeing you Jody,” he said distractedly, patting her on the shoulder as he passed her.
You flipped to the next page on your clipboard. Right. The princess’ chambers. Jody wanted lots of tapestry. Funky furniture. A bare sort of look that invoked this alien peoples’ sense of utilitarianism. You just got back from gathering pieces that might suit from a few warehouses and stores, a truck full of things being delivered to the soundstage down the road. But you wanted to go over your findings with Jody first before you went over there for the day with your crew.
When you looked up from your clipboard, it was not Jody you saw.
It was Colt Seavers.
You screamed before Colt even hit the ground. You had watched that wire stunt a hundred times. You knew that it was going too fast, that something was wrong. So when he hit the floor and didn’t get back up, you ran before the director even had the sense to yell cut — too in shock that that even just happened to move let alone say anything. You called Colt’s name as you grabbed his face, careful not to move his neck just in case. In case something was broken and you just made it worse. He was out cold. Eyes shut.
Your eyes watered with tears as you stroked his cheekbone. “Please wake up.”
Distantly, like they were in a completely different room, you heard someone call for the medical team. You clung to his body as they checked his vital signs, put him in a collar and oxygen mask, then loaded him onto a stretcher. They let you ride in the ambulance with him because you refused to let him go, because you were a mess of tears and repeating his name like that somehow might make everything better.
When he finally opened his eyes halfway to the hospital, the first thing he said was your name.
You didn’t say anything for awhile. Unsure if this was your brain manifesting your worst nightmare or not. But after a minute, you decided this was real. Colt was really standing in front of you. On the set of Metalstorm. Hands on his hips. Eyes squinted against the sun. Wearing the stunt teams’ blue jumpsuit. Grinning at you. He looked so stupidly handsome you wanted to slap yourself.
“Hi,” he said with a small wave after another moment of tense silence.
You shifted your gaze down to the sand. Unable to bear the sight of him anymore.
“Hi,” you answered in a small voice.
“You — You look good.” Colt adjusted his weight from one foot to the other. Clearly nervous.
You glanced up at him with a curl of your lip. “Don’t start with that.”
“With what?” he laughed.
“With the…General Colt-ness,” you said, gesturing to his body with an open palm.
He chuckled again. “General Colt-ness?”
“Yes. You know what I’m talking about.”
Another moment of silence. You clutched your clipboard a bit tighter, plastic creaking under your tight grip as you bounced on the balls of your feet. You wanted to run. You wanted to pretend this didn’t happen. Truthfully, you wanted to cry. Or hit whoever thought hiring him was a good idea.
Colt started the conversation up again. “So…Set designer, huh?”
You couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “Yes. Jody — Jody offered me the job.”
“That’s great,” he breathed, relieved at the fact that you were smiling instead of being all small in front of him. “That’s…That’s amazing. I saw one of the sets earlier and it looked just — incredible. It-It looked like you did it.”
“How so?” you asked, brow furrowed, as you looked up at him fully for the first time. You didn’t think you had a signature just yet.
“It…There was a table. Under a canopy. I don’t know how to explain but it just looked lived in. It looked like a character set it up. Not the art department. A character in the movie. And — And you were always good at that.
You just looked at him for a moment. At Colt Seavers. The guy who broke your heart. The guy who made you feel worthless. The guy you spent so long blaming everything on. The guy who smiled at you now like you hung the very stars in the sky. Like if you weren’t looking at him he would cease to exist. He had changed since the last time you saw him. Of course, there was the obvious stuff. He was no longer bedridden and finally got a haircut. But there was a lightness to him now that wasn’t there after the accident. There was a regret there too that you could see broiling under the surface.
Before you could say anything in return, Dan called from across the way: “Colt! Next stunt, man! Fire!”
He held up a lighter with a massive grin and Colt visibly sagged with a sigh. You remembered he hated fire stunts. He said they made his bloodpressure spike to ungodly levels.
“Good luck, Colt,” you said, adjusting your clipboard again.
He huffed, something unbelieving in it, as he smiled. “Thanks.”
Then he was off, jogging across the pathway where Dan met him to take him to the costume tent. You watched him go until he was just a speck on the other side of the village. Unsure why you couldn’t look away. A rolling dread filling your gut at the thought of him being here for the rest of shooting. Another month. Or more if the reshoot list kept piling up like it was. A month and then some of Colt being around.
Oh, God.
Just then, Jody’s PA, Chris, walked up with a smoothie in hand.
“This is from Jody,” he said as he handed it off to you.
“Oh, well, thank you,” you said as you took it from him gratefully.
The condensation was cold in your palm against the Australian heat. You took a sip and sighed. Mango — your favorite. So Jody knew Colt was here. Knew that you would need a pick-me-up after seeing him again for the first time in over a year.
Chris looked down at his clipboard as he went on. “Also, she says she’s sorry but the treaty set needs a little more work.”
“Really?” you groaned then took another sip of your smoothie. “Did she say why?”
“She just said the…Vibe was off?”
You sighed, understanding but exasperated, as you nodded. This was Jody’s first movie as a writer and a director. Metalstorm was her baby. A baby that she was very particular and finicky about. You understood, but you were unsure how many more times you could take her telling you that the vibe was off about something before you blew a fuse. So, you gave Chris your thanks and headed off towards the treaty set.
That was actually the set Colt was talking about. You liked that set. Out in the middle of the sand. Deep purple canopy that created a makeshift shelter. A stone table that wasn’t exactly easy to move. Pieces of parchment and tablets because this was a treaty between humans and aliens. It was simple, but you thought it spoke multitudes about Aliena’s efforts into ending the war.
As you walked to the edge of the village, towards where Jody was filming a fight scene and the treaty set, you called your own assistant on the phone.
“Hey, Tasha, yeah, everything’s good. Um, change of plans for dropoff. Just bring her to set. If she’s not terrified at the sight of an alien by now then I think we’re okay. Nah, it’ll be fine. Thank you. You’re the best.”
Colt was in full costume. Shiny foil pants and jacket. Cowboy hat. Sunglasses. He assumed the costume was probably comfortable, but it had been so long since he wore a harness and wires. Or a flame retardant suit. The harness dug into his skin. The suit made him sweat. But once this stunt was done and the gate was checked, he could go sleep for the next ten hours. Or finally find that cup of coffee that had been evading him since he landed.
As Dan checked the wires and the rig one last time, Colt caught sight of you again and he smiled. You were at the set with the canopy he saw earlier that day, just on the other side of the rocky set he was at. Adjusting a few props and the lay of the fabric. Totally in your element.
Only, there was a baby on your hip. Babbling and drooling and totally engrossed in whatever you were telling them. Colt swallowed thick as he watched the two of you. The baby was completely comfortable with you. Snuggled up against your side. Completely adorable, obviously, all babies were. With chubby legs, a mop of curly blonde hair, and two teeth like a rabbit. Colt didn’t know a lot about babies, but he had to guess they were maybe a year old.
A weight settled itself heavy in his chest as a thought occurred to him. But he needed to be sure.
“Hey —” He elbowed Dan in the side and jutted his chin towards you. “Who’s the kid?”
Dan looked for a moment, eyes squinted then he went back to tugging on Colt’s harness. “That’s her daughter, Riley, I think.”
Dan gave the thumbs up, the stunt team was good to go. But Colt was far from good to go. His mind reeled as he mindlessly got to his mark in the sand and took on the starting pose Dan showed him. A baby. A daughter. You had a daughter. Dan lit him on fire. His pulse spiked.
Wait…When was the last time he saw you?
Sixteen months ago. Not that he was keeping track or anything. Pregnancies lasted nine months. If your baby was a certain age…It could make sense. Colt’s heart raced for a completely different reason as Jody called action. He couldn’t focus on what he was doing. Not when, over the fire and the alien screams and the sounds of the wire rig, he could hear the baby babble and you being so sweet with her. He ran towards the explosion point aimlessly.
Colt got pulled back and slammed against the rock. Jody yelled cut.
And then she yelled, “What the hell was that?”
He knew he completely messed up the choreography. But Colt couldn’t stop thinking. Wondering. What if…? Couldn’t stop listening to your daughter and feeling like his chest was too tight.
It took him four more tries and almost getting his eyebrows singed off before he finally got it right. At least right enough for Jody to call check the gate, and the AD to round everyone up for the next scene. His entire body ached, down to his very bones. Colt immediately stripped himself of most of his costume. Hat, glasses, and coat discarded into some poor PA’s hands before he was unhooked from the wires.
“What is your problem man?” Dan asked.
But Colt was a one-track mind. Always had been. He wasn’t listening as he started making his way towards you. He needed to know. He needed the truth. He needed to make his head stop spinning.
Your daughter was no longer in your arms. Now she was on the ground, had pulled herself up to stand with her hands keeping her balanced on a set chair. Patting the seat of it in a nonsensical rhythm. You were talking to the art director, holding the drapes of the canopy in your hands. But when you saw Colt standing there, staring at your daughter, breathing heavily and covered in dirt, you excused yourself.
You thought you would have more time before you had to have this conversation. If you had to have it at all. Your stomach dropped through to the center of the earth as you walked up to him, blocking his view of Riley.
“Hey, Colt,” you greeted him quietly.
He finally looked up at you with something crazed in his eyes. “Is…Is she mine?”
“Um…Guess there’s no way to sugarcoat this,” you said, voice and hands shaking as you glanced back at Riley. “Yes. She is.”
There was a long silence after that where Colt stared at you and you looked anywhere but at him. Riley happily babbling away behind you like your world wasn’t falling apart all over again. To Colt, it felt like the world had been tipped upside down and shaken until something fell out.
He had a daughter.
He was a father.
He missed everything.
“Why didn’t you — ?” he started to ask.
Your pent-up rage spiked as you frowned up at him, eyes shining with tears. “You don’t get to pull that shit with me, Colt. I…I found out right after your accident. I didn’t wanna tell you then because you already had so much going on and — and you were hurting. Then you…You really hurt me. You shut me out. You changed your number. So, it was pretty clear you didn’t want anything to do with me. I did what I thought was best for everybody.”
“You seriously thought leaving me out of her life was best? For who?” he questioned through a harsh whisper, leaning in closer to you when he caught a glimpse of how many people were starting to stare.
“For everyone! I…I don’t know.” A few tears slipped down your cheeks as you hugged yourself tight. “I wanted to be there for you, through all of it. I told you that. I was willing to put in the work. But I…I thought you hated me, Colt.”
He didn’t have anything to say to that. In some ways, back then, he did hate you. Hated your kindness. Hated your sympathy. Hated your love. And he hated that he hated it. He thought he was doing what was best by pushing you away. You didn’t need to deal with what he had become. You didn’t need to deal with how much he needed you. He thought it would be better for everyone.
Turns out it wasn’t.
Turns out there was more to regret than a lost relationship.
Something touched his leg. He looked down, and there was Riley. She was pulling herself up with his pant leg, looking up at him with big blue eyes that matched his own perfectly. A breath gasped its way softly out of his lungs as he looked down at her. She cocked her head curiously at him, and Colt was overcome. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to make her giggle. He wanted to wipe away her tears and get her dressed in the morning and watch her sleep and everything.
He wanted everything.
“I can’t do this,” you whimpered as you snatched Riley away.
You placed her on your hip and practically ran from him. And Colt watched you go with his jaw slack and a longing filling his gut he was only just beginning to understand.
ꨄ˙ SYNOPSIS: bsd men as girl dads to their daughters
ꨄ˙ CW(s): f! mom! reader, established relationship (married to your lover ofc), fluff, short scenarios, not proofread
DAZAI was humming the quiet melody of his 'certain' song as he cradles his little one. the baby in his arms was sniffling, crying softly and practically looking at him with tearful brown eyes that resembles his. he gently hushes and cradles baby sonoko in his arms, his soothing hums a lullaby in the quiet room.
sonoko was a captivating blend of both you and dazai. with her dark hair that mirrored dazai's locks and the bright twinkle in her [color] eyes reminiscent of your own, she was practically a living canvas of your shared features.
dazai gently rocks baby sonoko in his arms, whispering soothing words to calm her cries. the soft glow of the nightlight illuminated the room, creating a serene atmosphere. he cradles her close, the warmth of his embrace a comforting haven.
"hush, my little one," he murmurs, his voice a gentle melody. "there, there, sonoko. daddy is here." dazai presses a tender kiss to her forehead, his heart swelling with paternal affection, "no need for tears, little darling."
he softly sang a lullaby, the words weaving through the air like a protective cocoon. as the room embraced a peaceful stillness, sonoko's cries transformed into quiet sniffles.
dazai continued to sway gently, cherishing the precious moment of connection with his baby girl. he places her head against his chest, manipulating his heart beat into a calming rate to ground her with its sound.
you lay in bed, exhausted, but you find yourself smiling in the calmness of the night as you see your husband and daughter share a quiet bond, the world outside fading away. dazai's love for sonoko radiated in every soothing touch, a promise to always be there, hushing away any fears or tears that may come.
"you're doing that thing with your heart again, aren't you?" you whisper softly to dazai, quietly giggling.
dazai glances at you, still cradling the fruit of your love to his chest, he gently strides to your side and presses a lingering kiss on your forehead, "yeah, i am."
"i still don't get how you do that though, but it works, doesn't it?" you say softly as you see how your baby girl is all calm now.
you extend your arms to reach for sonoko but dazai gently refuses to do so, and he shakes his head as he insists, "shh, let me look after her. you go get some rest, darling."
"are you sure, osamu? sonoko can get a bit fussy," you ask softly as dazai uses his free hand that wasn't carrying sonoko to gently push you to lie back down in bed and pull the blanket over your chest.
"i'm certain. please, my love. you're exhausted from feeding her and looking after. it's daddy's turn to take over, okay?" dazai chuckles softly as sonoko began to coo and pat her tiny hands against her daddy, "we're ok."
"okay," you giggle quietly as you look at your husband and daughter, "try not to give your daddy a bad time, okay sonoko?"
sonoko merely coo and giggle at the sound of your voice before they intensified in volunme when dazai started to tickle her sides and pepper her cute round face in kisses, the rain of affection from her father making her happy.
CHUUYA sighs, holding baby saika in his arms as her cries echoed through the room. he paced around, trying to replicate the comfort saika found in her mother's presence—your presence.
although your child resembled very much like you, she got her traits and personality mostly from chuuya. she even throws quite the fuss when she was upset, and chuuya only realizes it now that you're away for a while.
"shh, saika, it's okay. come on, now." he whispers softly, his voice a mixture of reassurance and longing.
despite his best efforts to spoil her with affection, saika's cries persisted and he feels a pang of helplessness, "mommy will be back soon, little one. until then, it's just you and me, okay?" chuuya continued to sway, his touch tender and caring.
but saika's cries merely intensified, and chuuya's frustration grew. he couldn't replace the warmth and comfort that only her mother seemed to provide.
chuuya's heart sank as he looked down at his precious little one, her tear-filled eyes gazing up at him with a mix of sadness and yearning. he felt a wave of helplessness wash over him, an ache in his chest as he desperately wished he could ease her distress.
"come on, saika," chuuya whispers softly, his voice a blend of sorrow and affection. he cradles her even closer, tracing gentle circles on her back. "what's making you so upset, huh? don't you want toys? food? sweetheart, please."
saika's tiny lips quivered, and her cries persisted. chuuya's usual fiery determination waned in the face of his daughter's tears. money and gifts meant nothing in this moment. though he had her spoiled with everything and anything, she didn't seem to want any of those things as she would only squirm, kick and throw those things away in a tantrum.
in a moment of realization, chuuya gently sets aside the lavish toys and the carefully prepared food. he holds saika to his face and he looks into her teary eyes and finally, he understood the true source of her distress.
"it's not about the toys or the treats, is it, saika?" he muses softly, a smile forming on his face. cradling her up in his arms, he held her close, focusing on the simple act of giving her his undivided attention.
as he spoke soothingly to her, chuuya sensed the shift in saika's mood. her cries slowly gave way to sniffles, and she looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. realizing that what she craved was the connection with her daddy, chuuya embraced the simplicity of the moment.
"dada's right here, baby," he whispers to saika, pressing a tender kiss on her cheek, "i got you."
in that instant, the room was filled not with the extravagant gifts he could provide, but with the warmth of a father's love that proved to be the most comforting of all.
he bounced her tenderly as he swayed around the room, the rhythm calming her sniffles. chuuya presses another soft kiss on her forehead, and saika's tiny hands clung to his shirt, finding solace in the familiar embrace.
as you entered the room later on, a tired yet content smile adorned chuuya's face. his hair was tied in a low ponytail with stickers and traces of food decorated his face. in his arms, little saika peacefully slept, nestled against his chest, her [color] hair braided with small butterfly clips.
chuuya looked up, and his eyes softened at the sight of you, "hey there, love," he greets you quietly, careful not to wake saika, "we had a little adventure, but someone decided it was time for a nap."
you couldn't help but giggle fondly at the adorable scene before you. the stickers and food smudges on your husband seemed like badges of a day well spent. saika, oblivious to your arrival, continued to sleep soundly in her father's arms.
quietly, chuuya rose from his spot, carefully transferring saika to her crib. as he joined you, he sighs happily and captures your lips in a tender kiss, "looks like our little one just wanted some dada time today." the exhaustion in his eyes was overshadowed by the joy of the shared moments.
"seems like it," you say softly as you wrap your arms around his neck as you kiss once again, "but hey, you did good. thanks for looking after saika."
"don't mention it, we're in this together. i can't have my darling wife do everything. you deserved a well-rested break today," chuuya whispers against your lips as nuzzles his nose against yours lovingly.
FYODOR cradled his precious lyubov on his lap, her wide eyes filled with curiosity. with a tender smile, he began to read from a novel, his deep yet gentle voice resonating through the quiet space.
"once upon a time, in the turbulent depths of the human soul, there lived a complex character named raskolnikov. he grappled with existential questions, much like the profound mysteries we face in our own lives," fyodor narrates, his gaze shifting between the words on the page and the wide-eyed innocence in lyubov's eyes.
as he continued reading, the intricate plot and philosophical undertones of the novel intertwined with the gentle rhythm of lyubov's breathing. fyodor couldn't help but adapt the narrative, transforming it into a bedtime story that echoed the complexities of morality and human nature.
lyubov, oblivious to the weighty themes, giggled in delight at her father's animated expressions. fyodor, in turn, savored the precious moments, cherishing the bond he was cultivating with his daughter.
as lyubov listened to her father's storytelling, a contagious giggle bubbled up from within her. with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she pointed at the novel in fyodor's hands.
giggling at the sight of her father's earnest storytelling, little lyubov couldn't contain her innocence as she pointed at the pages in amusement.
lyubov, with her jet-black hair cascading in waves down her shoulders, bore a striking resemblance to her father, fyodor. the deep purple hue of her eyes mirrored his own, reflecting a shared intensity that seemed to peer into the depths of the human soul.
yet, amidst these echoes of her father's traits, her features held a delicate familiarity, capturing the essence of her other parent—you. the gentle curve of her nose and the subtle arch of her eyebrows were reminiscent of your own distinct features too.
in a moment of quiet amusement, you turned to fyodor, your husband, a playful glint in your eyes, "isn't she a tad too young for stories like that, darling?" you ask, your laughter blending with the warmth of the dimly lit room as you enter your baby's room.
fyodor, with a gentle smile, glanced at lyubov, who had now nestled herself comfortably against his chest, before looking at you, "perhaps, my love," he replies, his voice carrying a touch of self-awareness, "but the beauty of storytelling is that it grows with the listener. however, if you insist, then i suppose i'll find tales more suited to her age, tales that will weave the magic of childhood without delving too deep into the complexities of the human psyche."
as lyubov cooed and giggled in response to your shared laughter, fyodor couldn't help but join in the merriment.
with a twinkle in his eye, he gently teases, "my, my. look at this, darling. it seems our little one has a taste for the profound, even if the words are a bit too deep for her tender age. perhaps we have a budding philosopher in our midst."
"perhaps, fedya," you say with a playful glint in your eyes, your lips curving into a smile.
you and fyodor share a tender kiss, the laughter lingering in the air as a sweet reminder that, in the midst of literature's complexities and parenting's challenges, there's always room for joy and lighthearted moments in the embrace of family love as lyubov was still nestled in fyodor's embrace, she continued to babble and gurgle, her infectious laughter filling the room.
ꨄ˙ A.N.: sonoko's name came from one of the dazai osamu's actual children. saika translates to fortune with its kanji meaning happiness and the moon. it was inspired by the poems of upon the tainted sorrow and the moon of the actual nakahara chuuya, but i purposely alluded the name to happiness instead. lyubov means love, and it is also the name of one of the actual children of fyodor dostoevsky. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
What if their wife sends them a video of their baby walking for the first time when they are away for work? (Fyodor, dazai and chuuya)
note. i have focused more on the husband aspect of this request. so i am sorry if this is not what you wanted but i am very proud of how this turned out + my characterization of dazai and chuuya here to some extents (fyodor too but not so much). it is def more romantic than them being farhers but yeah!! also in most of them i have tried to keep the baby gender neutral so you can imagine whatever you want, whether baby boy or girl except for chuuya where a baby boy is mentioned.
fyodor would try to act all nonchalant. like he will see a notification from you, click on it and see the video without showing any emotion on his face because i imagine this happening when he's in the middle of a meeting with the other decay members or when he's clearly surrounded by other important, dangerous people.
once he's home though (may it be a day or two later), he's straight up rushing to the room for his baby. picking his baby in his arms and cooing at them (softly and quietly to the point if you don't pay attention, you can't even hear him let out such affectionate words).
there's a silent pride in his eyes and later when you try to coax him to talk, asking what he thought of the video and all, he smiles gently as he turns to face you and before we get into the words we uttered, the sight of fyodor laying on the pillow next to yours and free of every kind of stress is, to you, like seeing stars twinkle in the night sky. perhaps they too are blushing somewhere right now and twinkling as they witness how in love you are?
"i do not show it but no one is more prouder then me — of our kid and of you."
"why me? it's not me who took my first step." you attempt to tease.
"you did. with every step our kid takes, aren't we also taking our first steps into different aspects of parenthood too, dear?" his eyes twinkle in amusement, it's as if he has seen your amazement towards the stars and stole and placed some of them in his eyes so you would admire him too
and as much as I want to say dazai will be happily bugging and showing kunikida or atsushi or yosano or anyone the videos of his kid, i wholeheartedly believe he's going to be quiet about it too, like fyodor, but for a completely different reason.
let's suppose he's at a meeting too with the local police team in whichever city he's at for the mission with atsushi and kunikida and in the middle of it, he gets the video. he will see that you have sent a video but will not open it until he's all alone in his hotel room.
leaning against the headboard with a pillow on his lap, dazai gulps before he finally plays the video and instantly his eyes with soften in fondness and melancholy.
often times even after having a baby with you, he had gotten the cold feet and wanted to run away from it all because this is such a new experience and as nice it is, it's also a bit uncomfortable because he never thought he's the kind to settle down. it's as if he feels exposed yet at the same time you are exposed too so he feels better.
dazai has so many regrets and guilts and fears of his past somehow catching up in a twisted manner now that he is a father, he spends most of the time in worry and stress despite pretending not to be.
he almost feels like crying. instead, he pauses the video of the tiny bundle of joy wobbling taking a few steps before falling on their butt and giggling loudly. he leans his head back against the wall (behind the headboard) and closes his eyes.
later, when he facetimes you, he's smiling softly as you show him the sleeping baby, "i was scared when i saw the video," he reveals, nervously running a hand through his hair and it's such a weird sight to see him nervous, "because this is just the first achievement. the wobbly steps will turn into more firmer but still wobbly steps in the future. people won't be kind to our kid in the future, right? they'll expect them to act like an adult and that's why i am afraid because this innocent soul is one day going to face the same problems we face along with however the situations is in the future. and i am afraid of my kid walking into the same destructive footsteps i am trying to pull myself out of."
you smile sadly as you let him talk all he wants because it's not often he talks about himself this deeply. when he stops, you begin, "i know you regret many things. so do i. everyone regrets one or the other thing but i don't regret meeting you or having a baby with you. you can only grow when you let yourself be free first."
"i just love you alot." he quietly confesses.
chuuya was sitting on the bed in his hotel room (since he's on a mission in another country) when he gets the video and after seeing it, he immediately face times you.
with an excited grin and a flying kiss, you turn the camera over to show the baby who takes another step forwards, falls on his butt, gets up shakily and takes another step forwards.
turning the camera to face you once again, you laugh out as chuuya dramatically places his hand against his chest and closes his eyes to act as if he's going to faint, a smile on his face as he hears your laugh.
seeing you laugh, the baby begins to laugh too while trying to approach you.
"should i start buying sneakers and sandals now?" chuuya asks once you stop laughing, eyes nearly oozing out his adoration.
you shake your head and he rolls his eyes, "why not?"
"because he took his first step. doesn't mean he's going to start walking properly now."
"that's why we gotta teach him." he insists.
"he's going to learn with time." you chuckle, turning the camera to show the baby who is now crawling around again to prove your point and chuuya jokingly tsks, "tell him to try walking. his father ain't raising no quitter."
"you are so insufferable." you giggle, turning the camera to face you again, "when did you start walking, genius?"
"probably earlier then the other kids?" he shrugs because of course he doesn't remember when he began walking, he barely remembers if he had a childhood or not.
"when did you start running then?" you tease more.
"when i met you." he answers without missing a beat and you bite your lip as a shy smile takes over your face and so to make you more shy and flirt more, he adds, "i am still running behind you happily like a dog behind it's owner and to be honest? i prefer it this way."
"you are so sappy." you roll your eyes to hide how his words makes you brighten up. really, when you met him you didn't know he was going to woo you daily with his words and playful antics.
touch-starved! sae- where sae is sitting on the couch when you find him, jacket still on, hair messy like he forgot to take care of himself. the tv is on but muted. he’s not really watching it.
“you’re still up?” you ask, voice quiet so you don’t break the moment.
“…yeah.”
his answer is flat, but tired. heavier than usual.
you hesitate, then sit beside him. there’s a small gap between you at first. sae keeps staring ahead, jaw tight. when your arm brushes his by accident, he flinches—just barely.
“…sorry,” you say quickly.
“don’t.”
the word comes out too fast.
a few seconds pass. then he shifts, slowly, carefully, until your shoulders touch. it’s like he’s testing if you’ll pull away. when you don’t, his posture finally loosens.
“long day?” you ask.
he nods. “…i don’t wanna talk about it.”
“that’s okay.”
silence settles again, but it’s different now. warmer.
sae exhales deeply, leaning just a little more into you, like his body gave up pretending he didn’t need this.
touch-starved! sae- the street is busy, people brushing past. sae walks half a step ahead of you like always.
without thinking, you reach for his hand.
he stops.
looks down at where your fingers are hovering, unsure.
“if you don’t want—” you start.
sae takes your hand himself. his grip is firm. grounding.
“…don’t let go,” he mutters, eyes still forward.
you walk like that for a while. you notice how his thumb slowly rubs over your knuckles, again and again, like he’s memorizing the feeling.
“you okay?” you ask.
“i am now,” he answers quietly.
when someone bumps into you, sae pulls you closer instead of letting go. his shoulder presses protectively against yours. he doesn’t say anything—but his hand never loosens.
touch-starved! sae- you hug him before leaving, quick and casual.
“text me later, okay?”
“yeah.”
you start to pull back—then his arms come around you, sudden but careful. not rough. almost hesitant.
“…wait.”
his voice is low, almost embarrassed.
you freeze, then relax into him. sae’s grip tightens slightly, like he’s afraid this is temporary.
his chin rests on your head. you feel his breathing, uneven at first, then slowly calming.
“sae?” you whisper.
“…just stay like this,” he says. “please.”
time stretches. his hands settle against your back, warm and steady. when you gently move, he makes a quiet sound in his throat, pulling you back in.
“you don’t hug people like this,” you say softly.
“…i know.”
then, even quieter: “that’s why.”
touch-starved! sae- sae doesn’t look at you when you find him. he’s sitting on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it personally betrayed him.
“hi,” you say, crouching in front of him.
no response.
you place a hand on his arm. he flinches—then his fingers close around your wrist, not tight, just… desperate.
“…don’t go,” he murmurs.
your chest aches.
you pull him into a hug. this time, he doesn’t hesitate. he folds into you, forehead pressing into your shoulder. his hands clutch your shirt like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.
“i tried,” he whispers. “i really did.”
“i know,” you answer immediately.
he goes quiet after that, breathing shaky but steadying. he doesn’t pull away.
when you shift to get more comfortable, he follows your movement automatically, like he needs to stay connected.
touch-starved! sae- you’re lying beside each other, facing the ceiling. the room is dark.
minutes pass.
then sae speaks. “…i don’t like sleeping alone.”
you turn toward him slightly. “you don’t?”
he swallows. “…it gets too quiet.”
you reach for his hand. he grabs yours instantly, fingers lacing tight like he’s been waiting for permission.
“…don’t let go,” he whispers.
you scoot closer. sae turns fully toward you, forehead resting against yours. his eyes close like this is the safest place he knows.
“you don’t have to pretend with me,” you say.
his grip tightens once more.
“…i know,” he answers.
and this time, he lets himself stay.
touch-starved! sae- the sun hasn’t fully risen yet. you’re in the kitchen, making coffee, when you hear soft footsteps behind you.
sae stands there, rubbing his eyes, hair messy, in his training clothes. he looks… smaller than usual. tired, heavy.
“good morning,” you say gently.
he just hums, not making eye contact. you hand him a cup of coffee, and his fingers brush yours as he takes it. he freezes for a heartbeat, then relaxes slightly, keeping contact just a little longer than necessary.
“…don’t leave yet,” he mutters.
you glance at him. “i’m not going anywhere.”
he sighs, leaning into the counter so your shoulders touch. it’s casual, but the way he rests there—it’s like he’s holding on to the moment, afraid it’ll end.
“we don’t… sit together like this,” he admits softly.
“we can start,” you say.
his lips twitch, almost a smile. “…okay.”
touch-starved! sae- where sae sits next to you on the bus. normally, he keeps his space, but today he seems off. his shoulders slump, hands clasped in his lap.
“long day?” you ask.
“…you could say that,” he mutters.
the bus sways. without thinking, you rest your head lightly against his shoulder. sae tenses immediately—but instead of pulling away, he doesn’t move.
“are you… cold?” he asks quietly.
“no… just close to you,” you answer.
he exhales, a long, shaky breath, and leans slightly into you. his fingers twitch, brushing your arm.
he doesn’t say anything, but his eyes soften, almost pleading for you not to move.
the bus ride feels longer than usual, but neither of you speak. you both just stay there, pressed together, like this moment alone could fix everything.
touch-starved! sae- where sae is sitting on the floor of the locker room, back against the wall.
his socks are dirty, his shirt soaked in sweat. normally he brushes off attention, but today he doesn’t move when you approach.
“hey, you okay?” you kneel in front of him.
“…i’m fine,” he says, but his voice is low and tight.
you reach out and gently touch his shoulder. he flinches slightly, then leans into your hand.
“…don’t stop,” he mutters.
your heart skips. “what?”
“…just… stay. like this.”
you sit beside him, hand resting on his shoulder. he leans closer until your arm brushes his chest. his head tilts against you unconsciously, eyes closing.
“…i don’t… get this often,” he admits. voice small. “people don’t… sit close.”
you squeeze his hand. “…you can have it now. you can stay close to me.”
he swallows, eyes still closed. “…thanks.”
touch-starved! sae- you’re lying on the couch together, a movie playing softly. sae is unusually quiet, knees drawn up.
“you cold?” you ask.
“…maybe,” he admits.
you drape a blanket over both of you. your hand brushes his arm. he flinches at first, then relaxes slowly.
“…you always touch me,” he says quietly. “…i never…” his words falter. “…i don’t… get this.”
“then you can get it now,” you whisper.
he leans into you fully, chest against yours, arms half-hugging you. his head rests on your shoulder. you feel him exhale, a soft, relieved sigh.
“…i like this,” he mutters. “…more than i should.”
you smile lightly, stroking his hair. “then stay like this.”
he doesn’t argue.
touch-starved! sae- rain taps softly against the window. the whole room smells faintly of damp air, warm tea, and something homey.
sae is sitting on the floor, back against the couch, knees pulled to his chest, staring out the window like he’s trying to disappear into the gray sky.
you walk over and sit beside him, letting your shoulder brush his. he stiffens for a heartbeat, then relaxes slightly, leaning just enough to stay connected.
“…you don’t have to sit here if you don’t want to,” you say softly.
“…i want to,” he mutters. his voice is low, almost broken. “…i… need someone…”
you glance at him. “…need someone?”
he swallows hard, and his hands twitch in his lap before reaching for yours. “…yeah,” he whispers. “…someone to… not leave me…”
you let him take your hand. immediately, his fingers squeeze yours like he’s holding on for dear life. “…don’t let go,” he says, voice shaking. “…please…”
oh, you're not...! — coltland x reader (separate) ft. coltland twins au
summary: your boyfriend has an identical twin, and while you can easily tell them apart by now, you've had your mix-up moments in the beginning.
.✦ ݁˖ colt seavers
as much as you try to stretch out your sleep, avoiding getting up up until the last minute, you somehow manage to get up earlier than ryland at times.
there are days where his schedule allows even the slightest flexibility, letting him get some much needed sleep, and while you're only slightly jealous of the sight of him curled up all cosy under the covers, you can't help feeling happy for him.
not bothering to cover your mouth when you yawn, you put some water in the kettle, setting out two thermoses you prepared last night on the counter before sluggishly making your way to the bathroom.
you might have taken some time going through your usual routine, sleepiness applying a speed decrease debuff to your movements, but it still comes as a surprise when you step back into the kitchen once you're fully dressed, only to see ryland's broad back hunched over the table, nursing a cup of coffee, the fox print of his signature cardigan across his back making your lips stretch in a smile.
he does get up earlier than needs to occasionally, just to see you off, which is the sweetest thing ever.
"morning, baby," you call, placing your bag by the doorway to pick it up on your way out, "i made you some turmeric tea," you pour the now boiling water in the kettle to the thermos containing said tea concoction, "i promise it tastes nowhere near as bad as you think it does! in fact it's really good for digestion, which you really need to supplement considering how inconsistently you eat. i'll have you know, i got colt's number and i will snitch on you if you keep skipping meals — and no, popping a handful of almonds in your mouth does not count as one."
a beat of silence passes, and you worry he might've fallen asleep on his cup of coffee. approaching him from behind, gently cupping his chin in your palm, you lift his face up so you can press a soft kiss on his cheek.
.... funny. did he forget to shave? his beard scratches your lips moreso than usual.
pulling back to ask, rather, tease him about it, you're met with the wide eyes of... not your boyfriend.
"oh my god!!" both your hands fly to your face to cover your mouth, the fact that you let go of your thermos not even registering, "colt?! i'm so sorry—!!"
colt's hand juts out the moment you let go of the thermos, effortlessly grabbing it and putting it on the table without even breaking eye contact, a stupefied, silly grin on his face.
"all good," he wheezes, though it does nothing for the mortification swallowing you whole.
"i didn't realise you spent the night—" you spit the words out at light speed. you weren't even expecting him to be around, thinking he's left the night before.
colt nods with understanding, supplying; "you did go to sleep before we did..." though you don't even register the words, wildly gesturing around, and not even prostrating yourself feels good enough for an apology.
"the cardigan, i though you were ryland—!!"
"all good, sweetheart," colt repeats, waves you off with a smile and a thumbs up, "i thought ry was behind you or something, didn't realise you were talkin' to me." then, shrugging, "then again, you thought you were talking to ry, and my back was turned while wearing his goofy fox cardigan, so." he pats your shoulder reassuringly, "not exactly how i envision starting my morning, but no harm done."
"still—"
"you're gonna be lateee," he drawls, chuckling at the situation still, "go. i'll make sure he gets the tea and drinks it." he places your thermos back in your hands, shooing you to the door. "call me any time he gives you trouble, especially regarding taking care of himself. he's been like that since his academia days, as if pushing the human limits of sleep deprivation and lack of proper nutrition itself was an academic accomplishment. i can hold him down while you feed him something proper."
"thanks," your murmur, hurriedly wearing your shoes, scrambling to get your bag, "thank you. sorry again—"
"stop acting like you stabbed me half to death! t'was nothing, now shoo!"
patting down your pockets for your keys, you nod, giving him an awkward wave before setting off.
"..... hey, stuntman. why the fudge are you shooing my girlfriend out of our apartment?" ryland is leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, squinting at his twin, and not just from having been woken up from his peaceful sleep.
"gracie, ry, my bestest little bro! ok, so, funny thing—"
.✦ ݁˖ ryland grace
waking up to an empty bed is nothing new when colt is in shooting season.
unfortunately, you senses aren't so keen as to tell apart the half-awake midnight kisses coming from a half-awake burst of affection from the good morning or have a good day kisses he places on your skin when he has to leave before your alarm is not even close to going off.
slamming your hand against his pillow, you're kind of mad his face is not here in the first place. fisting the memory foam like a stress ball, you pull it towards yourself, if only to get a whiff of his shampoo before it fades completely.
you should get up. rolling around in bed feels less meaningful when your limbs aren't tangled with his.
getting yourself a good, warm beverage should help lift your mood a little. you can even stare wistfully out of the window like a victorian woman waiting for her husband to return from the war while you take tiny sips.
one step into the kitchen, one step out. you lean back on your heels, stretching your head to get a better look at the figure standing in the middle of the room.
so you managed to catch colt before he left, after all! what's next, the tooth fairy being real? your somber mood instantly vanishes.
he's wearing one of his beaten, stretched out shirts, the colour dull from having been thrown in the wash haphazardly many times, regardless of whether it was a load of colours or not.
there's the silhouette of the massage device he uses for physical therapy under the shirt, moving the fabric ever so slightly while vibrating. the sight itself is nothing special, colt uses it all the time, but the way he takes care of himself even when you're not looking makes you happy in a way that you don't have to worry as much.
it's not like you can help it, though. he does look a bit smaller compared to what you're used to. is it for the new role? what kind of a character was ryder playing again? you can't really imagine that manchild put in any kind of effort to shape his body according to a role, since he's used to everything being catered to him instead.
colt takes the remote and stops the massager just as you draw near, hand reaching behind to remove it, though you're faster; and it's resting on the coffee table within seconds, finally allowing you to wrap your hands around his torso, burying your face in his neck—
with a startled squawk, he flinches violently in your arms.
for a second, your heart lurches to your throat, thinking you've hurt him somehow.
"did i hurt you, honey?" grip loosening, you try to mask the devastated look before you lean forward, "are you okay?"
.... a pair of wire rim glasses sit crooked under his jaw.
"holy shit—!!" the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, "ohmigosh, ryland!! i'm so sorry—"
said twin raises a hand to pacify you like you're some kind of pterodactyl as he doubles over with muted coughs, likely choking on his spit from the sudden inhale, and it works, funnily enough.
"'sskay," he chokes, and you can do nothing but purse your lips as you pat his back from a safe distance away, heat creeping up your face from embarrassment. "...gimme'inute—"
".... uh, does he need cpr or something?"
colt stands on the doorway, sweatpants loosely hanging on his waist, a damp compression shirt sticking to his skin.
... oh. he was probably doing his morning workout.
it's also funny how his first reaction seeing his brother choking is stand where he is and point at him. makes you wonder if this kind of thing happened a lot in their childhood for him to be so unbothered.
"nnough—" ryland protests, swatting at colt's direction sharply, face as red as yours probably from the lack of air, shaking with laughter.
"wanna fill me in on what's going on?" colt turns his attention to you, thoroughly entertained even without the context.
closing your eyes in surrender, you open your mouth to explain, though ryland beats you to it.
"i'm the favourite twin in all universes," he smirks, having pulled himself together enough to stand upright.
colt plays along, clutching his pearls, though ryland doesn't let you suffer long.
"i was trying your massager for my back, the one you said would help with the tension," he takes off his glasses which were barely hanging onto his face by a thread, and places them on top of his head instead. anywhere but his eyes, apparently. "she thought i was you and greeted me as such, that's all."
"that's such an amateur mistake, baby," colt coos, eyes crinkling with mirth, "were you so sleep deprived that you gave my brother good morning privileges before me?"
"i just hugged him!!" you whine, crossing your arms, "i was even worried your back was acting up, or you lost weight because of ryder or something—"
colt is quick to take on the opportunity and point an accusatory finger at his brother, "hah, scrawny!"
"not all of us jump off of buildings for a living. get off my back, stunt guy."
I think about this every single day of my life anon so I delved in!!
Lars Lindstrom x autistic reader - 1.4k words
∘₊✧ Notes: I'm writing these thoughts and imagines with Lars also being autistic, which I live and breathe (not sure if I've ever mentioned it before...). It feels very personal and I'm still on my journey of self discovery, but it wouldn't have even started without having first discovered Lars. I’ve previously written non verbal reader with Lars which complements this quite well!
∘₊✧ Content: no gender mentioned for reader, sfw, lots of autistic experiences and traits included but it's not comprehensive and this includes mentions of negative & harmful stereotypes from other people. Please note: I know not everyone who relates to these traits is autistic, and equally you don't have to relate to them to be autistic - this is just my personal experience with the ones I recognised in Lars.
∘₊✧──────────────✧₊∘
∘₊✧──────────────✧₊∘
Lars can sense that you're safe to be around. He doesn't entirely know why, but in the simplest terms, you just get him. You seem to give him exactly what he always needs in any interaction without effort, without the awkwardness, without expecting anything of him. It's so different to anyone else he talks to. He notices that the more experiences you share with him as you talk and open up, the less alone he begins to feel. It's kind of jarring actually, to suddenly stop feeling like an alien who was abandoned on earth with no guidebook.
For you, Lars feels like home. He's pure comfort in a way you've never before known, someone you can drop your mask in front of without a second thought. After spending years forcing yourself to try and be 'more sociable, less sensitive, more easygoing, less difficult,' you realised all those things don't actually apply to you. You don't need to be more or less anything when you're with Lars, because he would never think that way about you, so you can just learn to be yourself. And with his encouragement, you really like who you're discovering beneath it all.
When Lars is panicked he flaps his hands, just like you do, so you don't feel like you need to suppress the urge to release the pent up energy causing you to reach breaking point any more.
In social situations, Lars avoids eye contact when he speaks, just like you do. It's so much easier to focus when you're not forcing yourself to stare into the eyeballs of the person you're trying to talk to while trying not to forget half the words. He notices you doing this and takes a big breath of relief; turns out he's not weird or broken after all.
Lars experiences touch hyper-sensitivity, which he's discovered varies depending on the person and the situation, much like you. When he told you about it, you almost cried, because you have always carried this uncomfortable feeling when someone touches you, especially when you're not expecting it, that lingers against your skin for ages after, making you feel like you need to physically shake their touch off. Lars immediately wants to see if it's different between the two of you, and guess what? It is. You take your time to explore touch, and give each other so much time and space. It's like nothing he's ever experienced before and it just makes him want to touch you all the time; holding hands, his palm at the small of your back, his head on your shoulder or yours on his.
Lars shares his blanket with you, which is a great honour. You share with him your own special items, too. It feels nice to share your most precious things with someone who you trust to care for them the way you would. It's a bond not many understand, but to you two it means the world.
You love listening to Lars talk about his special interests, and he loves hearing you share yours. You never need to worry about talking too much or not enough, he's just happy you're here and that you can be freely passionate about your interests with him. He feels honoured.
RSD (rejection sensitivity dysphoria) plays into your experiences too. Lars realised this for the first time when Bianca began to make a whole life for herself which didn't always include him. It resulted in a meltdown that Lars still feels ashamed of, but it's funny how when you talk to him about the way perceived rejections affect you, he feels much less shame about that and far more connected to you. So you're both very mindful of the other. It feels very safe and secure to be honest about feeling rejected in a way that feels healthy for you both, too, when those feelings arise.
If you have a meltdown, Lars knows what to do, because he knows the things he would need when he's in that awful, crushing headspace. He fetches you a glass of ice water, doesn't demand a thing from you (does he ever?), guides you under his bedsheets, hands you his blanket in lieu of your own soothing items, and gives you space and time. When you're able to talk again, and feeling regulated, Lars will still be there, offering to watch a movie or go for a walk, or make you some food.
He never forces you into situations you're not completely comfortable with. He's spent a lot of time dealing with demand avoidance, and thinking there was something wrong with him for it. But there isn't. If you feel like the party you're invited to feels too much, Lars will stay home with you and read out your favorite book in front of the fire instead. If you're somewhere and start to feel overstimulated and like your social battery is low, he will immediately drive you home to get some rest and quiet, no questions asked.
When you miss social cues that he catches, Lars will whisper to help you out, and you do the same for him. It's so easy navigating social expectations and all those invisible rules that other people seem to just magically know when you have each others backs like that.
Equally, if you take time to process something, he gives you enough time to do it. He doesn't press you, or accuse you of being difficult or stupid or annoying. He really appreciates the way you give him time to process, too.
Lars's safe foods are similar enough to yours that you can happily eat the same meal three dates in a row and neither of you bat an eyelid. You enjoy the hell out of each bite, and the company is so perfectly low-demand you're swooning before he even dares initiate a goodnight kiss. He always has the snacks you like and your hyperfixation food stocked up in his kitchen, too. Not to mention your own glass and mug, that look and feel right to you and are just yours - no one else will touch, not even him.
Autistic joy is something he's never considered before, but when you dance with him at Cindy's next party, it feels like it did the last time, when he danced with his eyes squeezed shut and his fists clenched because he couldn't believe he was able to enjoy such an experience but with the right support - he did it! And now he can do it with you, which makes him feel on top of the world, even if he does later cry a little bit from the exhaustion of experiencing so many intense emotions at once.
When you ask questions about Lars's routine, or plans, he answers as clearly and as precisely as he can. You're very unsettled when you don't know what's going to happen next and he's always one step ahead with it, because he knows how that feels (remember Bianca's schedule on the fridge and how it it changed without warning resulting in the aforementioned meltdown?).
Lars loves to sing as a vocal stim, especially when the song is a duet and he can change his voice for each part. He LOVES it when you join in too, both improvising with different tones, repeating parts you need to, and just having fun with it. Doesn't bat an eyelid at your vocal stims and usually joins in with you, too; his favorite is when you say the first line of a song and he gets to call back the second part. It's so collaborative and fun!
And when you're with him? Loud noises - cancelled. Bright lights - redacted. Unwanted smells - a thing of the past. Lars's place is quiet, calm, ambient, and smells like firewood and fresh linen, and he ensures it stays that way. His place is so autism friendly without him even trying, really. He's curated it that way without knowing that's what he was doing and it's a perfect little haven for the both of you.
Overall, being with Lars is like a breath of fresh air. No exhaustion, no unspoken rules, no expectations, no surprises. Just existing as you are alongside one another in the most comfortable way imaginable.
❝and there was something about you, that now I can't remember❞
pairing: dr. ryland grace x fem! reader
summary: you signed up to save the world, not work with the person you can't stand. ryland grace is the reason why you lost all credibility in academia. he is the reason why you can't do your research in peace. yet he's also the reason you get butterflies.
wc: 7.3k
cross-posted to ao3
tags & warnings: mdni please! angst & fluff. enemies to lovers. slow burn. reader is lowk mean af. black cat! gf x golden retreiver! bf.
recommended listening: about you - the 1975
part two: do you think i have forgotten about you?
It was just another day.
You were in the lab, suited up, testing materials for space applications. As an aerospace engineer specializing in energy and fuel systems, your work should have felt groundbreaking. It didn’t.
You carefully placed thin samples of aerogel into a vacuum chamber, monitoring their thermal response under cryogenic conditions. Liquid nitrogen cycled through the system, pushing the material to extremes while sensors tracked heat transfer and structural stability.
On paper, it was fascinating work. In reality, you hated your job.
You have a doctorate in aerospace engineering from a prestigious university. You specialize in energy systems, making you one of the few women in your field. You have connected with impressive names in the aerospace community. NASA practically waved you a job offer fresh out of undergrad. You had spent more hours in research than you had sleeping. The pay was good. Good enough to indulge in your hobbies, but none of it mattered. You were the only woman on your team, constantly undermined, constantly handed the worst tasks, and you were the youngest person in the building by a long shot.
No one took you seriously.
You had taken this job believing you would do something meaningful with your life. Instead, you felt like you were slowly wasting away. You’re ready to go home, heat up leftovers, and cuddle with your cat, Atom. It was 5:00 PM. You were quick to clean up your work space and remove your personal protective equipment.
You packed your bag, ready to leave, when a woman approached you. She was elegant. She is dressed in black, contrasting from her beautiful, red hair.
“Good evening, Doctor,” she said with a soft smile.
Doctor. You hadn’t been addressed like that in a long time.
“My name is Eva Stratt. I’m part of the Petrova Task Force.”
“Hello, Eva,” you replied cautiously. “If you’re looking for the chief engineer or my supervisor, they just left.”
You reached for your keys, but something about her steady gaze made you hesitate.
“I’m actually here for you,” she said, setting a thick stack of papers on the table. It had to have been at least a stack of one hundred pages. You skim over the title and immediately, your eyes widen.
"Bioenergetic Systems for High-Efficiency Energy and Fuel Storage in Spacecraft Propulsion."
Your name sat neatly beneath the title. It was your research thesis that you were profoundly proud of until it became your stack of regrets. It investigated bioinspired energy storage sources that could outperform traditional chemical storage systems used in spacecraft today. It was something you believed in.
You hadn’t thought about that paper in years. Mostly because no one else had believed in it. Not after everything that happened. Not after the fallout with a certain scientist. A scientist that makes your blood boil and heart hurt at the thought of him. .
“I haven’t looked at that in years,” you said carefully. “And I’m not sure if you’re aware, but… it didn’t exactly win awards. If anything, I was ridiculed because of my association with—”
You cut yourself off. Thinking about him still made your chest tighten, anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Eva didn’t react.
“Don’t worry,” she said calmly. “I’m not here to discuss what happened then. I’m here to offer you a new position.”
You let out a small, humorless laugh. New Position? Give up your dream role for some random lady that’s digging up the past. You were blessed to even land this role despite your reputation.
“Unless you can pay me double what I make now or somehow let me save the world from its inevitable doom… I’m going to have to decline.”
Eva held your gaze.
“What if I told you,” she said carefully, “that you could do exactly that?”
You felt something change in your heart for the first time in a long time. You felt hope.
“Okay, so when do I start, and can someone watch my cat?”
━━━━ ✦ ━━━━
The lab Eva led you into was nothing like yours.
It was cleaner, quieter. Not to mention the tighter security. Every surface gleamed like it had been scrubbed of mistakes. You feel giddy, thinking about all of the new equipment you get to work with.
You stepped inside anyway, and then you saw him.
Ryland Grace stood on the other side of the room, hunched over a workstation, mumbling to himself as he pipettes black matter into petri dishes. He’s focused, unaware of you or Stratt entering the lab. He looked the same. Maybe a little more tired. A little more worn down. Unfortunately, still very handsome.
Your stomach dropped.
No.
You turned immediately, hand already reaching for the door.
“Absolutely not.”
“Doctor—” Eva started.
“No,” you snapped, sharper than you realized. “You didn’t tell me he was here.”
At the sound of your voice, Ryland froze. He recognizes your voice immediately. The power it can command in a room. Slowly, he turned around. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
His eyes widened, like he wasn’t entirely sure you were real.
“...You?” he said quietly.
There it was the same hesitation that had driven you insane years ago.
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Me.”
You moved to leave again, but Eva stepped slightly into your path to prevent you from leaving.
“We need both of you,” she said calmly.
“I don’t need him,” you shot back.
Ryland flinched. Of course he did.
Eva didn’t react. “This project involves a form of extraterrestrial microorganism.”
There it goes. Your interest is piqued. Something groundbreaking, meaningful that can prove you can make a positive impact on this world.
“You specialize in bioenergetic systems,” she continued. “He specializes in the organism itself. Separately, you are useful. Together, you are essential.”
You clenched your jaw. “Can you find someone else?”
“There is no one else.”
Silence stretched between the three of you. Ryland is bouncing in his chair, the anxiety obviously consuming him.
Behind Eva, Ryland shifted awkwardly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get there. Typical.
“I thought academia chewed you up and spit you out.,” you muttered, not looking at him.
You closed your eyes for a second, irritation flaring.
God, he was still the same. Still self-deprecating. Still unsure. Still—
“I read your paper again,” he added suddenly.
“What?”
“The bioenergetics one,” he said, taking a hesitant step closer. “It was… it was really good. Actually brilliant. I should’ve said that back then.”
The memory hit whether you wanted it to or not. The conference. The room was full of people. Grace, laughing nervously, deflecting, making a joke at the wrong time. You remember. He called someone a waste of carbon. It was true, but your credibility depended on Grace maintaining professionalism. You devoted your life to this research, but you did what any good person would do. You stayed by his side because he wasn’t just your colleague but he was also your friend. Someone who you cared for deeply. Standing beside him as the room turned on both of you.
Your work was dismissed. Your credibility dragged down with his.
Eva didn’t seem to pay too much attention to the tension in the room. If anything, it entertained her.
“The astrophage can store and release energy at efficiencies we do not fully understand,” she said, cutting cleanly through the moment. “Potentially enough to solve a global energy crisis. Or end us, if we fail to understand it.”
You didn’t respond, but you also didn’t leave.
“Okay, I’m staying. Only because I want to save the world.”
━━━━ ✦ ━━━━
Despite the large size of the lab, you feel very suffocated. It might be because of Ryland’s hovering. For every step you take away from him, he takes two steps closer to you.
“Do you always stand that close,” you mutter, not looking at him, “or is this a special occasion?”
He immediately takes a step back. “Right. Personal space. I remember that. I respect that. Big fan of space, actually professionally and… socially… and actual space is cool…”
You glance at him, unimpressed and a little annoyed. “Good. Stay in it.” You wave your hand at him to move just a bit more. He awkwardly shifts to the side, still watching you work.
“…You look the same,” he blurts.
Slowly, you turn your head. “What?”
“I panicked,” he admits. “When I look at you, my brain just—” he makes a vague exploding motion with his hands. “—explodes.”
“Hmm… Okay....”
You turn back to the screen, typing away at your findings.
He winces. “Okay, deserved.”
Silence settles for a moment, broken only by the faint hum of equipment.
“So,” he says cautiously, “biomatter that can survive vacuum and extreme radiation. That’s… new since I last saw you.”
“Yeah,” you reply flatly. “Turns out when your reputation gets dragged through the mud, you either quit academia or get better.”
Another stab to Ryland.
“Right. Still deserved.”
You pull up a thermal output graph, tapping the screen. “Astrophage stores energy at absurd densities. Way beyond anything we’ve modeled. The question is how it regulates release without destabilizing or you know kaboom.” You make an explosion using your hands, earning a small smile from Ryland.
Ryland leans in again, but slower, like approaching a wild animal. He’s afraid that in any second, you might take a bite at him.
“It migrates toward radiation,” he says, slipping into science mode. “Like it’s feeding, but it also—uh—self-regulates temperature somehow. I think.”
“Interesting… because if this thing is even half as efficient as it looks, we’re either looking at the greatest energy breakthrough in history… or something that cooks the planet.” You say, scrolling through the graph. You’re honestly in awe, working with Ryland again. He’s smart, but his issue is he just doesn’t believe himself.
“Optimistic as always,” he mumbles.
“Realistic,” you correct. “Someone has to be.”
He glances at you, hesitant. “You used to believe in things more.”
You stop typing. Slowly, you turn to face him fully now.
“I used to believe in you,” you say. If Ryland listened closely, he would be able to hear the underlying tone of sadness underneath your sharpness.
He goes still and scratches the back of his head.
“I know,” he says quietly. “That’s… kind of the problem.”
You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should. Then you break it, turning back to the screen. You used to believe in Ryland. Honestly, a part of you still does, but you can’t give him that satisfaction yet. There is something so brilliant about Ryland, you just wish he could see it sometimes. The fact that he doesn’t makes you more annoyed than anything else.
“Alright,” you say briskly. “If you’re done spiraling, explain this to me.”
You point to another graph. “Why doesn’t it overload?”
He blinks, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Oh—uh—okay, yeah. Good question. We think it converts energy into some kind of—like—temporary mass storage? Or… not mass. Something else. I don’t know yet.”
You stare at him.
“You don’t know,” you state.
“Not in a satisfying, publishable way, no,” he says. “In a ‘I stayed up for 36 hours and this is my best guess’ way? Yes.”
You sigh. “Right.”
“Hey,” he says, a little defensive now, “I’m working with alien space microbes, not a lab manual.”
Your anger starts to bubble, and you can't find a way to contain it. See this is why you were concerned about working with him again.
“Ryland, you know what your problem has always been?,” you shoot back. “You don’t believe in yourself. You have terrible imposter syndrome, and it makes it so hard for people to believe in you when you can’t even believe in yourself.”
You can't believe Stratt thinks you two can actually be productive. You can't even listen to Ryland breathe without being a little pissed off. How are you two supposed to get any work done?
“We could have this figured out sooner if you actually took yourself seriously.”
Ryland pauses. He knows you’re right. He has nothing to defend himself over. Then a small, reluctant smile tugs at his mouth.
“…You’re still really mean,” he says nervously.
You feel a tinge of guilt. Maybe you have been too hard on Ryland, but you have to. You have to guard yourself from disappointment.
“…Not without reason,” you say more quietly, eyes dropping back to the screen. “And not… intentionally.”
He studies you for a moment, like he’s trying to decide whether to push your buttons or let it go.
“When have you ever done anything unintentionally?” he asks.
You huff out a small breath. “Please. I’m extremely intentional.”
You sigh, dropping your head in your hands.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice, “you’re still sitting here.”
You smirked despite yourself. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for the alien space bacteria.”
You clear your throat, leaning back in your chair. “You’re lucky the world might be ending,” you add. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be within a ten-mile radius of you.”
Ryland raises his eyebrows, a bit amused. “Wow,” he says. “That’s sweet.”
You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch into a smile. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” he replies, a little too quickly. Then, softer, “I think I missed this.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Miss what? Me insulting you?”
“…Yeah,” he says, meeting your eyes. “A little.”
“Grace, that’s really weird.”
“I.. I know.”
━━━━ ✦ ━━━━
“So why do you hate Dr. Grace so much?” Carl asks from his booth while you hover over the microscope, carefully adjusting the focus to look at your little astrophage babies.
The astrophage glows faintly under the lens. You smile to yourself, imagining they’re all saying Hi Mama. You’ve spent hours stabilizing this batch, coaxing them into reproduction like they’re something delicate instead of potentially world-ending.
“Okay, Atom… don’t embarrass me,” you murmur, sliding the petri dish back with careful hands.
Carl watches you, amused. “You named it.”
“I name all of them,” you reply, matter-of-fact. “I am their mother, and it keeps me from going crazy in here.”
Carl doesn’t really understand what you mean, and instead just stares at you in confusion.
“I don’t hate him,” you say finally, leaning back against the counter. “I don’t hate anyone.”
Carl raises an eyebrow but doesn’t interrupt.
“Dr. Grace and I go back,” you continue. “Way back.”
You cross your arms, staring at nothing in particular as old memories try to organize themselves into something coherent. Honestly, the more you think about it, the more you’ve realized that you forgot really the main point of why you’re so angry at Ryland. Sure, you have tons of small reasons, but you can’t seem to remember the big why
“We were both working on our PhDs at the same time at the same university. Same building, just a couple of floors apart. Same conferences. Same rooms where everyone was trying to prove they were the smartest person alive.” You huff a quiet laugh.
You push yourself off the counter, pacing slowly.
“I believed in him,” you admit. “Even when his research sounded insane. ‘Life without water’? Most people wrote it off immediately. But he didn’t. He stood by it. He was willing to die on that hill.” You stop, softer now. “And I admired that. A lot.”
You glance back at Carl.
“Especially because I didn’t have that kind of confidence. I was the youngest doctoral candidate in the program. Every room I walked into, I had to prove I deserved to be there.” You shrug slightly. “And then there was him… just existing in his own lane. He fought for what he believed in.”
Carl nods slowly. “So what changed?”
You hesitate because that’s the part that never comes out clean. You’ve been clouded by so much anger in the past that this part gets a little bit fuzzy.
“That conference,” you say finally. “He… said something. To the wrong people. Suddenly, everything tied to him—his work, his collaborators—became a joke. He was really hell bent on his ideas and it got to the point where he was willing to put his reputation on the line.”
Your jaw tightens slightly. “I was one of those collaborators.”
“Yeah,” you mutter. “Ouch.”
You run a hand through your hair, exhaling.
“I know I come off as bitter. Or like a bitch,” you add bluntly. “But it’s not about hating him. It’s about protecting myself.”
You look back at the incubator, watching the faint glow inside.
“I can’t let Grace make a fool out of me again.”
Carl leans back in his chair, considering that. “So you’re just… petty?”
You shoot him a look. “Wow, Carl. You really woke up and chose violence today.”
You hold your hands up in defense. “Scientists don’t get a lot,” you say after a moment. “Our work is everything. Our reputation is everything. Without that, we’re just… people who spent too many years in school with nothing to show for it.”
You wait a moment, then add more quietly. “And I almost became that. Just some idiot with too much knowledge and nothing to do with it.”
“I mean, look at him,” you continue, trying to lighten your tone again. “He got pushed out so far he ended up teaching middle school science.”
Carl chuckles, but you immediately point at him and shake your head firmly.
“Hey—don’t laugh. That was actually… good for him.”
Carl blinks. “What?”
You sigh.
“Any other egotistical academic would’ve spent years trying to claw their way back into the spotlight. But Ryland…” you shake your head slightly, a small, reluctant smile tugging at your mouth. “He stopped. He found something he actually cared about.”
Carl studies you more closely now. It’s apparent you’ve grown soft in the conversation. Yes, you were driven by anger, but now it’s different.
“It wasn’t about validation anymore,” you continue. “It wasn’t about impressing people who think being the smartest person in the room is a personality trait.”
You glance down at your hands.
“…He was happy, and that’s really cool he found fulfillment there. I can’t even say I was happy before I came here. I hated my job.”
Carl leans forward slightly. “...So what?.. Do you still care about him?”
“I—” you start, then stop, shaking your head like you can physically push the thought back.
“I do,” you admit quietly. “I just try not to.”
Carl doesn’t say anything this time. He listens intently, letting you have your moment with your emotions. It’s clear to him you haven’t spoken about this much. Carl also has a very therapeutic aura to him that makes it easy for people to talk to him.
“After everything that happened,” you continue, voice a little tighter now, “it was hard for me to get taken seriously. My name got tied to his, whether it was fair or not. Interviews went cold. Offers disappeared. People smiled at my face and then questioned me behind closed doors.”
Your fingers tap absently against the counter. Your foot anxiously bounces your knee. You’re trying to find the right words, but maybe there are no right words.
“And the worst part is… I don’t even know if I’m still angry at him for that.”
Carl frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”
You shake your head.
“I mean I remember being angry. I remember being humiliated. I remember telling myself I’d never let him anywhere near my work again.” You let out a small, frustrated laugh. “But why? The exact moment everything broke? It’s… fuzzy.”
You look back at the incubator.
At Atom and all of the other little cultures of astrophage.
“…All I know is that when I see him,” you say quietly, “I feel like I have to be angry.”
“Because if I’m not—” Your mind begins to trail off.
Carl raises an eyebrow. “If you’re not…?”
You shake your head, cutting yourself off before you can finish the thought.
“…Then I might forgive him,” you say. You start to feel a little bit of regret. A little bit guilty for holding onto this grudge for so long, but you’re scared of disappointment again. Even now you’re scared something might go wrong with Project Hail Mary, and your name will go down with it.
“Have you ever considered a therapist…?” Carl asks. You shake your head and laugh at him.
“Why would I need one if I have you, Carl.”
━━━━ ✦ ━━━━
A few hours pass, Carl is now long gone, and it’s just you alone in the lab. You’re starting to think you’ve hit the thousands in terms of hours spent in this lab. You could be blindfolded and still be able to perform any procedure. That’s how well you’ve gotten to know the space.
You don’t notice him at first. You’re too focused on your cultures. Atom and the rest of the astrophage cultures behaving exactly the way they’re supposed to, and now you’re trying to figure out the best material to keep them in that would allow them to survive the journey to space.
Then you feel it. A slight shift in the room. There is a quiet, hesitant presence you’d recognize anywhere.
You don’t look up.
“…You’re hovering,” you say flatly.
A pause.
“I’m standing,” Ryland Grace replies.
You adjust the microscope slightly. “It feels like hovering.”
Another pause.
“…Okay, yeah. I might be hovering.”
You sigh, leaning back just enough to glance at him.
He looks nervous. Not awkward in his usual way. Not distracted or rambling. Just nervous. You can’t predict what he’s going to say. You can’t predict anything about him actually.
“What do you want, Grace?” you ask.
He shifts his weight slightly, hands fidgeting at his sides before he shoves them into his pockets.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.
“That’s new,” you mutter.
“I deserve that,” he admits immediately.
You straighten, crossing your arms. “Okay. Talk.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding that breath for a while.
“I feel like this is a step needed to better our working relationship. I never really gave you what you deserve. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and well, I also spoke to Carl. Carl told me—”
“Okay, so are you going to get to the point or?”
“I’m sorry. I am truly sorry. With everything in my body, I am sorry.”
“Oh…” You bite your tongue from saying anything else. You would hate to say something you will regret. You sit quietly for a second, trying to quiet all the anger in your brain.
Ryland stands close to you, fiddling with his thumbs. He look as though he’s holding his breath until you respond because his face is starting to look a little blue.
“I thought if I just… removed myself, it would make things better for everyone else,” he continues. “Like distancing myself would somehow undo the damage.”
“It actually just dug a bigger hole for myself, and I couldn’t get out of it…”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that too. I’m sorry for everything. Embarrassing you and ruining your reputation alongside mine,” he tries his best to keep his voice steady and mind from trailing off.
You look up at Ryland. The guilt is clearly eating him from the inside out. You take a deep breath in. It’s time to let go. For once, feel something other than mad.
“...I was angry at you for a long time,” you say finally. “I built my career back up from that mess. I had to become someone who couldn’t be undermined again.”
“I want to fix what I can now.”
You relax, just a little. You didn’t realize your fists were balled up tight enough to leave imprints of your nails in your palms.
“I don’t know how to not be angry at you. There is just something about you...,” you admit, more quietly now.
He nods in agreement.
“That’s fair.”
You huff a breath, shaking your head slightly. “You’re making this very difficult.”
“I’m trying not to,” he says.
“…But,” you add reluctantly, “I don’t think I want to keep being this mad forever.”
“Yeah?” he asks. A wave of relief washes over Ryland. You can finally see the color come back to his cheeks.
You nod slightly.
“Yeah.”
You shift your weight, leaning back against the counter now instead of bracing yourself against it.
“I don’t need some big apology speech,” you add. “I just needed you to… acknowledge it and not pretend it didn’t happen.”
Ryland suddenly sticks his hand out to you. You are a bit confused on why he wants to shake hands on it.
“…What are you doing?” you ask.
“I’m—uh—making it official?” he says, like even he isn’t entirely sure.
You raise an eyebrow. “Official what?”
He hesitates. Then, slowly, his hand shifts. His fingers curl in until only his pinky is extended.
You stare at it.
“…Are you serious right now?”
“A pinky promise is legally binding in at least three middle schools,” he says, completely straight-faced.
You can’t help it. You laugh. What starts out as a few chuckles turns into full body laughs before you can stop it.
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.
“Extremely,” he agrees.
But he doesn’t drop his hand. He just waits. There’s something oddly sincere about it.
You hook your pinky around his.
“And I pinky promise,” he says, a little quieter now, like the joke has settled into something more real, “I won’t let that happen again.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around his.
“And I promise,” you reply, glancing up at him, “to be less of an ass.”
A small smile spreads across his face.
“What if I were to tell you,” he says, tilting his head slightly, “I didn’t mind it?”
You slowly let go of his finger and pull it back to yourself.
“Grace… that’s still really weird.”
“I.. I know.”
━━━━ ✦ ━━━━
Weeks have passed since you were assigned to work with Ryland. The hours slipped by unnoticed. At some point, the world outside stopped mattering entirely. It felt like the lab was just a secret place for only you and Ryland.
It might’ve been weeks on working with the astrophage. The clock is ticking, but you and Ryland don’t lose hope. Ryland has seen parts of you, he’s never seen and vice versa. The way you mumble equations and theories when you sleep, or how he sings to himself when he’s deep in focus.
You are leaning over the console, eyes tired but sharp, fingers moving on instinct as the astrophage model pulsed in front of you. It’s brighter now and barely holding a steady shape.
“Run it again,” you murmured. “With the adjusted input.”
“I am,” Ryland Grace said, voice rough with exhaustion, but there was something else there too. Focus. Awe. “Just—give it a second.”
The curve aligned and became consistent. Energy in. Energy stored. Energy released. Balanced perfectly.
Your breath caught. “Ryland…”
“I see it,” he said, softer now.
You both leaned in at the same time, shoulders brushing. This time neither of you even noticed. You grab his hand covering the mouse and drag it over to increase the model size. Ryland notices this touch instantly and tries to hide his nerves. He hasn’t been touched in such a long time.
“It’s stabilizing itself,” you said. “The astrophage is not losing energy randomly. I-It’s regulating it. Like it knows—Holy shit”
Ryland looks at you. Not the screen. Not the data. You.
For a moment, the breakthrough wasn’t the thing that made his chest feel too tight. It was you.
The way your eyes lit up when you were excited. The way your voice beamed when you were thinking through something brilliant. The way you leaned into the problem without hesitation or fear. The way you get a bit snappy and mean when you’re hungry.
You had always been like this, and he always enjoyed watching it.
You rise out of your chair, stumbling over because you lost sensation in your legs after sitting in a chair for hours. Ryland catches your arm, balancing you. You look into his eyes and smile. A childish grin is on your face, and your eyes look a bit crazed. It might be a delusion from lack of sleep but you’re so excited. Almost instinctively, Ryland nervously hugs you. He’s surprised to feel you hug him back. You couldn’t contain your excitement.
“…We did it,” he said, almost like he needed to remind himself.
You smiled, a real one. Not sharp or guarded. A real genuine smile. One that he hasn’t seen from you in a long time.
“Yeah, but also…,” you said. “...you did.”
His heart stuttered. You realize how you’re holding onto him, and you immediately let go. Ryland wished you didn’t though. It felt right.
“I just realized something…,” he started, leaning forward slightly like he was about to give a lecture to a room of middle schoolers. “... an easier way to explain all of this.”
You blinked. He's going to try to teach it to you like you're a middle schooler. “Oh no...”
“If I were teaching right now,” he continued, “I would say astrophage is basically like… a microscopic solar-powered submarine.”
You blinked. “That is not what it is.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It absorbs energy like sunlight,” he said, counting on his fingers, “it stores it, and then it moves through space using that energy. That’s a submarine. Just… space submarine.”
He gives you a smile and a thumbs up as if this was a bigger revelation than your research, and you just look back with a straight face.
“A space submarine… that is the most oversimplified explanation I’ve ever heard in my life,” you said, trying to bite back your slight annoyance.
“This is a metaphor, not a peer-reviewed paper.”
You stared at him. You feel a twinge on irritation. Not enough to get you mad, but enough to make your vein pop out of your forehead.
Then he adds, “It’s like if a plant and a battery had a really weird baby.”
You look at him for a beat. He's ridiculous. Truly and utterly ridiculous. Then you burst into a fit of laughter. You’re clutching your stomach and slamming your fist against the table. You might be delirious right now from the lack of sleep, but you just can’t believe him.
"A weird baby…” you repeated, tears collecting in your eyes from laughing so hard. "That's so stupid?"
“I don’t know how I wasn’t fired by the Board of Education,” Ryland shrugs. “I guess it worked on them.”
“You know,” he said after a moment, softer now, “I used to do that all the time. Making things easier to understand.”
“As much as I make fun of you for being an absolute nerd, I don’t think I can fully make fun of you for being a teacher.”
Ryland is surprised, seeing a glimpse of vulnerability in you. “Wait really?”
“I think it’s cool. I bet the kids loved you. You’re weird. I think kids like that. You make learning less scary for them. There's just something about you.”
“…Yeah?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you said.
It’s probably five in the morning. You couldn’t see the sky, but your body knew. That strange, internal certainty that the night had nearly given up and the world outside was about to start moving again.
“I think we both need rest,” you said quietly, finally leaning back from the console.
You turned toward him.
Ryland Grace looked worse than you did. Hair a mess, eyes heavy, and posture slouched like gravity had doubled overnight. But he also looked different. Lighter, somehow. Like something in him had unclenched without him realizing it.
You reach out to him before you fully think it through.
“Hey—” he started.
You took his glasses off his face.
“Don’t worry,” you said quickly, already smiling faintly. “I’m just cleaning them.” You chuckle, waving them around in front of him before taking a cloth out of your pocket to clean it off.
Before you give them back, you take a good look at Ryland. You’ve never realized how handsome he is now. He was always cute in a nerdy kind of way, but now he looks wiser and aged. The soft lines at the corners of his eyes from years of laughing despite everything. The deeper crease in his forehead that didn’t come from age alone, but from constant worry. The slight tension in his jaw.
Your chest feels warm by being so close to Ryland. You step closer, sliding his glasses back onto his face. You take your index finger and push his glasses up his nose.
He is focused on your movements. If he looks away, he’s worried he’ll miss it. He’ll miss you. Something he didn’t want to lose again.
You leaned in slightly. Letting gravity do the work. Ryland didn’t move away. He just stares at you in awe. If they could, his glasses would fog from the heat in his face. Your chest tightened as you realized he was close enough now that you could feel his breath if you focused.
Close enough that the world outside the lab stopped existing properly.
His voice dropped. “I’m trying not to mess this up.”
“I know,” you whispered.
There was an unmistakable spark that made your stomach flipped and your thoughts briefly stopped making sense. His hand moved slightly on the table. Almost touching you.
You saw it happen like it was happening in slow motion. You slowly lean in, breath heavy. For a second, there was nothing else. The world isn’t ending. There is no mission, or lab, or past mistakes. Just the space closing between you like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
Your eyes fluttered down. He hesitates for a second before closing his. Your lips were hovering over his, only a small push needed to bring you together. It felt like it was about to happen.
Like it should happen. Like it was inevitable.
Reality snapping back in. Both of you stopped instantly, breath catching at the same time. Ryland pulls away quickly.
“I think this is the first time you…”
You made a move on Ryland?
“...didn’t make fun of me for five whole minutes.” Ryland says with a small smile. You shake your head and give him a small push on the shoulder.
“Well, if you’re going to sit there smug, I am going to go to sleep.” You walk towards the door, stretching your arms.
“Hey.”
You waited at the doorway. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know what I’m apologizing for really. I’m just sorry.”
You look at him for a long moment and give him a small smile. You didn’t realize how sensitive Ryland is to your emotions since your pinky promise, and you’ve realized you need to do a better job at letting him know you’re not upset anymore.
“It’s okay, Ryland. You don't need to apologize,” you stop for a moment, looking at him sincerely, “Don’t lose sleep over it.”
━━━━ ✦ ━━━━
There is no better way to celebrate a breakthrough like a “We are sending you off to die” party. It sounds grim in theory, but the camaraderie masks the underlying feeling of dread on the ship.
“Hey, Ryland.”
“Y-Yes,” he says, a little too quickly, eyes flicking to your hand as you hold it out to him.
“Come dance with me.”
That makes his brain short-circuit. You want to dance with him?
Around you, the crew is still celebrating. The room is filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and crew members singing karaoke. The mission is far from over, but for tonight, everyone is taking a moment to celebrate as they prepare to send people off to save the world.
You feel the stare of other crew members as you grab Ryland’s hands. You don’t care. You tug him gently before he has time to overthink it.
“I—wait—” Ryland Grace starts, but he’s already on his feet, slightly off balance as he follows you.
“Wow,” you say, glancing down at his hands once you’ve got him in front of you. “You’re really sweaty.”
“I’m nervous,” he blurts out immediately. “Last time I danced was—uh—when I chaperoned Homecoming, and I definitely stepped on someone’s feet, and they yelled, and I—”
“Ryland.”
He stops.
You press your finger against his lips. “Shhh.”
His mouth stays closed. He nods once like you’ve given him very serious instructions.
“Just follow my lead,” you say.
Ryland is stiff under your touch, unsure of what to do. He doesn’t want to mess it up. His shoulders are tight, legs are locked, and his hands are hovering like he’s afraid of doing something wrong just by existing near you. His eyes are focused on your feet, making sure he doesn't step on your toes.
“You can put your hands on my waist. I won’t bite,” you joke, guiding his hands to your waist.
The sound of Stratt singing fills the space around you. She’s soft, melodic while singing The Sign of the Times. The song is a bit ironic. It’s like she understands the value of pretending, for a moment, that things can be normal.
You rest your head on his chest, humming the song to yourself. Ryland finally relaxes. You’re not going anywhere, and it causes him to finally give into the moment. He gains the confidence to give you a spin, and you laugh as he twirls you over and over again. He actually doesn’t know when to stop.
You balance yourself on him, getting a bit dizzy. You look into his deep, blue eyes and laugh to see how perplexed he is in this happy moment. You lean your head close to his, getting on your toes to see him eye to eye. Your forehead is resting on his.
His hands tensed at your waist, like his body didn’t know whether to pull you closer or freeze completely.
You closed the last bit of space between you two, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss is soft and intentional. You’re spilling all of the emotions you’ve built up for him at this moment. Ryland melts. He pulls you closer, hands practically squeezing your waist.
He pulls away just for a moment to catch his breath. Ryland is running hot, face flushed. You laugh, just happy to be in this moment with him.
“…You’re really warm,” he murmurs against your lips, like it’s an observation he didn’t mean to say out loud.
You let out a quiet laugh. “That’s usually how humans work.”
“...And you’re soft.”
“Okay, let’s get back to dancing.”
You steal another kiss from Ryland. A kiss that seals just how much you've grown to care for him.
━━━━ ✦ ━━━━
Red strobes washed through the corridor windows. People were running. There are too many voices at once. People yelling. People crying. Somewhere outside the reinforced glass, the astrophage testing had failed. First, there was a boom of light. Then there was an explosion, smoke clouds swallowing everything nearby the site. It was too bright, too real, too final. Even through reinforced observation panels, the shockwave rippled through structures like the building itself had flinched.
You don’t move. Only the sick drop in your stomach when you realized how close the testing bay was.
One thought was frantic enough to overshadow any other thought in your head.
Ryland.
Ryland Grace
You were already running before your brain caught up.
You pushed through a cluster of officials, barely hearing them protest, barely feeling the impact of your own body moving too fast. The air still smelled faintly of burned insulation when you reached the inner corridor.
You run outside the building. You see Ryland. A little unsteady, hair disheveled, face pale like he’d seen the same flash you had and understood it differently. You grabbed him hard enough that he stumbled back a step, caught off guard completely. He softens, immediately wrapping his arms around your neck. He buries his nose in your hair, smelling traces of smoke buried in your scalp.
“I thought you were in it,” you said, voice breaking before you could stop it. “I saw the blast and I— I thought—”
“I’m here,” he said quickly, softer now. “I’m here. I’m okay.”
His fingers moved through your hair. He's slow and trying to ground you to reality. He was trying to convince your body before your mind could catch up.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” you lied immediately.
He gave a quiet, humorless breath. “No, you’re not.”
You didn’t argue this time.
Eva Stratt’s presence felt like it arrived before she even spoke. She felt like the grim reaper in this moment, sending a dreadful message to you.
“The astrophage containment failure has escalated,” she said flatly. No emotion. Only consequence. “We have lost personnel. We are adjusting mission parameters immediately.”
Your grip on Ryland tightened without meaning to.
“What does that mean?” you asked.
It meant what you already feared.
Eva didn’t soften it.
“It means Project Hail Mary proceeds under revised crew selection.”
Silence hit like pressure.
Then Ryland’s shoulders shifted slightly just enough for you to feel it.
Confusion first. Then realization. She wants you both on the ship. She wants you and Ryland to complete the mission.
“Whatever you are asking me to do, Stratt, I am only willing to do it with my two feet on this Earth.”
"What happened to you wanting to save the world?"
"That was before..." you trail off, looking at Ryland. He's biting his lip. Unsure of what Eva is asking for.
Ryland tries his best to calm your fears, but he’s also afraid. He doesn’t know what is going to happen or what this means, but he’s just as scared. Stratt is already making her death march to the building, knowing someone would follow her.
“Hey,” Ryland said, already half-turned toward the building, like he was being pulled in two directions at once. “I’ll talk to Stratt in private. I’ll figure this out, but I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay,” you replied automatically. You have had zero time to cope with the loss of your peers, and now you have to cope with something bigger.
He hesitated for half a beat longer than necessary, like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the right word for it.
Then he started to go.
“Ryland,” you called out.
He stopped immediately.
You didn’t realize how tightly you were holding your breath until that moment.
Ryland Grace turned back to you, brows slightly raised. “Yeah?”
You opened your mouth, and there it was.
Right there. On the tip of your tongue. I love you.
Your throat tightened again, and the courage that had surged up a second ago cracked under its own weight.
You swallowed it down.
“…Just be careful,” you finished instead.
He gave you a look. He was hoping you would say more. He knew there was more sitting behind your words, like he always did, but he didn’t push it.
“Always am,” Ryland Grace said, and then he was gone down the corridor.
You stood there long after his footsteps faded.
You stand there feeling deeply guilty because selfishly, you didn't want to say goodbye. You wanted to help without needing to give up your comfort or safety. If anything, working research meant a blanket of safety for you and Ryland but now it sounds like sacrifice dressed up as science. You just wanted five more minutes where nothing was about to end. This is a once in a lifetime experience, yet you couldn’t imagine being so far in a void of nothing. Being an astronaut wasn't in the job description.
You stepped outside, needing air to cool you down. There was nothing you could do inside. Nothing to fix. Nothing to calculate your way out of.
Just waiting. Just thinking too much. Just the sick, slow realization that this might be the end for you. For the end of you and Ryland. The two of you haven't spoken about that fateful night on the ship, but there's a quiet and understood affection you both have for one another. Something special that only the two of you can acknowledge.
A few hours must have passed of you just standing outside. You’re trapped in your head, nothing else concerning you. You've been in a cycle of denial and negotiating. Anything to keep you safe, but most importantly, to also keep Ryland safe. You were trying to figure out who else could take your place or Ryland's, but the team is small as is. What would happen if you refused? Then you hear it. Shouting and footsteps. You look up and see someone being chased after by dozens of personnel. Ryland…?
“What the fuck?” you shouted before your brain caught up, already moving.
He turned his head mid-run. He sees you. His face changes instantly, and he waves for you to not come over.
“No—go! Leave!” he yelled.
“What?” you shouted back, breaking into a sprint. You see Ryland get pinned to the ground. You pick up the pace, running faster than you’ve ever had in the past.
“No—!” you screamed, already pushing through the cluster of bodies on top of Ryland.
You barely made it two steps before hands grabbed you. They’re strong and commanding, pulling you away.
“Hey—let go!” you snapped, struggling immediately.
“Doctor, stand down—”
“Don’t fucking touch me!”
You twisted, tried to break free, but more hands caught you. The hands are pulling you down just like they’d done to him. You feel someone heavy keeping you on the ground.
You turn your head, looking at Ryland who is also struggling on the ground. You reach out to him, trying to grab his hand.
Ryland on the ground, fighting even while pinned. He sees your hand and tries to reach out. You are merely fingertips apart, but nothing can close the gap.
“Stop—!” he shouted, but it was already overpowered by orders being barked at him. “Hey, don’t—don’t touch her—!”
Then something sharp pressed against your arm. It causes a surge throughout your arm.
You jerked violently. “What are you—?”
The world begins to blur. You fought it. Harder than you should’ve been able to, but your limbs were already losing the argument with chemistry. Your blood boils. You’re angry. That is all you can feel as your body fights back in vain. Through the haze, you saw him again. Ryland. You’re still angry. That’s all you can feel.
He had to have known.
“D-Did y-you know…” you tried to say, eyes barely staying open.
His expression shifted. He’s panicked.
“I didn’t—” he started, but you couldn’t hear the rest.
The last thing you see clearly is him still fighting to get to you. You take one last deep breath before your vision goes black.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ author's notes: lol so this was originally 10k words, but i had to shorten it for my own sanity. idk i feel like this isn't my best work, so it might be edited throughout the next couple of days. lol i get really embarrassed about my work sometimes... part 2 coming soon :) feel free to dm me if you want to be tagged. so part 2 i'm lowk thinking touch starved, angst, & smut. woo hoo !!! lol okay i need to go back to studying my finals. also fun little fact, the "fake" research paper was actually something i had to do a presentation for class LOL. It was essentially drawing a connection of how atp producing cells generate energy and how that could be applied to an engine. okay, i'll stop being a nerd now. <33333- love, jaz
【Summary】 A quick weed run withe her freinds, turns into a full trip when YN’s friends take a new acid tab from their plug. She’s the only one who doesn’t, too cautious, too unsure about the guy behind the grin. But as the night unfolds, the plug who once made her nervous ends up making her feel more than that.
【Word Count】 ~8.5k
【Tags】 · fluff · flirty tension · smoking weed · acid trip · accidental closeness · modern au
Heavy self-insert, kinda, I be like that when I’m under the influence, but idk about y’all… I get way too touchy, lmao.
The night air’s cool and damp, streetlights buzzing low like they’re half-asleep. The only sound on the block is the bass thumping from a house up ahead, lazy but heavy enough. We’re heading straight for it, me caught in the middle of my friends, jacket pulled tight, arms crossed like armor.
“Okay, wait,” I mutter, slowing my steps just enough to make them notice. “Who even is this dude again? We’re just… pulling up to some random dealer’s house like that’s normal?”
The group barely misses a beat. One of them snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Relax. That’s Jabber. He chill as fuck. Everybody know him. Got the best shit in the city.”
“Chill as fuck?” I echo, raising a brow. “Y’all say that like you actually know him.”
“Man, we do,” another one insists, laughing like I’m the uptight one. “He cool. Bit of a clown sometimes, but solid.”
“Uh-huh,” I hum, unconvinced, glancing down the block toward the pulsing lights. “Sounds less like chill and more like chaos.”
“Same thing when it’s Jabber,” someone jokes, earning a chorus of laughs. “And he got good weed,” the other adds, like that’s the end of the debate.
I exhale, breath fogging up in the chill. My heart’s thudding a little quicker than I’d like to admit. The closer we get, the louder it all becomes, laughter, the snap of a lighter, and the thick smell of smoke curling out of the open window like it owns the street. The whole block’s wrapped in it.
They walk up like they’ve done this a hundred times, knocking once before pushing the door open without a pause. I hang back on the steps, hand hovering near the railing. From where I’m standing, the inside looks like another world. Someone’s laughing deep from the couch, the kind of laugh that vibrates through your chest and dares you to look.
That’s probably him.
“C’mon,” one of them calls back, holding the door open. “Don’t be scared. He don’t bite.”
That’s what they think.
I take a deep breath and step inside, still wondering what kind of man I’m about to meet.
The second I step in, the smell hits me, a mix of smoke and something fried hours ago that never got cleaned up. The living room looks exactly how I’d imagine a plug’s house: ashtrays overflowing with blackened butts, half-empty bottles tipping against one another on the floor, bags and scales laid out like trophies on the table, coins and papers scattered in no particular order.
And there he is. This Jabber, sunk into the couch, legs spread, one arm draped over the back like he owns the whole world. There’s a little mountain of product on the table in front of him, baggies half-filled, lighter flicking every now and then as he takes a drag. He doesn’t even look up when the door creaks shut behind us, just keeps moving, hands working with lazy precision.
My friends light up like they’ve been waiting all night. “Yo, what’s good!” They cross the room fast, dapping him up one by one, laughter bouncing off the walls, like they’re old boys catching up after a lifetime.
I hover near the door, arms still crossed, eyes scanning everything like I’m expecting the walls to cave in. This is so not what I signed up for. Then Jabber finally looks up. And it’s right at me.
His eyes drag slow, head tilting just a little, that grin curling across his face before he even says a word. “Damn…” His voice is smooth, lazy, almost a purr. “Y’all didn’t say nothin’ bout bringin’ a shorty along”
I stiffen instantly, heat rising in my face. My friends laugh it off, waving him off like, “Chill, bro, don’t start.” One by one, they slide into the seating options around him, laughing and joking as if they’ve been planning this reunion for weeks.
But his gaze stays locked on me, leaning forward just enough to rest his elbows on his knees, blunt dangling between his fingers. “Mm-hm,” he hums, eyes roaming, that grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She the shy type, huh? Standin’ there lookin’ like she too good for my couch.”
I blink, not even sure what to say, so I don’t say anything at all. I just glance around at the mess, the trash, the clutter, the chaos, trying not to meet his eyes again.
The deal goes down. Cash hits the table, baggies slide across in return, all smooth like they’ve done it a hundred times. My friends grin, pocketing their stuff, already making plans for tonight. And me? I’m still hovering near the door, arms crossed, ready to dip.
Jabber leans back like he own the couch, stretchin’ out like a cat, tappin’ the ash off his blunt slow, real deliberate. That grin spreads, cheeky as hell. “Aight, buisness handled… but yo,” he says, eyes lockin’ on me for a moment too long, “I just got some new fire stuff in. Y’all tryna hit it? On me.”
My stomach knots, voice catching in my throat. “Uh… nah, we good.”
He raises a brow, smoke curling from his lips, chuckle low and lazy like he already know he got me twisted. “What ya scared for, ma?” His grin stretches wide, teasing, daring.
But my friends? They don’t care. “Wait, for real? Free?” One of them shouts. “Hell yeah, bro, bring it on!”
I blink at them, mouth open. “Y’all serious? Y’all just gonna say yes like that? We don’t even know what that is! What if it’s laced… or worse?”
One of them shrugs, “Relax. It’s Jabs. He got the fire. Chill out, girl.”
Jabber laughs. “See? That’s your problem, girl, ” he says, eyes locked on mine, smirk crawling over his face. “Thinkin’ too much. I ain’t tryna poison nobody, if I wanted you gone, you wouldn’t even be standin’ here, huh. Feel me?”
I swallow hard, heart racing, caught between rollin’ my eyes and… actually believin’ him.
He pats the empty space beside him, smirk tugging sly. “C’mon now,” he drawls, all velvet and danger, lips brushing smoke into the air. “Don’t act like my couch gon’ bite, ma. Sit. Down. Be social. Or we cant make it fun if you keep actin’ all shy, ya feel me?”
My feet stay planted, hesitation heavy like concrete, but my friends are already puffin’ on his blunt, laughing like I don’t even exist. And Jabber? He just leans back, one hand lazily patting the couch, eyes on me with that grin like he already know I’ll cave.
And… I do.
With a small sigh, I cross the room and lower myself onto the cushion beside him. Not too close, but just close enough to feel the heat from his side.
His grin widens. “Knew you’d come ‘round.”
Jabber leans forward, flicking ash into the tray, then stretches out like he owns the place. “Aight… lemme bless y’all,” he says, voice dragging smooth. He saunters over to a beat-up dresser shoved against the wall, riflin’ through drawers like he’s hunting treasure. Bass thumps from the speaker, smoke curls thick in the air, and my nerves tangle tighter with every step he takes.
Finally, he pulls out a tiny foil packet, holding it up with a grin sharp enough to cut. “Mm-hm. This right here? Fresh drop. Straight from Cali. Pure acid, clean as it get.” His eyes snap to mine, daring, teasing, and my stomach knots.
He slouches back onto the couch, packet in hand, flicks it open with his thumb like it ain’t nothing, like he’s done this a hundred times before. “This the kinda shit make colors dance for you, have you laughin’ at walls, feelin’ like a god. Not no weak-ass party pill, top shelf, y’all hear me?”
My friends lean forward instantly, eyes bright. “Bet. That’s fire, bro. Run it!”
I stare at them like they’ve lost their damn minds. “Are you serious? Y’all don’t even know what that is! You’re just… just gonna put that in your mouth ‘cause he said it’s good?”
They laugh, grabbing the it. Smoke curls around their heads from the blunt Jabber passed, bass rattling the floor. “Man, relax! You always scared. This the good shit, He don’t play, swear.”
Jabber leans back, blunt dangling lazily from his lips, smoke drifting past his grin. “You ever done acid before, ma?” His voice drags, low and smooth, like it’s teasing me before I even answer.
I blink, heart thudding. “Pff-, yeahh. Of course, obviously.” My words come out sharp, too quick. He tilts his head, grin widening like he already knows I’m lying. “Mm-hm. Tell Jabber what it feel like than, shorty. Don’t keep me waitin’.”
Heat creeps up my neck, my stomach twisting. My friends are already pressing tabs onto their tongues, laughing like they just scored a prize. I finally huff out the truth. “…Okay. Fine. I haven’t. Happy now?”
Jabber leans forward, grin crooked, eyes gleaming like he knows he got me twisted. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, shorty. First time for everything, feel me? Ain’t nobody gon’ put you on like me.” He taps the foil with his thumb, slow and deliberate, like he’s dealin’ out a secret only he got.
I shake my head fast, arms crossed tighter. “Nope. Nope. There’s no way I’m doing that. Y’all are crazy. This is stupid. What if I freak out? What if-”
My friends cut me off, already giggling as the tabs dissolve. “Y/N, chill. You think too much. Just try it!” I stare at them, heart hammering, mind screaming don’t do it.
Jabber leans back, one arm draped over the couch, the other lazily spinning the blunt between his fingers. That same lazy grin is fixed on me. “Actin’ all tough here but scared of some tabs, huh?” His voice drops low, smooth, teasing. “Relax, ma. I’ma hold your hand if shit get too wild.”
The first twenty minutes crawl. My friends chatter and laugh like it’s nothing, their words bouncing off each other, repeating, sticking on some dumb joke, but they’re losing themselves in it anyway.
I’m just… sitting there. Arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes glued to the walls. Counting seconds like they’ll save me. I don’t touch the drink they handed me, don’t say a word. Every so often, I peek at them, pupils huge, movements slightly off, faces almost glowing in the dim light.
And I hate it. Hate the nerves twisting in my stomach. Hate my silence. Hate feeling out of place in a room im the only sober one. My mind races: what if it’s laced? What if they can’t handle it? What if something goes sideways and I’m stuck in this mess.
Then, slowly, I notice the changes. One friend leans back against the couch, staring at the carpet like it’s some masterpiece. Another traces a poster on the wall, giggling at colors that aren’t even there. I swear my stomach knots tighter just watching them.
My eyes flick to Jabber, expecting calm, he’s got that grin, lazy, sharp at the same time, eyes glinting like he’s already three steps ahead.
He leans just a hair closer. “Ya see ’em, shawty? Lookin’ all gone already… smilin’ at shit that ain’t even there,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. I stiffen, arms hugging myself, trying to stay cool. “Yeah… I see that.”
He snickers, head tilting, smoke curling around his face. “That shit makes the whole room feel different.” I shift, hands clutching my myself, jaw tight. “Yeah… different. Weird.”
He slides a finger under his chin, grin lazy, body leaning back like he owns the space. Voice dropping lower, slow, deliberate. “Mm-hm… actin’ like you too good for it, huh? Shorty… don’t think I ain’t see that lil spark of curiosity in your eyes watchin’ ’em.”
I bite my lip, heart hammering, trying not to let him know how rattled I am. “I’m… fine. Just… observing.”
“Observing, huh?” He chuckles, that low rumble like he knows he’s got me twisted. “Don’t worry so much, girl… Every paranoid thought runnin’ through that pretty head. Ain’t nothin’ scary ‘bout it. Just… different. New. Feels good to be caught off guard sometimes, don’t it?”
I glance around, but can’t help looking back at him. That grin never leaves, and his eyes stay locked on mine.
He leans back a little, flickin’ the lighter against the blunt, the tip glowin’ orange, smoke curling slow into the room.
“Here,” he says, holdin’ it out, thumb brushin’ mine as I take it careful. “Ain’t nothin’ scary ’bout this. You good" I stare at it for a second, heart thudding. “Uh… okay.” I raise it to my lips, inhale shakily.
He laughs low, rough, leaning closer, hand brushing my arm in that lazy, teasing way. “Mm… that’s it. Feelin’ it already, huh?” His eyes glint like he knows exactly how I’m holding back.
I nod, heart thudding, but before I can settle, he flicks the blunt, slow, deliberate. That grin spreads wider, full of mischief. “Mm-hm… that’s the acid in it,” he says, voice dragging, eyebrows wiggling like he’s daring me to freak out.
I freeze, eyes going wide. “…Wait- what?!”
The second the words leave my mouth, he leans back just enough to let me see that smug, lazy smirk. Smoke curls from his lips, drifting toward me like a tease. “Relax, lil mama… I took it too. You’re officially ridin’ with me now.”
A shiver runs down my spine, part nerves, part… him. My stomach knots as my hands clench, but he just sits there, calm, grinning, watching every tiny reaction like a predator enjoying the chase.
My heart spikes, a mix of panic and annoyance. “Why would you do that? That’s insane! noo" I cough, my chest tightening, heart hammering. “…No, no, no, no! I can’t, you’re insane!” My hands flail slightly, knocking against the couch as the smoke curls around.
He just leans back, grinning wide, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch behind me. “Uh-huh… that’s the reaction I like,… lookin’ like you bout to run outta here.”
I grab my jacket, pressing it to my face, trying to calm my racing heart, but every chuckle, every lazy shift of his body, every teasing glance sets my nerves on fire. “You’re such an idiot…” I mutter.
Letting his knee brush mine, hand lazily trailing along my arm, teasingly slow. “Mm… that’s the fun part, sugar. Let it ride,” he murmurs, voice low, dragging the words out like he knows exactly what effect they’re having.
I swat at him, heart thudding, but can’t hide the shiver that shoots down my spine. “I can’t… I can’t believe this,” I mutter, eyes flicking away, then back at him.
I can’t stop myself from glaring, heart thudding in a mix of panic and… something else. He’s teasing, chaos embodied and I’m trapped right next to him, melting even while I’m screaming inside.
He laughs, low and deep, voice wrapping around me like velvet. “Chill… I was just messin’ with you, lil mama. Ain’t no crazy shit here, just normal purple haze. You needa relax a bit.”
His hand lingers near mine, brushing along my arm, fingers tracing just enough to make my skin prickle. I can’t stop the shiver rolling through me. He leans closer, that lazy grin creeping back, eyes hooded, teasing. “See? Ain’t so bad when it’s me, huh?”
My stomach drops. I snatch the nearest pillow and hurl it at him. “Ugh! You’re impossible! I swear-”
He barely flinches, catches the edge of the pillow with one hand, grinning like it’s the best thing he’s seen all night. “Mm-hm… that’s a it. Finally showin’ some fight.”
I huff, cheeks burning, arms crossed, trying to act mad but damn, he’s kinda fun to be around. “Some fight? You literally scared me half to death!”
He leans closer, letting the pillow slide off his lap, fingers brushing mine again. “Aight… maybe had ya a lil scared, shorty… but that’s hot too,” he murmurs, grin tugging at the corner of his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
I glare at him, jaw tight, voice sharp. “Hot? You think scaring me to death is hot? You’re… ridiculous.”
He leans back, one arm draped over the couch, that grin easing into something warmer, lazy, teasing. “Mm… jus like your ridiculous paranoia, shorty.”
I bite my lip, trying to shove the warmth creeping up my neck away. “I… I can’t believe this shit… ugh,” I mutter. He chuckles low, slow, not mocking, but teasing enough to make me twitch. “Relax, girl… ain’t nothin’ gonna happen. I got you.”
I huff, shifting on the couch, watching my friends fully dissolve into their own trips, one tracing shapes in the ceiling shadows, eyes wide, another giggling at the carpet like it’s a whole new planet. Their laughter floats, warped and dizzying, and I feel… stuck between awe and panic.
I glance back at Jabber, arms still crossed, trying to look stern. “And you? Just… chillin’? Why ain’t you trippin’ with them?”
He shrugs, grin stretching wider, that effortless swagger radiating off him. “Mm… I know the ride… and somebody gotta be here watchin’ you while the rest get lost, ya feel me?”
Then his hand drifts toward mine, fingers just barely brushing, teasing, testing, enough to make my pulse spike. “But ey… don’t fight it too hard, shorty. If ya change your mind and wanna hop on that tab, you good.”
A little curiosity snakes through me despite myself. He leans back, eyes hooded, grin slow and sharp, watching me like he already knows what I’m thinking, daring me to admit how close I am to giving in.
I bite my lip tighter, heart racing, trying to stay distant, but the warmth of him, the casual way he leans close without pressing… it’s unnerving. He’s impossible to read, somehow teasing and safe at the same time.
“Curious?” he murmurs, voice dipping, sliding just a little closer. “No need to hide that from me.”
I glare harder, crossing my arms even tighter, chest rising fast. “I’m… not,” I snap, voice sharp, even though my fingers twitch where his hand brushed the couch near mine. He leans back just slightly, that grin softening into something magnetic, eyes locking on mine. “Uh-huh… sure you ain’t, sugar.”
I glare at him, hunting for a comeback to his prank. Eyebrow raised, voice dripping with fake annoyance, I snap, “So… you… just sellin’ drugs for a livin’? That’s… sad, ain’t it?”
He chuckles low and steady, that easy Jabber swagger in his posture. “Sad? Nah, lil mama. Everybody gotta eat, right? Ain’t like I hurtin’ nobody. I keep it clean, keep it right. That’s all business, feel me?”
I huff, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed, but my pulse is racing. “Business… right.” I pause, flicking some ash off his blunt I’ve been hitting steadily now. “And you… proud of it?”
He shrugs, eyes hooded, that lazy grin stretching wider. “Proud? I just do what I do. Gotta hustle. Think this life easy? Nah, ma… takes brains, patience… people gotta respect it. That’s all I care about.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to push back, but he leans just a little closer, head tilted, that corner-of-the-lip grin tugging sharper, eyes locked on me like he can read every thought. “And what ‘bout you, ma? You think that’s sad, what bout you just rollin’ through to grab your own stash… more sadder, huh? Lookin’ all high-and-mighty now off my weed.”
“I’m… uhm… that’s not,” I mutter, though my heart’s hammering faster than I care to admit. He chuckles low, tilting the blunt toward me again, thumb brushing mine as I take it. “Mm… that’s it. See? You learnin’ fast.,” he murmurs, voice lazy but teasing, like he’s enjoying every twitch of my nerves.
I cough lightly, hands trembling a bit, and he laughs softly, letting his fingers brush mine again, lingering just a second too long. “Chillin’ now. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Let it ride… let it hit ya.”
I sink back, resting lightly against him. The warmth of the smoke mingles with the warmth from him, just enough to lean into him without really thinking.
His arm, already draped behind the couch, now settles naturally just behind me, like it’s always been there, with that lazy grin stretching easy across his face. “You good? Lookin’… soft now. That’s real nice.”
“Yeah… I guess I’m… chill,” I murmur, tilting my head slightly against him. “Can’t even remember the last time I just… did nothing and actually liked it.”
He chuckles low, his arm already rests lightly around my shoulders, but now he shifts it, pulling me a little closer. “Life funny like that, girl. Everybody runnin’, tryna do everything… forgettin’ to just… be. Ain’t that enough?”
The warmth presses against me, easy and grounding, like he’s claiming the space beside him without a word. I let out a soft laugh, feeling the warmth from him radiate against me. “It’s… nice like this. Weird, but nice.”
“See? Ain’t gotta overthink it. Just… be here. That’s all that matters.” I find myself smiling wider now, letting my guard slip a little. “Yeah… like, life’s stressful and all, but… right here, right now… I kinda get it.”
I lean into him, letting the weight settle. “Mm… that’s better,” he murmurs, pressing lightly against me. “Just… enjoy it, shorty. Don’t think too much. Let it ride.”
I exhale, tilting my head slightly closer, a soft smile tugging at my lips. Leaning my head against his shoulder, letting the warmth and calm radiate through me. Fingers brushing his as he lifts the blunt, I feel that lazy, teasing energy in his presence, comforting and unnerving all at once.
“You know ma… ,” he murmurs, voice low, smooth, hand drifting lightly over my arm, “you here to chill, not just watch my boys float away. That shit’s fire… you’ll love it.” I glance at him, shaking my head slightly as I take another hit. “I… I don’t know if I like this,” I admit, voice small, shaky.
He leans a fraction closer, fingers brushing through my hair in the softest, most casual way, like it’s nothing. “Mm… that’s alright, sugar. I got you. You good. Just trust me.”
I huff, pressing my forehead lightly against his shoulder. “I… I don’t know… sounds… scary.”
He tilts my chin up gently, grin teasing but soft in his eyes. “First time’s always sum. But I’m right here. I’ll guide you. All you gotta do… just put your tongue out for me.”
Panic and curiosity war inside me, biting my lip. “I… I don’t know…”
“Shh…” he murmurs, thumb brushing my jaw, voice low and lazy. “You trust me, girl. I ain’t gonna let nothing happen. You just… trust me.”
I tilt my head, parting my lips just enough. His grin widens, warm and teasing, and he picks up the tab from the table, sliding it carefully onto my tongue.
I blink, heart thudding, the strange taste hitting my senses. “Oh… oh wow…” He chuckles low, voice lazy, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s it, ma… you did it. Just… relax, enjoy it. I got you.”
I let myself sink further into him. His arm drifts around me naturally, loose, effortless, holding me in place without words. The room softens, the distant laughter of my friends, the thump of the bass, all fades into a blur.
He leans back, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Ever hear some of the stories, girl? ’Bout my regulars? Man… some of these fools are somethin’ else.” I glance up at him, smirking despite myself. “Oh really? Tell me.”
He shakes his head, chuckling low. “Aight… peep this, shorty. Dude rolls in last week, right? Tryna act all slick, like he runnin’ shit or somethin’. Man spend like ten minutes sniffin’ each bag, checkin’ the colors, swirlin’ it around like he testin’ wine. Bro’s face when I called him out? Bruh… straight up priceless.”
I snort, covering my mouth, trying not to crack up too loud. “No way… he was serious?”
““Dead ass, shorty. I’m standin’ there, tryna keep my chill, but this fool starin’ at me like I invented weed or somethin’. I swear, almost had to slide him a mirror, make him peep how a idiot looks like.”
I laugh again, leaning closer. “You’re terrible… you know that? All this… your lifestyle, the way you live, messin’ with people, runnin’ your game, it’s… a lot.”
He chuckles, that slow, teasing Jabber laugh, letting it wrap around me like a soft rhythm. “Mm… maybe. But you like that, don’t you?”
I freeze for a second, heat rising, then roll my eyes, trying to hide my grin. “Maybe a little.” He smirks, tilting his head, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Nah, I’m entertainin’. Somebody gotta keep it fun.” He squeezes my shoulder lightly. “Some customers, man… they’ll do anything to act important, but I see right through ’em. You gotta laugh at life sometimes, ma.”
I shak my head, but the laughter keeps slipping out. “Yeah… I guess. You make it sound hilarious, I’ll give you that.”
He leans his head just a little against mine, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “See? I told you… chillin’ can be fun too. Ain’t always gotta stress, judge, overthink. Sometimes… just laugh, enjoy the little stuff.”
I hum softly, shoulders sinking further into his warmth, the tension from before melting away. “You’re… not like anyone I’ve met before,” I admit, voice soft, smile easing.
“Mm… good or bad?” he teases, low and lazy, that grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
I bite my lip, trying to play it cool, but my hands find his arm, fingers brushing along the fabric of his sleeve. “Mm-hmm,” I murmur, not wanting to admit how much I’m actually enjoying this but my actions made the answer clear.
He chuckles, fingers brushing lightly over mine, thumb tracing lazy circles. “That’s what I thought.”
For the next twenty minutes, we sit like that, him telling ridiculous, hilarious stories about his customers, me laughing, teasing, forgetting the world outside… even forgetting the acid tab for a while. His arm stays snug around my shoulders, and I let myself lean fully into him, savoring the warmth, the calm, the effortless pull between us.
By the time the next few minutes tick by, the world around me shifts. The carpet beneath my legs seems to ripple gently, colors bending and stretching like liquid. Shadows dance across the walls, almost breathing in rhythm with my heartbeat.
I blink, eyes wide, suddenly hyper-aware of every sound, every vibration, every little shift in the room. My fingers instinctively curl around Jabber’s arm, pressing into the warmth, holding on like it’s the only thing steady in this swirling, vivid haze.
He glances down at me, eyes soft, voice low, smooth. “Mm… feelin’ it now, huh?” I nod quickly, chest hammering, heart thudding like a drum. “Yeah… it’s… wow… everything’s…” My fingers dig into his arm, legs twitching slightly, stomach twisting. “It’s… kinda scary…”
He lets out a calm, soft laugh, thumb brushing in slow, deliberate circles. “Aight, ma… I got you. Just… ride it out. You safe. You right here with me.”
I inhale sharply, head pressing into his shoulder, and my hands can’t stop moving, tracing the lines of his arm, clutching his sleeve, brushing across the couch beside him. Every sensation is amplified, the warmth, the vibration of the bass under the floor, the smell of smoke, all of it pulsing through me.
“I… I can’t… it’s too… everything,” I murmur, voice trembling, legs fidgeting, pulse racing. “It’s… a lot.”
He tilts his head, eyes locked on mine, calm as ever. “I know… lean into it. Don’t fight it, shorty. Feel it all. I’m right here.”
I nod, gripping him tighter, pressing my cheek fully against his chest now, fingers curling around his bicep like an anchor. The room stretches and bends around me, colors melting together, laughter echoing in slow, warped waves. “You… you feel… real,” I whisper, voice shaky. “Like… I can actually hold on to you.”
He chuckles low, slow, teasing, letting his hand cover mine like he’s making sure I don’t float away. “That’s right, shorty… hold on… don’t even think ’bout lettin’ go.”
The colors explode now, posters melting into neon swirls, the ceiling breathing above me like it’s alive. I giggle, fingers brushing over his chest, tracing along his sleeve, just… feeling. Everything feels electric.
“Everything’s… so alive,” I murmur, pressing closer. “It’s… a lot, but… good, I think?”
For what feels like forever, I don’t even notice my friends or the world outside. I just press against him, brush along his arm, let the acid roll through my body, my mind spinning, while he stays calm… a steady anchor. Every laugh, every ripple of color, every stretching shadow is softer, safer, tethered by him.
He stretches out, letting out a long, lazy sigh, that grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Aight… I’mma grab somethin’ to eat. You hungry, shorty?” I blink, stomach twisting, suddenly aware of how light-headed I feel. “…Uh… can I… come with you?”
He laughs low, smooth, shaking his head like he’s already won. “Heh… you tryna steal my food too now, huh? Mm… I like that. Yeah, come on. Don’t get lost in that pretty little head of yours.”
He rises, and I follow, fingers still brushing along his arm, holding just enough to stay grounded. The walls ripple gently, shadows bending like they’re breathing. Every tiny flicker of light, every detail feels sharper, wilder… and yet, safe, tethered to him.
His eyes flick to mine, hooded, teasing, the kind of look that makes my chest thrum. “Aight, girl… keep up now. Don’t wander off, I ain’t lettin’ you float away.”
I let out a nervous giggle, letting my fingers slide along his arm as we move, just enough to feel anchored. He glances down, grinning wider, hand brushing against mine in that slow, teasing way. “See? You stickin’ close… I like that. Smart girl.”
“You see that?” he murmurs, pointing vaguely at a corner. “Ceiling lookin’ like it’s… moving’, huh? Wild, right?” I giggle softly, nodding. “Yeah… everything’s… so alive. The light… the colors…” My fingers drift over the ridge of his bicep again, resting there unconsciously.
He chuckles low, that lazy, teasing sound rolling through the kitchen like he owns every corner. Guiding us through the space, he opens the fridge and pulls out a couple things, tossing me a small snack like it’s nothing. I hover close, fingers brushing his side every so often, letting myself lean in just a little.
“You… don’t mind me just hangin’ here, huh?” I murmur, voice soft, barely above the hum of my thoughts. He leans back just enough to give me that slow, lazy grin. “Mind? Nah, shorty… you stickin’ close. Ain’t nobody gonna snatch you from me, feel me?”
He moves to the counter. “Check that tile… see how it’s catchin’ the light? Man, that shine, crazy. And this glow, look at it. Right?”
I laugh softly, tracing patterns along the edge of the counter, letting my fingers wander, glancing up at him. “I don’t even know where to look first.”
He leans just slightly toward me, that familiar lazy grin tugging wider. “Mm… don’t think. Just take it all in. Colors, shapes… me. All yours right now.”
Without realizing it, I let my head rest against his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch; instead, his arm slides casually behind me, hand brushing along my back like he’s claiming the space without a word. My chest feels lighter, the high humming softly through me, steady and grounded by him.
I hop up onto the counter, legs dangling, fingers tracing edges like they’re asking for it. He steps closer, tall, calm, that lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You good?”
I nod, breath hitching, caught between giggles and awe, leaning just a little closer. “Yeah… I think so. It’s… a lot, but… I really like it.”
He tilts his head, eyes hooded, playful mischief mixed with warmth. “Mmhm” I blink, head tilting against, voice soft. “…Yeah… just… wobbly, I guess.”
He steps right in front of me, tall and calm, letting his presence steady me as I wobble a little on the counter. His hands rest lightly on my hips, guiding me without a word, fingers brushing along my sides like it’s the most natural thing. “Don’t worry ‘bout leanin’ or fallin’. I got you.”
I can’t help it, my fingers brush his forearms, tracing small patterns, and I realize I’m holding onto him more than I thought. The high makes everything feel magnified, his closeness, the brush of his hands, the smell of him mixing with the kitchen scents.
He grabs a small piece of food from the plate “Here… try this, ma. Gotta taste the high too.”
I open my mouth just a bit, letting him guide it, but the way he’s right there, close, makes my cheeks heat up. “You… you’re right here…” I murmur, voice catching.
“Mhm,” he says, teasing soft, leaning in just enough as I bite down. “Gotta make sure you eat it right.”
The flavor hits, sweet and sharp all at once, and I can’t stop the little giggle that slips out. “Damn… that’s… really good,” I admit, eyes half-lidded from the high.
He grins, watching me like he already knows how I’m feeling. “Mm… knew it. Knew you’d feel that.”
I shift a little more on the counter, letting my body brush against his as I reach for another bite. My fingers curl around his wrist for balance, and he doesn’t flinch, just lets me, watching with that lazy, knowing grin.
“Careful now,” he murmurs, slow and teasing, thumb brushing lazy circles over my knuckles. “You all up on me, shorty… you know what you doin’?”
I flush, fumbling slightly, biting my lip. “S-sorry… I… I just… can’t help it. Everything’s so… intense.”
He chuckles low, that teasing rumble vibrating through his chest. “…never once complained ‘bout that. Keep doin’ you, girl.”
I let out a nervous laugh, pressing a little closer, fingers brushing along his arm like I can’t help myself. “I… I didn’t mean to… it’s just…”
“Shh… it’s straight. Ain’t no need to apologize. You doin’ fine. Hell, I like this.”
He lifts another small bite toward my lips. I bite gently, lips brushing his fingers. My hands drift naturally, one curling over his forearm. I let myself melt fully into him, forehead pressing against him, head settling comfortably against his chest as if I’ve always belonged there.
He chuckles low. “Mm… look at you, shawty. Bein’ all soft and clingy like that… can’t even hide it, huh?”
His fingers brush a strand of hair from my face, thumb lingering just a second longer. “Told ya… this is fun. You gettin’ all… goofy on me already.”
I shiver, pulling my head back slightly from his chest, eyes wide and glimmering. He just watches, grin widening, like he’s savoring every twitch of my nerves.
He moves, setting the plate down in the sink and my eyes follow, unfocused, mesmerized. Then he turns back, that lazy, teasing grin aimed straight at me.
“Mm… look at that,” he murmurs, hand lifting to cup my cheek, thumb tracing lazy circles over my skin, playful but deliberate. “All wide-eyed… all ‘ohhh, help me, Jabber’ kinda lookin’. You feelin’ that? You like how… helpless you look right now?”
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh, cheeks heating, and he just chuckles, low and mocking.
His fingers drift lower, brushing along my jaw, teasing deliberate, and then he presses his thumb to my lips. I blink at him, breath hitching, heart thudding.
“Don’t be shy, sugar,” he whispers, voice low, purr in it. “Gotta enjoy it… all of it.” I giggle, high and reckless, letting my tongue flick over his thumb once, twice, testing him. I bite gently at the pad, smirking up at him, teasing.
He chuckles, slow and low, shaking his head, hand still cupping my face. “You crazier than I thought,” he murmurs, leaning just a touch closer. Every press, every brush, every lazy slide of his finger against my lip makes my body hum, my mind whirl, the colors and heat of the high amplifying every spark between us.
Smiling wide, eyes half-lidded, high and touchy and completely caught up in him. He leans down just a hair more, whispering into my ear, warm breath tickling me: “Mm… you like that, huh? Feelin’ all… needy’?”
I nod, barely able to form words, letting the high and his teasing take over. My tongue drifts along his thumb, lips pressing light kisses. Every brush of his hand against my face, the warmth of his body pressed close, it’s electric. My heartbeat thrums in my ears, every nerve alive.
And then-
“Hey! Yo, quick question.” Our friend barges in, giggling like a maniac, completely oblivious to the world we’re in.
I freeze. My eyes snap open, and I yank his hand down, cheeks flaming red. “Uh, uhmm” I stammer, scrambling for distance, hands fumbling against the counter.
Jabber doesn’t move. He’s still standing there, that lazy, teasing grin spread wide, looking down at me enjoying my panic.
The friend squints at the room, still giggling, blurting, “Uh… yo… where are the 3D glasses? We wanna watch Kung Fu Panda!”
I swallow hard, face heating further, trying to vanish into the counter. My high makes every inch of his body seem ridiculously close, ridiculously warm.
Jabber tilts his head, “Mm… they’re in the drawer on the left of the TV. Don’t trip too hard.”
He leans just slightly back to me, voice soft but mocking. “You lookin’ like you bout to melt right here.”
I squeak, high, flustered, caught somewhere between giggling and hiding. My legs jitter, fingers twitching. He chuckles, clearly loving every second of it.
The friend nods, grinning, clearly too high to notice anything, and wanders off, muttering a distracted, “Thanks…”
I let out a shaky breath, trying to untangle myself, but Jabber is still right there, knees bracketing mine, that lazy, teasing grin firmly in place. His hand drifts lightly over my thigh, warm and steady, like he’s staking claim without saying a word.
Then, in the blink of an eye, the friend spins back, pupils huge, voice all wobble and disbelief. “Wait… uh… Y/N, are you like… fucking the plug rightnow?”
My eyes go wide, cheeks burning hotter than a stove. I yelp, jerking back, hands flailing, trying to cover my face. “W-what?! No! God, stop!”
Jabber doesn’t even flinch. His hands brushing over my thights. “We just vibin.”
I press my forehead to his chest, high and mortified, heart hammering in every nerve. But… that warmth, his body pressed close, his hand steady, his calm teasing grin, keeps me rooted, half-relieved, half-flustered.
He chuckles, soft and slow, letting the teasing linger. “Mm… you all red and squirmy… Ain’t nobody seein’ nothin.”
The friend finally laughs, completely lost in their own world, mumbling something about Kung Fu Panda before stumbling out.
I peek up at Jabber, cheeks still blazing, breath shaky. “You… you’re impossible,” I mutter, voice barely audible.
He chuckles low, that slow, teasing rumble, fingers brushing my jaw, thumb tracing over my cheek. “…Nah, shorty… just keepin’ it interesting. Ain’t nothing wrong with havin’ a little fun while you’re high.”
We drift back to the living room, the faint laughter of our friends and the muffled silly movie soundtrack filling the air. My chest is still fluttering from the kitchen moment, the warmth of him lingering in my mind.
Without really thinking, I flop onto the couch beside him, still spinning from the acid. Somehow, my body slides closer, and I find myself perched lightly on his lap, legs draped across his, pressing into his chest. My mind flickers, realizing the position but the swirl of colors and the thrum of the high drown out everything else.
He leans just a bit, fingers brushing along my arm, smirk tugging at his lips. “Actin’ all delicate, all lost in the ride. You like it? Huh?”
I bite my lip, cheeks flaming hotter, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “I… yeah… I think so,” I admit, voice small, almost shy, letting myself melt fully into the closeness.
He chuckles low, hand settling lightly on my hip, thumb tracing lazy circles. “You comfy, hmm?” I blink at him, mouth twitching in a half-smile, voice soft and airy. “Yeah, I guess,” I mumble, high as hell, barely processing that I’m literally perched on him.
His grin spreads, teasing. “Guess so? Mm… that ain’t a guess, ma. You sittin’ on me like it’s the only spot that matters.”
I laugh softly, head tilting against his chest, hands brushing over his arms, lingering on his biceps and I can’t even notice the friends half-watching the movie a few meters away. Everything else blurs; it’s just him, the high, the warmth, the closeness.
My fingers tracing patterns over his arm. A lazy laugh escapes him. “Don’t make me start thinkin’ you don’t ever wanna leave.” I can’t help the soft giggle, pressing into him a little more. “I… uh… I don’t,” I whisper, high and shaky, heart fluttering.
He chuckles again, that low, teasing rumble. “Mm… good. Didn’t think you’d admit it so fast."
I tilt my head up, squinting at the TV. “So… Kung Fu Panda, huh? Is this like… a good one to watch high?”
Jabber chuckles, low and lazy, fingers brushing over my arm as he nudges me closer. “Mm… yeah, for sum. But lemme tell you somethin’, shorty… when you high, you gotta pick the right kinda movie. Animated? Classic. Colors pop, jokes hit different. Music? Bruh… that hits all the feels, for real.”
I giggle, listening to him go on like he’s giving a masterclass. “So… what else counts as ‘right’ then?”
He leans back, chin just above my head, voice smooth, teasing, dragging the words out like he owns the room. “Mm… gotta mix it up. Comedy, trippy visuals, some kinda music-heavy joint. You inside that movie, swear to God.”
I laugh softly, nudging him with my knee. “Sounds like you’ve done this a lot.”
He grins, lazy and cocky, thumb brushing along my shoulder like he’s claiming it. “Mm… lil bit. Gotta know how to vibe right, feel me? Movies, music, weed, a lil acid… all gotta line up. Make it a full ride. Don’t sleep on the details, shorty… that’s how it hit different.”
I tilt my head against his chest, soaking in the warmth and the soft buzz from the high. “You really know how to set it up, huh?”
He hums, that lazy grin tugging at his lips, thumb brushing along my shoulder. “Mm… you know what’s wild, sugar? One of my crazies told me ‘bout this trip he had watchin’ Spirited Away on shrooms. Swore he felt like he was there… every color poppin’, every little detail hittin’ him different.”
I grin, eyes lighting up despite the haze. “Oh… that movie’s brilliant. The visuals, the music, the world… it’s insane. I can totally see that.”
He leans closer, voice low and teasing, warm against my ear. “Mm… bet you’d dig that, ma. Got a copy upstairs. We could watch it, if you down.”
My chest flutters, cheeks warming, high and excited. “…Yeah. Llet’s do it,” I murmur. He grins wider, nudging me gently as I rise from the couch. “Bet. Follow me, sugar… let’s see how deep this ride goes.”
I follow, heart thumping and mind spinning, fingers brushing his arm as he guides me upstairs. The hallway lights blur slightly.
We step into his bedroom, and I freeze mid-step, eyes wide. The place is… exactly what I imagined when I pictured a “plug’s bedroom.” Clothes strewn across the floor, an old backpack tipped over with papers spilling out, and the faint, sweet haze of weed hanging thick in the air. Posters are taped haphazardly to the walls, some peeling at the corners, and a lamp in the corner casts a warm, golden glow over the chaos.
I bite my lip, unsure where to put myself, hands fidgeting. “Uh… wow,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
Jabber doesn’t miss a beat. He’s already moving to his desk, flipping drawers with casual efficiency. I step closer, peering over his shoulder as he rifles through the messy drawer. Pulling out a slightly beat-up DVD case.
“I feel… so light,” I murmur, voice soft and dazed, almost a whisper lost in the haze.
He hums, that lazy grin tugging at his lips as his arm slides around my waist, steady and warm. “Just let it flow,” he says quietly, fingers tracing slow, grounding patterns along my side.
He nods toward the bed, and I stumble over, laughing under my breath. The mattress catches me before I even realize I’ve fallen, the softness swallowing me whole. I sink into it, limbs loose, head spinning, the world stretching and breathing around me. A sigh slips out, half relief, half wonder. The high ripples through me, light and electric.
Jabber drops down beside me, one arm propped behind his head. “You trippin’ hard, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, the kind that hums through my chest more than my ears.
I laugh softly, turning my face toward him, eyes half-lidded. “It’s… wild,” I admit. “Like I can’t tell if I’m lying down or floating.”
He chuckles, leaning closer, “Floatin’, huh? Guess that makes me your anchor, sugar.” His fingertips trailing slowly to my hip, feather-light touches that make me shiver.
My lips twitch into a hazy smile, my hand lifting without much thought, fingers brushing along his arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath. “You’re… sweet. That’s all I know right now.”
His grin spreads, lazy and teasing, as his fingers graze along my side again, barely there but enough to make me squirm softly against the sheets. “Sweet, huh? That means you feelin’ me. Hmm?”
I hum in response, closing my eyes for a second, my hand sliding up to his chest, fingertips tracing over the fabric stretched across it. The contact feels electrical.
“You good?” he asks, softer now, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair off my face. I nod slowly, a hazy giggle slipping out. “Better than good. Everything’s… colors, and you’re… right here. Feels.”
My fingers can’t stop moving, tracing up his arm, down his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, slow, teasing, and I shiver.
“You real touchy, hmm” he murmurs, voice soft but edged with that teasing grin. His eyes narrow slightly, curious. “You always like this? Or just with me?” Heat floods my face, and I shake my head. “N-no… not with anyone. I don’t” I stop myself, swallowing.
His grin deepens, lazy and knowing. “Mm-hm. Funny, though… you ain’t even trust me at first. Kept your walls up,actin’ like I was a real problem.” He leans in closer, his breath brushing my cheek. “And look at you now.”
I laugh, breathless, high, giddy and instead of pulling back, I grab his shirt in a fist and tug him closer. My eyes lock on his, everything around us blurring into colors, and all I can feel is him.
He tilts his head, voice dropping lower, velvet smooth. “You lookin’ at me like you want more than just an anchor.” My face burns, but I can’t even deny it. A stupid little giggle slips out, and my hand drifts up to his neck, thumb brushing against his jaw.
His grin softens, hungrier now, his eyes half-lidded as he closer. My chest tightens, my lips part just slightly, waiting. Until his lips hovers just a breath from mine, so close I can feel the heat of him.
I don’t move. I don’t even think. My fingers tighten against his shirt, pulling him that last inch closer and his lips crash into mine.
Every nerve in my body lights up, sparks shooting down my spine, my fingertips clutching at his shirt like I’ll drown if I let go. The taste of him, smoke, heat, something rough and sweet at the same time, burns through me.
A low sound slips out of me, half-moan, half-gasp, as I press closer, desperate, my hands climbing from his chest to his neck, to his jaw, anywhere I can touch. My legs shift, brushing his, trying to pull him closer, the high making every inch of contact feel explosive.
I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. I’m melting into him, biting at his bottom lip, tugging him back in when he shifts even a breath away.
Then, suddenly, he eases back. Just a little. His hand on my cheek, but his lips pull away, and I chase after him with another needy little sound before I even realize I’m doing it.
He chuckles low, breathing heavier now, eyes half-lidded but sharp as they catch mine. “Damn, ma… you hungry for real.”
I flush hot, chest heaving, lips tingling, still clinging to his shirt like I’ll collapse without it. “I… I just-” I stammer, high and desperate, not even sure what I’m trying to say.
The kiss is steady, deliberate, and I melt into it, my breath catching as he shifts, pressing me furthor into the mattress with his weight.
The world tilts, the sheets soft under me, the colors spinning overhead, but all I feel is him, warm and solid, pinning me down in the best way. My fingers tangle in his shirt, tugging him closer, desperate for more, even though he’s already everywhere.
He breaks the kiss just enough to murmur against my lips, voice low and rough with amusement. “… Needy as hell. Whole time before, you was paranoid as fuck, doubtin’ me like I was trouble.” His hand drags slowly across my waist, grounding me. “Now? You can’t even let me breathe.”
My chest heaves, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as I look up at him. “I… I don’t care. I just-” The words tumble out clumsy, high, but true. “I just want you.”
He chuckles, low and satisfied, kissing me again, firmer this time, his body pressed into mine. His hand slides down to my hip, holding me there like he’s proving a point. “Mm-hm. That acid hittin’ different, huh?”
I squirm under him, half-embarrassed, on the way he feels against me, my nails lightly grazing over his arm. “Shut up,” I whisper against his mouth, pulling him back down into another kiss, more frantic this time.
He grins into it, letting me take what I want for a moment before deepening the kiss himself, guiding the pace, steady and teasing, while his weight keeps me right where he wants me.
Pairing: Colt Seavers x gn!Reader; Ryland Grace x gn!Reader
Summary: you find out your close friend and coteacher has a stuntman twin.
Words: 1.4k
Warnings: flirty Colt, jealous Ryland, brother banters, they/them pronouns used for reader
A/N: this idea was birthed from multiple tiktoks that suggest an au wherein colt and ryland are (sometimes estranged) twins. from the moment i saw the fall guy i have definitely been thinking of how he and ryland look so similar!! of course, credit for the au concept goes to the rightful owner, that of whom i do not actually know of but absolutely commend for this absolute masterpiece of an idea.
p.s. if anyone wants to be added to the taglist for any and all ryan gosling fics, just leave a comment and pls pls make sure your mentions are on😭
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“Ryland, have you turned in your re…port…?”
You enter Ryland’s classroom without a knock or a second thought, holding in your arms a copy of your monthly report. Your feet halt and your brows furrow curiously at the figure stood in front of the teacher’s desk. He was toying with “lava” when you caught him.
The figure turns to face you, startled at your sudden arrival. It’s Ryland, yet somehow, it isn’t? Something about him felt uncanny—unfamiliar.
Ryland wore a white tank top under a leather jacket with “Miami Vice Stunt Team” written on the back of it. With it, he wore light wash jeans, leather shoes, and a pair of sunglasses sat on his head instead of his usual metal rimmed prescription glasses.
Everything he wore screamed that either Ryland was going through an identity crisis, had a doppelganger, or was possessed. Even his usual stubble looked fuller, and darker, than usual, and his hair looked dyed rather than a natural blond—you scolded yourself for noticing even the tiniest discrepancies about your colleague.
“Ry…land?” You call again, uncertain if you should panic. He opened his mouth to respond when you hear another set of footsteps approach the classroom.
You instinctively turn, only to find Ryland. Your eyes widen while he calls your name, his hands resting on his hips. “Hey. Sorry, I was in the bathroom. What’s up?”
He seems to not notice the other presence in the room yet. That, or he’s okay with having a doppelganger. Ryland’s brows knit when he notices your gaze looking between him and the front of the room.
“Wh…?” He begins before following your eyes. His face falls just as his hands do. He begins walking with haste towards fake Ryland, who places “lava” back down and begins waving with a grin.
“What are you doing here?” He asks in a hushed tone between gritted teeth, though you can still hear him.
“You said I could come by anytime!” The fake Ryland exclaimed, still with a grin, and open arms.
“Not while I’m at work!”
“Come on, at least hug your brother. Don’t you miss me?” He places his hands on Ryland’s shoulders, then pauses. “Did you wash your hands?”
Ryland couldn’t help but scoff out a laugh, a smile appearing on his lips. “Stop it.”
He stretches out his arms to embrace his brother(…?), who taps his back twice in return before pulling away.
You hug the folder of your report to your chest as you slowly approach them. “What is going on?”
Ryland turns to you and rests his hands on his waist again, remembering that you have no clue of what is happening. He begins, “Right—”
“I’m so sorry. Where are my manners?” The other Ryland starts before the original can continue, holding out his hand as he approaches. “Colt Seavers, pleased to meet you.”
You take your report in one hand to shake his hand and absentmindedly introduce yourself as well.
“He’s my twin,” Ryland points at Colt before his hand returns to his waist. Your brows furrow again.
“How…?”
“The last names?” Colt voices out your thoughts; it was probably something often questioned. “We were sort of “Parent Trapped.” Difference is, our parents just separated and decided their pride was more important than us having the same last name.”
“Okaaay,” You respond and nod slowly, then turn to Ryland with a pointed finger. “How come I didn’t know you had a twin?”
“We don’t really get together often, he’s always off in other countries with…what’s his name?”
“Tom Ryder.” Your eyes widen.
“The Tom Ryder?” He nods, gesturing towards himself.
“I’m his stuntman.”
“I thought he did his own stunts? I heard he’s a dick,” your thoughts spill out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.
“I…legally, I cannot comment on that,” Colt remarks while nodding his head with a snort. You can’t help but chuckle at his ‘subtle’ agreement.
Ryland forces a chuckle while glancing between the two of you before his gaze settles on his twin. “Go home, Colt.”
“Home is in LA,” he retorts. “We’re shooting in town, I got a day off since Tom won’t be doing stunts today. Decided since I have nothing else to do, I was gonna visit my little brother!”
Colt reaches for Ryland to ruffle his hair which the latter quickly evades.
“Well, unlike you, I have work to do.” Ryland fixes his hair before motioning towards the stacks of paper on his desk. “So, you can wait for me at the apartment or…go somewhere else.”
He grabs his bag and fishes around for his keys, tossing them to Colt.
“You sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Colt twirled the key ring around his index finger before grasping the keys in his fist. “The thought of you cycling home makes me sad.”
Ryland flashed a brief, fake smile. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”
“Which…I forgot—” He takes the keys back to get the keys for his bicycle.
“No, I wasn’t concerned,” He corrects Ryland as he is given back the keys.
“I actually feel sad for you that you only have a bicycle.” Ryland’s mouth falls before he rolls his eyes and turns away.
Colt cocks his head towards you while pocketing the keys, “What about you, gorgeous?”
Ryland faces his twin again and closes his eyes as his palms come together, the tips of his fingers pointing towards him. “Please don’t flirt with my colleagues.”
“I’m good.” You nod with a smile as you absentmindedly respond to Ryland. You snap out of it, drop the dazed smile, and shake your head before turning to Colt. “I mean, I’m good, Mr Seavers. I have a car.”
He motions towards you and whips his head towards Ryland. “See how they have a car? Just let me buy you one, Ry.”
Ryland shakes his head profusely while Colt returns his attention to you. “And please, call me Colt. In fact—!”
He walks towards Ryland’s desk to grab a pen.
“What are you doing?” Ryland follows him as he grabs one of the pieces of paper from the desk. “No—Stop, that’s my lesson plan.”
Ryland scratches his head as Colt pauses from his writing, looking at his twin with a guilty look on his face before continuing to write. He folds the paper to only show what he wrote, placing down the pen before giving it to you.
“Just call me.” He winks before patting Ryland on the shoulder. You can tell how heavy his hand was by how Ryland winced. “I’ll see you at home, Grace-y!”
Colt walks past you to leave the classroom while your hand remains raised, holding the folded piece of paper with Colt’s number on it. Your gaze trails his movements until he is out of sight.
Ryland sighs, looking at the paper in your hands while you turn back to him. “Now I’m gonna have to reprint that.”
“Cute,” you mutter while Ryland walks towards the other side of his desk, arranging his papers. His head immediately tilts up to look at you.
“Our mom says I'm definitely cuter,” he says like a child seeking validation from an adult.
“Oh, for sure.” You can’t help the surprised upturn of your lips; you were talking about the nickname, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him.
“You don't have to call him, by the way. He's just like that sometimes,” he mutters as if unsure of what he was saying.
You shrug, ready to tease, slowly walking towards his desk while looking at the piece of paper.
“I don't know. I might, after I submit our reports,” you ponder before looking at him. “Which, speaking of, you've done, l assume?”
He begins to shake his head before he’s even thought about it. “No, I'm not done. I need to revise mine, could probably take a while. I also need to reprint that page.”
You follow his gaze and look at the paper in your hands before you slide it into your pocket.
“Okay.” You raise a brow and hide your bemused smile behind your folder. “I'll just submit mine first, then.”
You turn on your heel to leave the room.
“Sure. Could I, uh, borrow your phone?” You pivot to face him again at the odd request. “My phone's dead and I just need to make a call or...block a number.”
You pretend not to hear his last words as he mutter them under his breath. Your eyebrows raise as you bend slightly at the waist to get closer. “What was that?”
He waves a dismissive hand and turns back to his paper as if the matter meant little to him. “Nevermind. I'll just borrow Colt's. Block you on his cell.”
You purse your lips to hold back a chuckle as you turn to leave again, pretending not to hear him once again.
In which Ryland loves your long hair, and finds it everywhere.
AU: No astrophage
Pairing: Ryland Grace x Fem!Reader.
Word count: 777 (Oneshot)
Warnings: Fluff. Established relationship. Married Ryland and reader. Reader is a woman and has long hair but that’s the only appearance descriptor. Ryland is so stupidly in love. Biblically accurate middle schoolers.
Notes: Spoiling you all with two fics in a day. Inspired by my own beloved 71cm (28inch) hair, and my poor boyfriend who finds it everywhere.
Ryland loves everything about you- your personality, your laugh, the way you see the world. He wouldn’t change a thing.
But he especially loves your hair.
It’s long and thick, falling all the way down your back, and he’d discovered early on just how much he enjoys brushing it for you. There’s something so intimate about it.
He likes running his fingers through it while you’re curled up together, absentminded and content. And he loves that you let him braid it, though he insists it’s for a very practical reason.
“I need to know this,” he’d said once, dead serious. “For when we have a daughter.”
He loves the way it falls around your face while you’re leaning over something, the absent little motion of tucking it behind your ears when you’re thinking.
He loves how it fans out around you while you sleep, soft and unguarded- and yes, he finds your absolutely catastrophic bedhead deeply entertaining.
Up, down, messy, neat… it doesn’t matter.
There isn’t a single thing about your hair he doesn’t love.
The only downside is it gets everywhere.
Constantly.
No matter where he is, he finds strands of your hair on himself, in his clothes, tangled in his things.
He once woke up in the middle of the night convinced he was being smothered.
It was your hair.
Cleaning out the shower drain is a daily requirement.
Before moving in with you, he had dramatically underestimated how much hair a single human could shed.
You literally have a very fluffy cat, and somehow he still finds less of his fur.
Today, it’s in his sleeve, discovered halfway through a lesson.
He feels the faint tickle, reaches in, and pulls out a long strand of your hair, shaking his head with a quiet fondness.
He’s used to it by now.
His kids, however, are not.
“Mr G,” one of them pipes up. “Whose hair is that?”
He laughs and brushes it off his hand.
“My wife’s.”
“How did it get there?” Another kid asks.
“That remains unclear.” He smiles, glancing back toward the whiteboard. “Now, electromagnetism-“
“Is her hair actually that long?” the first student interrupts.
He sighs and turns back around. Great. Entire lesson derailed by a rogue strand of hair.
“Yes,” he says. “It’s very long.”
“Brooo.” The kid laughs, nudging his friend.
“Mr. G is married to Rapunzel!” another one calls out.
“Does that make him the thief guy?”
“His name is Flynn Rider!”
“Um, it’s actually Eugene.”
“Guys-“ Ryland tries, but it vanishes into the noise.
“Mr. G bagged a Disney princess!”
“Guys!” He says again, louder this time.
“Do you keep her locked up in a tower?”
“That’s not- I don’t-“ he protests weakly.
“How many hairs have you found today?”
“Like… six or seven?” He relents, immediately realising his mistake the second it leaves his mouth.
“SIX SEVENNN.”
“MR. G SAID THE THING.”
“YOOOO!”
“That’s crazy.”
He puts his hand up, groaning. “My hand is up!”
The class falls silent and stares at him, save for a few whispered “six seven”s from the back.
“Okay. No more. Electromagnetism, okay?” He pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Mr. G, is-“
“No.” He says firmly.
At home later that day, he walks into the kitchen and greets you with a kiss.
“Hey,” you smile, mixing a bowl of cake batter. “How was your day?”
“Well,” he says, exhaling. “I found one of your hairs in my sleeve, and my entire lesson briefly collapsed while my students decided you’re Rapunzel.”
“Oh,” you laugh. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be, it’s not like you can stop your hair from getting everywhere,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through it.
“I could cut it-“
“No,” he cuts in, gently but firmly. “I like your hair. And you like it too. Don’t cut it over something that’s really just a minor inconvenience.”
“You sure? You do find it literally everywhere you go.” You look up at him.
“I’m sure,” He smiles, kissing your cheek. “It’s only hair.”
He spends that evening braiding it again, loving how it feels against his fingers. Familiar and grounding.
He loves your hair.
It’s one of the first things he noticed about you- how it fell into your face so easily, how you kept brushing it back without thinking. There was something about it that caught him immediately, something quietly disarming.
He's never told you that. It feels almost silly, as if your hair could possibly be part of what made him fall for you.
And yet, he thinks he could live with finding it everywhere, for the rest of his life, as long as you're the reason it's there.
The Five Essay Break.
( Ryland Grace x Teacher!Reader.)
me??? projecting because work has been absolutely killing me? Yeah, i need comfort
Title: The Five Essay Break.
Pairing: ( Heavily Implied ) - Ryland Grace x Teacher!Reader.
Rating: K. ( Okay for general audiences! Fluffy, comfort fic. )
Words: 1.8 K.
Summary: After a rough week at work, Ryland finds you on the verge of a breakdown and consoles you best he can.
☆Ryland Grace Masterlist☆
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, completely deaf to your ears at this point as they were now casting everything in that near washed-out after school glow you were slowly becoming a part of. Your red pen rested loosely between your fingers, threatening to take a tumble into the dirty floor as you tried to not leer at the mountain of ungraded papers beside you. The Teacher’s Lounge was almost completely empty by the time Ryland Grace had found you. He had stopped in the doorway, taking in your slumped posture and the very exhausted look on your face as you rubbed your forehead.
“Okay, wow.” He said carefully, his long legs taking him to your side without much thought put behind the action, but that’s how things had gotten in the recent months of your budding relationship, both professionally and personally. “This uh… Looks concerning. On a Friday at---” He spotted a glance at the analog clock on the wall, “7 PM.”
A tired laugh of near self-deprecation left your lips, Ryland’s heart clenching uncomfortably in his chest as you dropped your pen and dramatically rested your forehead onto the table. “I think my brain stopped functioning three essays ago.”
You tilted your head to the side as he pulled a chair beside you, dropping his bag and helmet onto the floor with a small clattering noise. His cardigan sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, giving you the sight of his semi-hairy forearms, his tie loosened from the long day of teaching, now ready for the weekend to reset.
“That bad?” He whispered, only for you. You selfishly ate that up.
You rubbed your eyes with the heel of your hand hard enough to see stars enveloping your closed eyelids. “Parents are upset, they think I’m grading unfairly. Admin wants new lesson plans, and I’m so far behind I feel like I’m failing…” It was hard to ignore the glossy look of your eyes as you locked gazes with the handsome Science teacher. “Everyone…”
“H-hey….” His expression softened instantly, the crease between his brows dissipating into something reserved only for intense moments of vulnerability. You knew that he used it with his students, the ones who sought him out for console, and something about that made you feel a bit better as you sniffled, trying to hold in tears. “You are absolutely not failing anyone. Not at all, not in the slightest.”
You opened your mouth to argue despite knowing that it was going to be a weak validation, but Ryland shook his head before you were able, his blonde hair remarkably soft and velvety in the otherwise dim, depressing light. "Nope. None of that.”
He gestured at you, “I pass your classroom every day, remember? I see your kids look at you every day. They adore you.” Ryland leaned in closer, voice gentler now as if he wanted to tell you just how much he adored you as well. “Kids they… Don’t feel safe and excited…” He smiled, unsure now if he was talking about the kids or if he was talking about just himself. “To learn when they’re around bad teachers.”
Your eyes burned with salty tears building but behind them, the entire hold-in of emotions and lack of control finally catching up to you as a few stragglers finally busted the dam and ran down your cheeks.
“Oh, no no.” He said softly, panicking a little. He was never… Good with people crying in front of him, his fingers twitching for a second before Ryland did what he thought was best. He leaned over, trailing the tip of his thumb to catch a stray tear. His jaw clenched a bit as you fluttered your eyes shut at the almost sinful lack of professionalism in the action.
“Don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry and then we’re both going to be disasters in the Teacher’s Lounge. We can’t give this place any more gossip.” A laugh slipped out through the tiny sob you let leave your mouth, Ryland’s eyes trailing along your face for a few seconds as you smiled at him, sadly, but… He was willing to take it. “There we go… That’s… Better...”
You sniffled again, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Ryland watched you for another second, his stomach flipping in the way it did when he was alone with you, his expression torn between tender and worried, something settling behind his eyes before he lifted himself up, his hand leaving your cheek so he could shift closer in his chair. Ungracefully as he could, Ryland wasn’t known for grace as the metal legs scraped quietly against the floor, a smile pressing more confidently against your lip.
“You know…” He cleared this throat, his words… Surprisingly thoughtful as he spared a pitiful glance at the pile of essays on the table. “When I first started teaching I used to stay until like…” The shine of his golden frames captivated you as he glanced upwards, calculating. “Nine? Ten, sometimes?”
“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m being dead serious!” Ryland huffled out a laugh through his nose, “I was convinced that if I just worked harder, every kid would magically understand photosynthesis.” You laughed softly at that, Ryland watching the sound tumble from your lips perfectly. “But it turns out… Middle schoolers are still middle schoolers no matter how many color-coded charts you make.”
His long fingers began absentmindedly tapping against the table near yours. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you were dancing your fingertips along his. “But the thing is, what I had to learn…” There was now intention in Ryland’s touch as he played his fingertips along yours, as if in some way your DNA was playing with each other along your finger prints.
“The teachers who don’t care aren’t sitting in an empty school building on a Friday night feeling guilty.” His beautiful eyes softened tremendously as you sought his gaze out again. “You caring this much already says more about you than any parent complaint ever could.”
And for a moment, there was nothing but silence between the two of you and the faint hum of the sadly stocked vending machine in the corner of the room. There was a lump in your throat, no longer from the threat of a breakdown, but from saying something to ruin the moment with a teacher you had been seeing, a teacher you were happy to admit to having a schoolgirl crush on.
His eyes, you watched with slight wonder, flickered towards the empty doorway of the Lounge as if checking whether anyone else was nearby to witness. Then, with a surprising amount of gentleness that took your breath away embarrassingly fast, Ryland reached over with his free hand and tucked a strand of hair away from your face.
His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek where the tear he had captured earlier trailed, lingering for half a second too long, but for you, it still wasn’t long enough before he seemed to remember where he was and while the prospect of being caught after hours was low, it was never absolute zero. He perked up, cleared his throat softly as a tinge of pink hit his ears.
“O-okay. New strategy.” He clapped his hands, the sound echoing in the all too quiet room.
You startled, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Ryland---”
“No, listen.” He sat forward, a determined look now spattered across his face and it caught you off guard. You felt a laugh, a true, deep chested laugh leave your mouth as he raised his hand. “You grade exactly five more papers.”
“Is there a scientific reason for the number?” You felt heat running along your ribcage as you looked at the Science Teacher in front of you.
“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “If you do ten, you’ll start hallucinating and accidentally give someone an A Plus for spelling their name correctly. Not that I… Speak from experience.”
He smiled and looked down at the papers in front of you, more shyly than before as Ryland must have realized what he was about to suggest before suggesting became a prospect. He hesitated, his mouth propping open before shutting as he thought about it again and again before just… going for it. “And then, after that. We’re going to go get some food. Some place quiet. And with significantly less emotional damage in the air.”
The invitation hung between the two of you awkwardly. More awkwardly than how Ryland had intended but by the Grace of God, that’s just the type of man he was. He was suddenly looking far less like the confident teacher the kids adored and far more like a man actively trying to not spontaneously combust under the weight of his own feelings for you. You found yourself staring at him for a second too long, a wall of red hitting your cheeks, chest and the very tip of your ears, nothing compared to his own though which had now turned a near cherry red.
“I mean!” Ryland immediately stumbled, pressing a hand flat on the table while the other came up to gesture vaguely in the air at nothing. Not like. Not in a weird way. I just meant… Emotionally damaging grading environment versus a totally… Normal human… Environment.” He winced.
Wow. Incredibly recovery there, Grace. Good job, A plus!
You stifled a small laugh as you reached for an essay. One of five. You could do this! And Ryland would keep you company which made it all the more better as you drew your bottom lip in. “I heard that the Thai place down the street is really good.” You suggested without looking away from the paper you had in your hands. Ryland peeked at you as you scribbled something onto the essay. “I think it has five stars for peak human environment.”
Ryland stared at you, unashamed. There were no longer the threat of tears from your eyes, no longer the looming idea of a career breakdown on the horizon. Just… You. A teacher. A pretty… Teacher whom he had… The most massive crush on. So massive it may as well call itself a blackhole. Then, a small smile trapped his face. It wasn’t dramatic or overly cocky. Just… Warm. Soft around the edges in a way that made your stomach flip as you caught the expression out of the corner of your eye. The tension visibly melted out of his shoulders as he leaned back in his chair with a quiet exhale through his nose.
