I’ve recently started reading The Gray Man book series after watching the movie! I’m only on the first book but I need to get my thoughts out of my head and in to yours + I promise my next fic will be long form and not head cannons, mwah! (These turned out longer than I originally intended oops)
Pt2
Sfw
⤷ you and Court got married a few years ago, a very small ceremony, it was off the books, the last thing he wants is something to happen to you to get to him. You both have rings, he takes him off on missions but puts it back on as soon as he’s done, it’s part of his routine when he comes back, parking Sierra Six at the door and coming back to you as Court.
⤷ you live in the country side on the outskirts, you’ve had to move a few times bit this is far enough out that you rarely get disturbed. The closest town is a thirty minute drive, it’s idyllic, it’s populated by mostly elderly people who have either live there all there lives or moved a few years ago to settle down.
⤷Court will fix everything in the house. “No, you don’t need to call anyone, I’ve got it” cut to him still sat trying to fix the bathroom sink a day and a half later because this man refuses to read an instruction manual. It comes to a point where you hope things break while he’s away so you can call a professional, just so he doesn’t stress himself out over it.
⤷you guys have a dog together, he didn’t want an animal, before this you both moved around a lot due to Courts job and even now you know that you might have to up and move at the drop of a hat. Due to that you both agreed pretty early on that it just wouldn’t be reasonable, but the last house you lived in got broken in to and although you got away with only a few cuts and bruises, Court never really did feel comfortable leaving you after that, of course he always knew it was a possibility but after it happened it shook him a bit. This lead to him coming home one day with a German shepherd puppy. From the day Court brought her home she was practically attached to your hip, she is unassuming enough that she passes as a pet, but she’s knows what she’s doing, she growls at Court if he comes home too late at night and she can’t figure out that it’s him in the dark.
⤷Court actually hates driving( kind of canonical from the books) one of the few things he doesn’t like about being out in the middle of nowhere is the lack of public transport, the closest thing you have is a bus stop that’s a 20 minute walk away. The busses come three times a day and if you miss it that’s it, Court knows all to well after having to call you to come and pick him up after missing it. you pull up to him stood looking sorry for himself holding your food shop in bags that looked like they where on the verge of breaking. And don’t get it wrong, he can drive, he’s just not particularly very good at it.
⤷genuinely worships the ground you walk on, he knows how much you’ve given up for him stability, a present partner, a place to call home for more than a few years, your family and friend, someone who can say with certainty if they are going to be in the country for more than a few days at a time. But whenever he brings it up you shush him, brush his hair softly off his forehead and give him a soft kiss, you know what you signed up for with him and wouldn’t change him for the world, well maybe you would give him more days off.
nsfw
⤷I don’t think he has a whole lot of experience, he went to prison at fifteen and was recruited at twenty three. So I think he’s had a sex maybe a handful of times before you two get together.
⤷would say he would talk you through it as is the type but with his lack of experience you’re are going to be the one talking him through it at the beginning. He trusts you, the relationship you guys made was forged on trust, and trust is a huge thing for Court as he’s only ever really had a handful of people in his life he he can truly trust.
⤷is generally pretty quiet when you two are have sex, grunts and groans along with a few whispered “good girl” or a gentle “that’s it”. But when you’re giving him oral? He can’t shut up, he’s moaning, soft chants of your name along with “please” and “don’t stop”. If you had neighbours you’d be worried about noise complaints because boy is he loud.
⤷ really quite gentle and attentive during sex, he doesn’t want to hurt you, he knows his own strength. He’s expected to be rough, hard and ruthless during work but with you? He would never dream of hurting you. but if you ask very nicely he might put his big hands around your neck
⤷ extremely touchy and clingy when he gets back from being away for a long mission, wants to spend meaningful time with you, snuggle together on the sofa and go for walks, but on the other hand m, he doesn’t know when he’s going to be shipped off again and he needs to be in between your thighs and deep inside right now and preferably in that order, but honestly hes not fussy.
⤷ absolute munch btw also, spends more time between your legs than he does behind the wheel of a car. And because you guys have been together for so long he knows exactly what he’s doing, can and will stay between your thighs for hours.
I can't believe I've been writing Ruin It All, and Love Like Fools for three months and I completely spaced posting about it here??
Anyway, I've been writing a sequel to Almost Lovers Always Do (the TsukkiYama/OiYama soulmate au I wrote four years ago) because I still can't get over the trifecta that is OiTsukkiYama.
So, if you liked ALAD and want to read more from that universe, here you go! (The story is ongoing, but there are only two chapters left which should be completed and uploaded sometime in the next week or two)
https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704081
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I actually love Court so much and I don’t think I talk about him enough! Coltland gentry mention because they will get dragged in to everything I write eventually. + these are so self indulgent for me, hehe and these ran way over what I intended to write, something posses me whenever I write for him I swear. And if you guys like this as much as the last one maybe I’ll actually write a full length fic with Mrs Gentry, she deserves it.
I feel kinda bold calling these headcannons with how long some of them got but :p
Pt 1
sfw
⤷ He looks like his dad, the older he gets the more he see’s it. In the way his eyebrows furrow, the lines on his face, he hates it. Another reason he tries to distance himself from Ryland and Colt, he doesn’t want to see the look on their faces when they see him and see the resemblance of the man who ruined there life.
⤷ you always fuss him a little bit more when he gets like this, gets a bit mopey whilst looking at himself in the mirror. Wrapping your arms around his big frame, getting on your tip toes to lean your head on his shoulder, trailing kisses over the scar tissue that resides there. You know he’s not like him, he knows that too, he just chooses to let himself indulge in his darker thoughts sometimes, or he would if you let him.
⤷ very funny without meaning to be. At first you thought he was doing it on purpose to try and get a laugh out of you but you quickly realised, nope he’s just like that.
⤷ does things that make him seem far older than he actually is, Reading something on his phone, holding it a arms length away from his face and still squinting at it. Standing and watching the show you and Claire are watching, swearing up and down the walls that he’s not interested as he asks questions and refuses to sit down and enjoy it.
⤷ Please don’t tell him about 67. He doesn’t need to know, he will not understand, he does not need to be tainted with it.
⤷ his hearing? Absolutely shot. Too many things have blown up next to his head for it to be okay. If you try to talk to him on his left side, he’ll put an arm around your waist and move you to his ‘good side’. Especially bad in public if it’s busy and loud, you could have a full conversation by yourself and Court won’t have a clue until he see’s your mouth moving out of the corner of his eyes and now he has to play catch up and pretend he knows exactly what you’re talking about.
⤷ Runs hot, like extremely hot. It’s like a sharing a bed with a space heater, the summer is one of the main reasons why you have a spare bedroom. The biggest reason is so Claire has somewhere to stay when she comes over, the second biggest reason is because your house is old and does not have ac and as much as you love him, you can’t sleep next to Court in 30 °C degree weather.
The winter is bliss though, you’ve never needed to buy a heater blanket, you find Court, seek him out and just lounge on him, soaking up as much heat as you can.
⤷ He loves when you trace over his tattoos, it’s usually late at night or early in the morning, he’s been woken up by a nightmare he can’t seem to shake. Hands shaking ever so slightly as he reaches out for you out.
Hands roaming to the other side of the bed and pulling you close to his chest, he needs to know you’re there, needs to know you’re safe. He’ll bury his head in to the back of your neck, whispering quiet shush’s, trying not to wake you. But sometimes he does, you never blame him, you will softly lace your hands with his, spreading them out in front of you, bringing your free hand up to trace over the faded lines of his tattoos, finger tips running over them, almost enough to make him shiver. He soon finds the repetitive motions soothing, lulling him back off to sleep, the thoughts that woke him kept at bay by your gentle touch.
⤷ He doesn’t want children, not really . Loves Claire and truly see’s her as his own, and he’s always taken care of Colt and Ryland whilst growing up but it’s not really been his choice. He had to step in to that parental role at a young age, not due to choice, but due to necessity, if he didn’t, no one else would have.
⤷ one of Courts absolute favourite things to do when he’s home is to sit you on the counter in front of him, your legs crossed on bathroom tiles, hand you his razor and let you shave his face. Your hands firmly holding his jaw as the razor glides smoothly along his skin. You only brought it up one day because his beard was getting a bit unruly, he finds himself letting his eyes flutter closed, relaxing completely in to your touch, almost scoffing knowing that any and all training he’s had should not have him relaxing as a blade rests against his neck.
⤷ stealing this from my Coltland headcannons but this man loves a post card. He knows you worry, even if you try not to let on too often, so he tries his best to send little updates just to let you know he’s alive and thinking of you, always thinking of you. They never say much, he doesn’t want anything incriminating on them if they get intercepted, usually a ‘views are great, work is shit, love you, miss you, Gentry x’
nsfw
⤷ he absolutely melts in to any praise uttered to him from your lips, a ‘yes Court’ when he’s fingering you has his fingers moving with pin point accuracy to keep stroking that spot inside you.
A mewled out ‘keep going baby, please’ has him hammering in to you, setting a relentless pace, his fingers finding your nipples and rolling them between him fingers.
A teasing ‘you can hold on a little bit longer for me, yeah?’ As your stroking his cock, looking up at him with deceivingly doe like eyes, has him clenching his fists at his sides, and trying his best to steady his breathing.
⤷ You can edge Court a little, as treat. It takes him a while to trust especially so intimately but when he does he loves giving over control to you sometimes. Laying back watching you through his fluttering lashes. You moving your hand up and down, watching for his tells, bringing him right to the edge, blood buzzing in his ears as he gets close, only to bring your hand away again. And his stamina is off the charts, so you know this can be dragged out for ages, you’re not too cruel though. After a few times your movements get a little faster, your head dips down lips parting to take him in your mouth. He comes hard, coming back to you breathless and dazed as you pepper kisses on his face telling him how good he did.
⤷ loves when you scratch him up, ranking your nails down his back, leaving red streaks there, catching on his shoulder blades as another roll of his hips has you throwing your head back, trying and ultimately falling to bite back a moan. His hand comes to lace through your hair, moving up from the nape of your neck, pulling your head forward to lean against his own. Half lidded eyes looking at you, a small smile pulling at his lips “my girl” he’ll whisper, in a tone that seems entirely too soft for the situation you’re in right now. Before he brushes his lips against yours, burying himself in you again and again.
You’ll see him later on, catching a glimpse of his back in the bathroom mirror, the light skin covered in red blotches. What you miss is the small smirk tugging at his lips before he pulls the shirt over his head and crawls back in to bed with you.
⤷I said it last time but I’m going in to more detail, the oral fixation this man has is lethal. He’ll lift you up, putting you down on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off of it, sinking to his knees as he kiss’ his way down your chest, stomach thighs, he’s really becoming such a tease. Hooking his fingers around your trousers and underwear pulling them off in one motion, leaving them discarded on the floor. He’ll press soft kisses to the inside of your thighs, with a dark expression glinting in his eyes.
One hand comes up to hook a knee over his shoulder the other splaying out over your lower stomach, and pushing down gently before he delves in between your thighs. Tonge lapping at your folds like a man possessed. His mouth sealing around your clit, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue against it. Having you chanting his name as you grind against his face.
⤷ and honestly you aren’t much better, as soon as your mouth wraps around him he’s already seeing stars. You pull his foreskin back to expose the head of his cock, your tongue swirls over his tip before you sink your mouth down around him, hollowing your cheeks. Moving up and down so that soon he can’t form any coherent thought, half formed words come out in choked growls, you manage to catch a ‘please’ and ‘god yes’ before you take him in your mouth entirely, sucking him in before he finishes in your mouth, hips sputtering against your lips.
Court is not a head pusher! He may rest his hands on either side of your head, raking his nails through your hair, guiding you slightly but never pushing.
⤷most of the time when he comes home he’ll greet you and almost immediately strip off and get in the shower, washing off the dirt, blood, grime and god knows what else off of him. But sometimes, he’ll get home late, long after the house has gone dim, you’re curled up in bed, tv playing repeats of some show you’ve already seen. He strips off and crawls in to bed as he is, bone tired after being on the go for days on end.
You wake up to him pressed against you, you bury your nose in to his hair picking up the scent of gunpowder and sweat. Once he rouses awake, he tries to get away, to clean himself up but you don’t relent so easily. You know he doesn’t really want that shower now anyway, you can feel him, his thickness pressed against your leg twitching and hard, you cant yours hips against his and, yeah maybe that shower can wait until later.
⤷other times when he’s gotten back from being away for a long while he’s almost the opposite. Adrenaline still coursing through his veins, mind swimming with thoughts of you, needy for you after being away from you for an extended period of time. He comes through the door, slipping on his wedding ring and dropping his bags before finding you sat on the sofa. His hands slide up the sides of your face, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip.
Leaning over you, eyes glued to yours asking, you nod without knowing the question, you would give him anything he asked for. His knee moving up to nestle in between your thighs, his one hand moving down to your hip as his other remains on the side of your face, trailing softly kisses from your cheek to your neck. He starts grinding his hips against your leg, the muscles of his thigh pressed against your wet heat, he can feel you throbbing against him. Whispering how much he loves you as he humps against you.
description : Sixteen years after leaving Earth on a one-way mission to save humanity, Ryland Grace unexpectedly returns alive.
But survival has come at a devastating cost.
Found drifting back toward Earth, Grace arrives critically ill: suffering from late-stage kidney failure, catastrophic mercury poisoning, severe bone damage, a compromised immune system, and exhaustion so profound he spends most of his first weeks unconscious. Hailed worldwide as Earth's saviour, he becomes the centre of an intense medical effort as a hastily assembled team of doctors and scientists races to keep him alive.
You, a brilliant but awkward researcher, finds herself unexpectedly leading much of Grace's care. More comfortable with microscopes than patients, she becomes increasingly invested in the fragile astronaut behind the headlines.
a/n: hi, I've been working on this for longer than I'd like to admit. the original idea was inspired by a video made by @/ Siobhan.darling on TikTok. and instead of it being a one shot, it has evolved in to being a possible multi chapter fic.
a little bit of background, this is not entirely cannon in regards to Rylands age and possibly space travel inaccuracies because, unfortunately, I am not a scientist </3
When he leaves to go on the mission he is 33 years old. When he reaches Tau centi and meets Rocky he is 37 years old. After finishing the mission and getting to Erid he is 40 years old. Ryland spends 6 years on Erid but has to leave and go back to earth because he becomes ill, it takes him 4 years back becomes even more ill on the way home.
And eventually makes it make to earth at 49 years old
(Grace becomes ill whilst on Erid and as much as they try, the eridians are not able to find a cure. The erdians find way to make astophage move quicker, making trip last only about 4 years)
Reader is in late 30's early 40s
I have tried to make this as accurate as I am able to, taking from my own experiences and research. Please let me know if you have any questions and I will do my best to answer them. Some things will be revealed in later chapters but for now, enjoy! <3
word count: 4.6 k
tags/ warning: slow burn, reader is a doctor, no use of y/n, slight age gap but nothing major. heavy mentions of medical procedures, needles, medicine. Grace is chronically ill, touch starved Ryland.
read on a03
He slept a lot when he got back, mostly due to his body being completely exhausted and the medications asking a lot of him. You felt awful watching him, he was behind glass, it felt like he was some animal in a cage, he would be pacing if his body allowed him too. You didn't know him before he launched, no one here did. But you had heard plenty about him.
Everyone had.
Earth's saving Grace.
And now it is down to your team to make what he has to live with at least manageable. This team had kind of been haphazardly thrown together, you're heading most of it along with a few other scientists, there to come up with medical miracles that you couldn't quite manage.
The best they could get in the short notice they had. Given the circumstances, you all worked effectively together and after all, he wasn't meant to come back. There was a blip that got bigger and bigger, hurtling towards earth. It was only a few days out when they realised what it was. As soon as he landed a team of fifteen people were on him, he was hooked up to machines, iv's catheters the whole works.
He was transferred to a small medical facility just outside of San fransisco, home turf for you both apparently. Although with how long he's been gone you're not sure how 'at home' he will feel if he wakes up long enough to be coherent enough for someone to tell him where he is and what's going on.
A few days of tests confirmed that he was in the late stages of renal failure, and would need a transplant soon, but he was on dialysis to try and get some of the fluid off of his organs. His legs, femur and hip bones have multiple hair line fractures, you and the other doctors are currently trying to figure out if you need to do a hip replacement for him or if multiple small pieces of metal will do the trick, the running theory is both would be preferable.
Multiple blood tests show extremely heavy levels of metal in his blood.
Mercury to be exact.
This is why you had ordered multiple tests, because the levels were nothing like you or anyone had ever seen before. Even text book high didn't cover this, the renal failure and exhaustion make a lot more sense after finding this out. He's started treatment, but the dialysis is cleaning up his blood quite effectively, so it's not on the top of his list of issues. Along with the blood poisoning his white blood cells were absolutely shot and the fact he's alive at all is, frankly, a miracle.
With his white blood cell count and none of you really knowing how fragile his immune system was, he was being kept in a clean room. Small speakers placed on either side so you can communicate, when he is more conscious.
You're sure there are issues that are being masked by the more glaringly obvious medical problems, but for now he's stable, which is more than what you could say a few days ago.
And you weren't worried about him. Not really.
You were worried about the data.
A man surviving sixteen years in deep space was unprecedented. The physiological effects alone would fill journals for decades.
The fact that you checked on him before you checked the latest blood work every morning didn't mean much of anything. It was routine, one that you fell into easily.
You're a doctor by name, not particularly by nature. Most of your work before this was based around species, petri dishes and test tubes. Having a real tangible human in front of you made you itch, it made you worry. The way bacteria on a slide never could quite manage.
You had never really fit the mould that the medical field seemed to push. Your bedside manner was never quite up to it.
You had been marked as "gifted," "promising," "has potential" and "talented in her field" and many other words to avoid the words they really wanted to use. "Obsessive," "challenging to work with" and generally "odd."
It didn't bother you as much any more, your skin got thicker with age.
"Our boy's really been through the wringer, huh?" a doctor adds next to you. Dr Robert Michales, an expert in rehabilitation sciences. He was here to help with Ryland's recovery plans, he must have written pages and pages worth, and he was still nowhere near finishing.
His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You were standing worrying the nail on your thumb as you stare at his resting body through the glass, the lights in there dimmed, you thought the fluorescent light would be too much for him when he wakes up, if he wakes up.
"Huh? Oh yeah…" you trail off, he certainly had.
What you wanted to know is where he had been for the sixteen years that he has been gone. You know pods were sent back, that's how the sun is still shining. But on the other hand you know how tight lipped Eva Stratt has been about those pods, apart from the taumoeba, which was shipped off to every continent around the world. And if she wasn't a fugitive you are sure she would have visited your little compound the moment he was shipped here.
What you've heard from before, he was brilliant. You'd read his paper, and it was absolutely brilliant. Proven wrong by him before he was sent off. But his points were solid and if you didn't know any better you would have believed him that water based life is not the only valid form of evolution. But unfortunately none of that mattered at this present point.
Currently it was week two since he had gotten back to earth, and Ryland had woken up a total of three times, all extremely brief. His eyes opening for a few moments and then closing again, a slight stir, nothing to write home about. But the general consensus was that he was stable and moods were high that, in time, he would wake. The disagreements around the centre mostly stirred for when the medical procedures should be done.
He needed a new kidney a year ago, and some doctors urged you to do it now. Get it over and done with. Your argument is that he is nowhere near strong enough to survive that level of surgery, and you want to be ethical and explain to him what's going on, he's not stupid, he probably already knows some of the extent of what's going on, but you want to be sure. And you didn't want to be the one who put earth's saviour in the ground because you wanted to jump the gun, and push his body before it was ready.
______________________
You find yourself fiddling with the sleeve of your cardigan, as you sit in front of the glass of Ryland's room.
Other doctors say that they're never sure if people in this state are aware of others being around them, if they can hear people talking to them, but we should assume that they can.
So you're choosing to believe that he knows you're there, you're not sure anymore who's benefiting more from the exercise.
It was late Saturday, or maybe early Sunday. You weren't too sure if it made much of a difference. The building had become dim hours ago.
The only people that remained on the premises were security and their dogs.
Your laptop sits on your thighs, eyes occasionally drifting back to the scientist's unconscious form. The machines that whir in here keep a kind of stable white noise that you're able to sink into. Your fingers moved along the keys, typing out yet another update to the American government's elites. Every email you had sent out over the past fifteen days read much along the same lines with the key points being:
Improving.
Not conscious.
Stabilizing.
Not coherent.
They want to be in the know, to be informed, and you can't blame them. But you know why they want him up. They're going to bombard him with questions and interviews from the moment he's able to speak.
If they can get past you, that is.
You're in charge of this, you've already had to dodge some press to get back to your apartment. You would stay here if it wasn't for your cat, who you have recently had to hire a pet sitter for. Although he seems less than impressed by the imitation of an owner that they provide. But if you think Ryland isn't stable enough to answer questions then you can skim the state of his coherence, and you will if the time and need arises.
Your eyes dragged to the digital clock on your computer screen.
Two fifty AM.
You bring the sleeves of your cardigan to wipe the tears that had collected in your eyes, and let out another small yawn. You pulled the laptop screen towards you. Snuffing out the light source.
Your head rests against the cool metal table behind you letting out a heavy breath, pushing yourself up, grabbing your bag from the coat hook and shrugging on your jacket, your hand fishes for your keys.
"Goodnight Ryland"
______________________
The next week continues much the same. Ryland has dialysis every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
He has Chelation therapy on the other remaining days. His blood work is improving, slowly climbing up.
His bandages on his legs are checked, and then rechecked. Kept elevated to a thirty degree angle, immobilised. Ice applied twice daily to help with the swelling. His hip is less than stable, the question of a replacement becomes less so if, and more when.
Leading you to be sat in a room, with a laminated 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign quickly tacked to the door. Discussing whether a hip replacement trumps a kidney transplant.
You look down at the table, and try to focus on anything except the medical professionals surrounding you arguing, again.
This carries on without any consensus for what feels like forever, but in reality is somewhere near the fifteen minute mark, pushing you to get involved.
"Enough."
You say with a more than exasperated sigh.
"He will have the transplant when he is ready" your fingers come up to pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes screwing shut. They're restless, you understand and try to empathise.
Try.
"He can live without a hip for a few months" you say, voice staying as steady as you can manage. "if we manage his pain correctly then-"
"No"
Your head shoots towards the sound, and a scowl unintentionally appears on your face. The interruption comes from a Dr Thomas Shepard, one of the senior doctors leading the surgery team.
Your eye twitches at the interruption.
"What?"
"A hip replacement is standard surgery" he states, shoulders set back, hands already motioning as if to emphasize his point. His mouth pulls taut as he finishes his words with a huff that lands somewhere between a sigh and a humourless laugh.
"And the recovery is not standard, I'm not arguing with you about this" you state, as you stare at him.
He looks back apathetically.
Your cheeks heat up slightly, you feel it travel down the back of your neck, the silence rolls off the walls.
He's not done.
You can almost see the gears turning in his head.
"Do you understand what happens if he loses a hip and a kidney?" he persists and you can't fault his vigor.
"Do you understand what happens if he dies on the table?" you ask, willing your voice to stay measured.
"He's dying now." he states, with a pointed glare. "Youre going against my medical judgement, because you can't see anything that doesn't align with the way you want this to go" Thomas' voice raises this time. His hands coming down on to the desk in front of him. "If you keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, his life won't be the only thing on the line" He continues, and you continue to stare.
"He is my patient as much as he is yours, I want him to survive and I want-"
"Stop, you don't run this place you're only in charge due to technicalities-"
"He has been unconscious for the better part of a month, I'm not putting him under for eight hours to perform two surgeries, that's the end of this conversation" you say, making the effort to form every word fully, cutting him off before he can go on anymore. You try to open your mouth to continue but your throat tightens.
This isn't about Ryland.
He doesn't like that you are thinking about recovery time.
He doesn't like that you are treating Ryland as a human. Not some guinea pig that he can see how many surgeries he can do within the space of one scrub in before he's nominated for honorary doctorate or whatever angle he is peddling for.
You push yourself up away from the table, walking towards the door, feeling eyes scorching down your back you open the door and leave.
______________________
You sit in an unoccupied lab, running tests, running Rylands blood through the centrifuge again and again.
Busying yourself until the building goes quiet again, and you can go back downstairs without feeling like an outsider.
Your notes sit sprawled out in front of you, laid out in a quiet chaos between the microscope and a collection of beakers and funnels.
The far away lights of San Francisco filter through the small windows. Your hair is tied back, the feeling of it on the back of your neck feels wrong, aggravating you more than it should. Your gloved hands push the button and the centrifuge whirs to life again.
Last one. You promise yourself.
You're not sure what you're looking for really.
Any abnormalities? He's been off planet for sixteen years. Every test you've taken has been abnormal.
Anything more abnormal?
You're reasoning with yourself now, maybe it is time to cut your losses and go home.
You know why you're really here. You got rattled earlier and you're going back to what you know.
Going back to what's safe.
You shake your glove clad hands out, a small breath making its way past your pursed lips. This is silly, you're being silly.
You start tidying the lab up, slipping off your gloves and discard them into the metal bin. Bundle up your notes, placing them into your note book, bagging up the slim few normalites you found and dispensing the other samples. You gather your apron, placing it in the wash bin as you shut the lights off, the door closes behind you and you instinctively wait for the small click of the lock before making your way through the corridors and down toward the front door.
Grab your bag, grab your coat and leave.
The lights spark to life around you as you walk towards the viewing lab. You reach down, pulling your jumper sleeve back to check your watch, eleven forty one PM.
You let out a huff and lace your fingers together, stretching them out in front of you, rolling your neck.
Your eyes glance over to Grace's room, more out of habit than anything else. Flitting away almost as quickly as they had moved before you stop in your tracks and fully turn.
He's sat up.
Eyes open, hand spread out over the back of his neck.
Your eyes widen and you freeze, letting out a small "Ryland?" it sits somewhere between a question and a choke.
Your body freezes, you don't know what to do. You've imagined this moment, everyone would be here, he would rouse slowly, people would be there to help. In those scenes you are calm, collected.
Here you are anything but.
Your movements feel sloppy. Your body is not quite catching up with what your brain wants it to do.
His eyes meet yours, squinting at the lights illuminating the room you're occupying.
You move quickly to dim them. You fumble with the console on the wall, your fingers finding the dial and rolling it to the left and the bright fluorescents are brought down to a small glow.
You meet his frame again, scanning him by instinct.
Your brain comes up blank, words caught in your throat as he looks at you as though you are some alien creature, and to him you probably are. White lab coat thrown over your arm, messy hair pulled back from your face, tired eyes widening at him. His eyebrows pull together in a mixture of confusion and fear, you think, you can't entirely place it.
You move forward slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. Your breaths are intentional, coming out in a measured rhythm.
"Youve been unconscious for twenty three days"
You pause, biting the inside of your cheek and shaking your head.
"Sorry, thats probably not-" you cut yourself off, straightening your shoulders.
"How are you feeling?" you ask dumbly, placing your note book on the desk.
He stares at you as a small scoff comes from his lips and his hand moves to comb through his hair "I've been better."
His voice comes out with a slight slur, his words jumble together but you can make it out, just about.
You nod curtly. Of course he has. Your hands find your lanyard, fingers tangling around the thin fabric that is attached securely at your hip.
You can see him thinking. Looking around, movements muted but not quite sluggish,
Your hand raises, fingers spreading out of your chest. You introduce yourself, starting with your name. You explain what's happening and how he got here.
Pausing.
And then continuing.
You do this often, you want him to be able to digest what you're telling him, not just hear you.
He nods every so often, looking at you and urging you to continue. Some of what you're saying seems to surprise him, but most he just nods with a dejected look playing on his features.
"You have renal failure, neither of your kidneys are working" you mutter out softly, eyes watching him through the glass.
He nods, a small huff and a "okay." Giving you what you need to continue.
"Mercury poisoning." you add, leaning on the side of one of the rows of elevated desks, hip bumping against it slightly.
"Makes sense"
His eyes moving to meet yours.
"Does it?" you ask too quickly, leaning forward. "You have enough mercury in your bloodstream to concern several toxicologists, and it 'makes sense'?"
"Long story" he says, trying to stand, a flash of worry strikes your features.
"Don't!" it comes out too harshly, too loud. You bring your hand up to your mouth, covering it as you step forward quickly.
"Don't stand up please, you have fourteen fractures through your legs" you say slow and measured. Hand pressed against the glass, urging him not to move, as a shuddered breath escapes your lips.
"I don't feel anything" he remarks, moving his legs back onto the bed. You do your best to hide a wince seeing him move so easily.
"Good, that's the point" you say, head nodding towards the infusion pump.
You peel your fingers away from the glass. Trying not to stare, you don't want him to feel like he's on display, even though for all intents and purposes, he technically is. You only really realise now that the room gives no where for him to go, no where for him to hide from the prying eyes that will undoubtedly be on him tomorrow. You put a mental note to try and do something about that, although until he's able to move around more reliably by himself, you doubt much will come of your endeavour.
A small breath leaves you after a small beat of silence.
"I can show you your charts, if you'd like?"
A tentative question. It might be too much for him right now. But you want him to know what's going on. Or at least have a small idea before the chaos of tomorrow begins when everyone else finds out he's awake.
He lets out a small nod, eyes searching the room.
"Are there more people here?" he asks, as you move swiftly around the lab. Picking up his report, the most recent reading, pulling up his charts on your laptop.
You nod, looking over your shoulder at him "I may be good Dr. Grace, but I'm not that good" you hum, and start rattling off the teams of people in the hospital.
"Tommorow is going to be a lot, but you'll get through it" you offer with a smile, you see a look you can't decipher play across his features, as you lay out his charts across the floor "I'll be here, if you want anything to stop, just say, and it will stop, promise."
You sit on the floor, legs crossed beneath you, you look up at him to find him peering down, eyes focused on you.
You begin going through everything. It's more to give him something he can see, something tangible to everything that you've already told him.
Ultra sounds.
X-rays.
Blood work.
Toxicology reports.
You explain everything. Absolutely everything, maybe in too much detail but he doesn't stop you. He sits. He nods, he interrupts every now and then with questions. You answer them earnestly, telling him what plans are in the works, the operations, the tests, the medications, but ensuring to keep reminding him that he is coming on every day and his outcome looks good. But you can see the flicker of doubt flash across his eyes.
You don't blame him.
He got sent off to space, a mission he was supposed to die on.
Only to come back sixteen years later, to a world he doesn't know.
"You're a good teacher" he mutters, almost mindlessly, his hand resting on his chin, legs crossed as you continue going through his charts.
You stop to glance at him, a smile crossing your face, not quite reaching your eyes. You stare at him for a beat too long, before your eyes rest back on the laptop sitting to the side of you, facing towards Ryland.
"Thank you" your voice lowers slightly when you say it.
You take a breath in before speaking again "should we leave it there tonight?" you ask.
What you really mean is "I can stay, but I don't want to overload you with medical talk."
You can also see the yawns he's been trying to suppress whilst you've been talking.
He nods with a sleepy expression "Can you stay?"
"Yeah, for a little while longer, sure" you mumble, closing the laptop screen and pulling your knees up to your chest.
You feel your lips press together when you see the way he's looking at you. He's fighting to stay awake, like a child trying to prove they can stay up past their bedtime. The sleepy look on his face only makes your chest swell more, you've been trying to keep his humanity in mind, waiting for him to be able to have his say in the things that will permanently impact his life but when he's in front of you like this it all becomes very real.
He looked so vulnerable sitting there, behind the glass. Needles sticking out from the sleeves of his hospital gown, some attached to small bags of different coloured liquid, others laying flat against his skin. Bruises litter his arms and the back of his hands.
"Were you on your own?" you ask, almost regretting it as soon as it leaves your mouth "up there?" your head gesturing up. You can't imagine how lonely he must have been. His crew dying before he even woke up, and carrying on despite it.
With all the eyes on him tomorrow, he won't be feeling lonely anymore.
So for tonight you can keep him company.
He shakes his head "no."
"No?" you repeat, trying to urge him to continue, but with the small conversation you've already had you don't think he's going to let much on. He doesn't trust you, of course. He's woken up in an unusual place with an unusual woman, telling him he's going to be sick for the rest of his life.
"She didn't share them?" he asks, a flash of worry crosses his face and your head cocks to the side, it's been a long day and it takes you a little longer to clock on than it should.
"Stratt?" you question, not completely confident in your answer, but luckily enough, he nods. "Oh no, she did" you raise your hand to run a hand through your hair, pulling out your pony tail "The Taumoeba was shipped off to everyone, the sun's still shining" you smile. You expect him to return it, but the look on his face eludes that there's more to this, that you didn't really answer his question.
His eyes dart to the corner of the room, you can see him rolling the idea around in his head. The idea of telling you a small fraction of what happened up there. Once it's out he can't take it back, and he knows that as well as you do. His eyes go anywhere but to meet yours. From your knowledge of space travel, which is limited, you know he did not spend sixteen years on the Hail Mary.
The space craft itself is a marvel, built to go further than any man made object had before. It was built to last, but there had very obviously been some improvements, some modifications done whilst he was out there. The material looked normal enough at a glance but you'd heard whispers that it was something extraterrestrial. The ship was shipped off almost as quickly as Ryland was. But there must have been something out there, someone intelligent enough to have materials to help fix a space craft.
"You don't have to tell me" you quip quietly,
"I wouldn't trust me either." you say, the humour evident in your voice, looking up at him, chin resting on your knees.
He throws you a look, "it's not that I don't want to, I don't know where I'd start" he huffs, hands motioning mindlessly. A half truth you think, but you don't want to push him. Not anymore than you already have.
"Tell you what" you say, pushing yourself up, brushing yourself off before walking up closer towards the glass again. "Get some sleep, if you're still feeling up for it tomorrow, you can tell me then."
Ryland looks at you with a timid smile "Okay" he replies. You turn to grab your bag, throwing your coat over your arm, the idea of your bed now sounding less appealing. Although you know you'll need your rest for tomorrow. As much of it as you can get, but with the way your head is swimming now you don't know how easily sleep will come.
"Ill see you tomorrow" he calls to you, as you finish clearing away his paperwork, storing it back in the cabinet.
"See you later, Ryland" you say, hand placed against the door giving it a small tap, looking back with a smile. The lights go out as you leave the building. You get in your car feeling more hopeful than you have in weeks.
description: Driver gets in to some trouble, you help him out in more ways than one.
word count: 2.3k
a/n: watched Driver again which is always dangerous territory for me </3 also massive thank you to @littlefromthewhitesea for reading through this multiple times editing it and basically working hand in hand with me to finish it, my full stop guru who knows the English langue better than I do <3 (also first time posting my fics guys, kinda nervous) okay enjoy, mwah!
tags/warnings: nsfw, smut, heavy mentions of blood, injury and inaccurate medical stuff, Driver x afab reader, possible inaccurate car stuff idk I just drive mine.
read on a03
A sharp knock at the door draws your attention away from the tv. Walking towards it, you spot his car parked outside on the curb. Your smile drops when you see the state of him. He's leaned up against your door frame, his face would almost be the same shade of white as his jacket, if it weren’t for the blood.
It is soaked through, splatters cover his arms but your eyes are glued on his abdomen, where his hand was clutching. You suspect that’s where the majority of the blood is coming from. You can feel the bile rise in your throat. You quickly usher him in, taking his free arm and putting it around your shoulder. ''We need to get you to a hospital-'' you sputter out. ''No'' he murmurs, breath coming out in heavy puffs. You sigh and gently shake your head and continue to lead him to the bathroom.
It’s the first time you've seen him like this. He's come back with a few cuts and bruises before, nothing a butterfly stitch couldn't fix but this. This is different. You know he's involved in things that aren't legal but he doesn't like to tell you much. 'The less you know the better' you remember him saying one night with a soft kiss on your forehead before he speeds on into the night.
He pulls his hand off his wound to show you before you immediately push it back. ''Keep pressure on it. I'll be right back okay.'' You stammer out, he groans in response pushing his hand hard against it. His head falls back, resting it against the cold tile wall, as you scramble out of the bathroom. You haphazardly grab the first aid kit and whatever you think you might need: thread, cotton, antiseptic, alcohol. You know he doesn't usually touch the stuff but he's going to need something for this, and hell you might need some too.
You come back into the bathroom to see his eyes half lidded looking towards you. You let out a little sigh of relief seeing he's still breathing. Laying everything out on the floor, you settle in between his knees, you look up at him and with a shuddering breath, trying to figure out where to start. You slowly unzip his jacket and peel it from his shoulders, muttering a few 'sorrys' as he tries and fails to suppress his groans. With the jacket off, the wound is clearly bad. It’s jagged. You try to steady your breathing as you feel the blood drain from your face. If you had to guess, you'd think it was from Driver trying to get away from whoever was attacking him. Considering he's sitting in front of you, you'd guess the other guy ended up worse off.
“It’s not deep” he breathes out a you place a hand on his thigh. ' You cut him off before he can say anything else, ''I don’t think that’s for you to decide,'' you mutter. Examining the wound, you try to see if you can even find where the damage is through all the blood. Overwhelmed, you shake your head trying to shake some sense in to yourself There's only so long you can put this off for. You're scared but you know he's definitely more scared than you right now. He wouldn't have turned up at your door like this unless he didn't have anywhere else to go.
With another shaky breath, you grab a cloth and start to clean him up, you shuffle closer on your knees. You feel him tense under your hand as you struggle to wipe the blood away to find where he begins and where the wound ends. Your other hand draws small circles on his thigh, giving small reassuring squeezes.
You wipe away as much blood as you're able to with the wound still pulsing, you quickly thread the needle and will your hands to stop shaking. You've only ever seen him sew up a wound on his leg before so you're less than qualified, but right now doing anything is better than doing nothing and he'll have to be happy with it. ''Try to stay still for me.'' you breathe out. His hand grabs your wrist before you can start, locking eyes with you His ragged breaths makehis chest rise and fall with an irregular rhythm, your other hand lifts to rest on his letting out a soft reassuring ''It'll be okay'' under your breath. You push the needle in, hearing him let out a deep hiss, throwing his head to the side, tensing up as you try to push through quickly.
He's struggling already. He's stoic but not that stoic. After cleaning it up, you can see he was right, the wound is not deep but it's still deep enough to warrant stitches. You'll never know how he drove here without causing an accident. His eyes squeeze shut but to his credit, he listens and does stay still as you work the needle through his skin, threading it back together, trying to mimic his movements from when he patched up his leg.
''My uh- my cars been making a weird noise.'' you say suddenly, mentally scolding yourself for how stupid it sounds when it leaves your lips. You want to help him, distract him, fill the silence in the room only partly drowned out by the fan humming. After a beat of silence you think you might have actually lost him as you continue threading his skin back together, when he shifts and looks towards you.
''What noise?'' he asks, hand clenching as it hangs to his side. You let out a sigh of relief, hoping he can see your attempt to distract him, a relieved smile rests over your lips.
''A uh, sort of crunching sound'' you hum out, coming towards what you hope is the end of the stab wound.
''When you brake?'' he huffs, eyes still fixed on you, watching you like you might disappear if he looks away.
''Yeah'' you nod, pushing though with the needle one last time and tying off the thread and letting out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. Running a hand over your face, your head leans on his thigh, you try to catch your breath. You feel him relax, his shoulders slouching and his breathing coming out in heavy huffs.
You push yourself off the floor, giving his clothed thigh a small kiss before moving towards the sink to rinse off the cloth. You bite your lip wringing out the cloth, your eyes keep falling back to him, a small knot forming in your stomach. Now that the likelihood of him bleeding out in your bathroom is less likely, your mind starts to wander, to possibilities you shouldn't allow it to. What if you weren't in tonight, what if you were working late or out with friends what would he have done then? Where would he have gon-
“Brake pads.'' he murmurs, your head whips over towards him, looking at you innocently.
'Wwhat?'' you question, eyebrow drawing together, if you didn't know any better you'd guess he had interrupted your train of thoughts on purpose.
''The sound in your car, you need new brake pads'' he grunted out, trying to push himself to sit up. Turning off the running water, you wring out the cloth as you walk over, push him and settle yourself between his legs again.
''Maybe, when you're feeling better, you can show me how to fit them?'' you offer with a smile, as you start gently scrubbing the blood off the skin around the wound. He nods, although you know it will probably end up with you keeping him company as he fits them for you, talking you through the basics. He would nevertheless reassure you that if you ever have any car troubles, no matter what it is, he will be there. ending in him refusing to take any money off you, even though you try to sneak it to him when he's not looking, and it'll somehow always end up back in your bag or neatly placed on your bedside table.
You reach over to your frankly under stocked first aid kit, grabbing the roll of bandages and placing a hand on his shoulder ''Can you lean forward?'' you ask, breath fanning against his ear, he suppresses a shudder and pushes himself forward. You start wrapping them around his abdomen and mentally adding more bandages to your shopping list.You wonder how much of the bandage you're supposed to use, another thing to ask Driver when he's in a better shape. You end up using the whole roll, tying it off and quickly checking him over.
You start moving your hands off of him when he catches your wrist, softly tracing the back of your hand, slowly, achingly slowly. He moves it to his lips and gives it a lingering kiss. He moves it to his chests and squishes it. No words needed, you understand the gratitude in his eyes. He tries to lean forward, his head lining to yours, when a hiss leaves him. You chuckle and quickly move towards him, sparing him. Raising as you lean on your knees, you support yourself with the hand on your chest until you’re both face to face. The kiss starts softly, merely a peck, when the hand that was holding yours moves to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss.
You follow along, not wanting to push him when he's in such a state, but the look he's giving you between breaths makes your thighs clench together. Instintively, your hand begins to move downwards until it reaches his zipper. The small gasp he lets out brings you back from your thoughts.He looks down at you with half lidded eye, his hand gently resting over your cheek, fingers lacing your hair. You start palming him through his jeans as he lets out a soft little pant. He's already half hard.
''You're such a freak,'' you say under your breath with a small smile, “almost dead five minutes ago and now he is excited." The blood he has lost doesn’t impede him from blushing, as he gives you a sheepish smile. You bring your other hand up to unbutton his jeans. His hand follows you down, never leaving your cheek. You lean into it before turning to kiss his palm.
''Let me do this for you'' you whisper, holding his gaze. His blue eyes stare at you, eyes roaming your face. You cock your head at him for a moment, giving him the opportunity to back out of this. A small nod is all you need to continue to unzip his jeans and help him shimmy out of them.
His eyes are trained on you, you can feel them without even looking at him. The metal of his jeans clatters to the ground, your head dips, placing sloppy kisses on his thighs, your hand returning to palm his cock through his boxer. ''So pretty'' he mumbles, his hand moving to rest on your head as you move up kissing up towards his throbbing length.
You plant light kisses over him through the fabric while your hands smooth the skin of his thighs upwards, until they reach the waist band of his boxers, hooking your fingers around it. His hand moves again to your cheek and strokes it, his thumb ghosting over your lips parting them slightly. His eyes roam over your face, a hungry look in his eyes only half concealed but the exhaustion creeping up on him. It's after a minute his thumb tracing gently over your cheek, that you tug on the boxers again You sigh with an amused huff, ''Lift your hips so I can take these off” you nudge gently, taking his hand in your own and kissing his fingers, keeping your eyes on him. He pulls his hand away, you feel a small pout resting on your lips at the loss. He lifts his hips up with a small groan as his stomach tenses slightly, you reach your hands up pulling his boxers off, finally joining the jeans on the floor.
Your fingers close around his length and as his cock twitches in your hand, he whines, eyes squeezed closed, as his chin hits his chest. His hips thrusting into your clenched fist. Your thumb runs over the tip of his cock, he stiffens up letting out a small groan. You hum at his reaction, a small satisfied smile resting on your lips. You start stroking him up and down, not wanting to tease him, not tonight, with what he's been through already tonight, you can save that for another time.
He’s already close, between the adrenaline slowly tapering off and the blood loss, the fact he’s still conscious is a small miracle in itself. You keep pumping his cock in your hands as his hips push up to meet your fist, winching slightly. His jaw is clenched, eyes closed, soft whimpers and pleas leave his parted lips.
With a soft groan, he cums hard in your hands as he pants, warmth almost immediately coats your fingers. You continue stroking him, dragging out his orgasm as much as you can without completely wiping him out. His head falls back hitting the wall again and he breathes out gasps and slurred words. You lean over to grab tissue to wipe your hands but he stops you before you're able to, grabbing your wrist and bringing it up to his mouth. Licking your fingers, holding your eyes the entire time. “You’re such a menace”, even after almost bleeding out in your downstairs toilet he's absolutely insatiable.
You push yourself up to kiss him again, tasting him on his lips. His hands come up threading through your hair pulling you in. His lips moved against yours, you groan when you feel his teeth sink into your bottom lip before you pull away. ''Let's get you to bed before you get into any more trouble'' you grin, your forehead leaning against his.
