summary: out of sheer need for a place to stay, you decide to move in with a friend of a friend. considering you're sort of attracted to ryland makes your living arrangements a little complicated. (part 1/???)
pairing: ryland grace x gn!reader
word count: 4.5k
tags: (set in grad school, ryland and reader both in their early/mid-20s!) fluff and humor, domestic fluff, mutual pining, roommates-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, developing feelings, rom-com logic, reader partially nude (body type unspecified), will they/won't they, really bad flirting if you can even call it that, unresolved romantic tension, cocky!ryland, gn!reader
cross-posted to ao3
He’s not a complete stranger. That’s an important distinction, because if you were looking to room with a complete stranger, you’d be a lot more hesitant to sign the lease agreement. But, Ryland is a friend of a friend, which conceivably makes this more okay. You’ve gone out to dinner with him when he’s tagged along with your going-out group; you’ve seen him at the local bar five minutes out from campus—great at trivia, especially in the pop culture and science categories. You’d even be brave enough to say that you’ve noticed Ryland walking around campus and from afar watched him walk with his brown-leather shoulder bag and his morning cup of coffee.
The roommate talk had only begun in the last couple of weeks or so, when you’d been asking around for anyone who was looking to fill a room. Your first few attempts to secure an apartment—in time for the beginning of the next academic school year—had been a bust. There’d been a lead on a cheaper studio that never followed up, a four-roommate situation that ended up signing somebody else, an option for a dorm room (you’d opted yourself out of that choice)… To say you’d been desperate to find a room is an understatement.
The text you sent Ryland—number acquired from your mutual friend—had read: “hey! heard you were looking to fill a private room. keep me in mind if you haven’t found anyone yet :)” And Ryland’s simple response, “Let’s go for coffee. Free tomorrow?” was what sparked that initial, albeit premature belief, that you might make good co-habitants for one another. And his offer was simple. $1000 a month, flat-rate, for your own private room in a two-bedroom apartment. His apartment, which used to be occupied by both him and his old roommate, who’d left the state in pursuit of a good job with the CDC. It made sense. He had an empty room and you needed a place to stay. You’ve both said “hello” and “see you” in passing enough to call each other acquaintances.
So, now, you’re rooming together and have been for the past week. It's a decently sized place, certainly big enough for the two of you save for the tight hallway leading to the bedrooms. It’s perfect, really. It should be perfect. It was perfect when Ryland helped you bring all your cardboard moving boxes up the stairs of your complex and into your private bedroom, glasses askew and arms given a decent pump from the heavy lifting. And it was perfect when Ryland showed you around the apartment for the second time—with his tidy, two-bookshelf living room and his almost lab-esque arrangement of a kitchen. It was proving to be a perfect setup.
—
The second you start to worry about your rooming situation is at the end of the first week. You have reason to believe that Ryland will be out working at his summer research lab, on something related to microbial ecology. When he explained it all to you the first time, you hadn’t been completely able to understand him; there was a lot of theoretical jargon that he hadn’t cared to parse out for you. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to slow down, considering how passionate he was getting just talking about the research.
It’s a series of shower thoughts that carries you to think about how attractive Ryland is when he’s talking about his research. There’s something fiery in the way that he talks science-y. He wants to be right. It might piss you off a little, how right he wants to be, but it’d piss you off more if you were his colleague. It isn’t like he’s trying to prove you wrong. He’s just passionate. It’s a little hot. You twist the shower knob quickly, and the water begins to trickle out of the showerhead. You just moved in; you can’t be thinking like this. His shampoo and conditioner and his body wash are in front of you on the shelf. You look away.
Once you’re able to grab your towel off the rack and wrap it around you, you’re in a hurry to get out of the shower. You’re already starting to get that cold, wet feeling on your back, and you’re dying to get into your bedroom to change into a fresh set of clothes. The sun’s starting to go down and you’re just about ready for dinner—so you’re stepping onto the bathmat and making a run for the door, and out the door into your room.
That second-long sprint from the bathroom, down the hallway to your bedroom, is when you realize the apartment isn’t empty. You nearly drop the towel, hands all shaky, when you realize that Ryland’s sitting on the couch, a good few feet ahead of you, reading through a stapled stack of papers. His faded red 49ers shirt stands out bright against the gray couch. You were just thinking of him, and now he’s here, and you’re here with almost nothing on. He jumps at the sound of you shouting a soft “Fuck!”—and you don’t know how much he sees before you’re able to pull the towel into a more solid wrap around yourself. He’s looking at you over the frame of his glasses, eyebrows raised.
He glances down at your towel for only a second, before flashing down to your all-too-visible, bare legs—before finally taking his glasses off and tossing them down on the coffee table. You can feel yourself burning up at the mere sight of him, training his eyes down on the folder in his lap. Ryland’s cheeks seem to have a reddened tint to them, and he’s ruffling his hair back and forth. You’re fumbling with the doorknob to your bedroom, not quite sure what to say to him. Finally, you stammer out, “Sorry, sorry. I thought you were going to be working later—”
“It’s fine,” he assures you. He’s still looking straight down as he waves his open hands around. “No, this is great. We’re breaking down the hard barriers first.” You find yourself staring at his discarded glasses. It’s not like taking them off would’ve made much difference. He’s farsighted, and you’re a little bit down the hall. He must’ve taken them off in an exerted effort to make you feel better.
“I’m just gonna… put something on. Okay.” The second you shut the door, nearly slamming it behind you, you’re slapping your palms over your eyes. It’s taking a lot to rationalize the past minute. He’s right: hard barriers first. It had to happen eventually. It was going to be him or you. All you need to do is act maturely about this. You’re both grown-ups here, and it isn’t like either of you are unaccustomed to nudity.
—
Now, you’re sitting at the dining table together hot-faced. In the forty minutes that you’ve been hiding away in your room, taking the utmost amount of time to get dressed, Ryland has made himself busy in putting together a meal for you both. There’s a set table for you both—a plate of pasta out for you, for him, and glasses of water to match. It takes lots of effort not to shift in your seat with the events of this evening, even more so when Ryland sits across from you.
You think you catch him glancing down at your pajamas before he looks you in the eyes. Your hair’s still damp, as if you’ve only just come out of the shower. The thought of your body being imprinted into his mind makes your nose want to crinkle. “So, you came home early,” you say sheepishly.
Ryland nods, hands clasping together in front of him. “Professor let us go early to yell at an undergrad. They dropped a sample, it was a whole thing.”
You both pick up your forks, ready to eat. But neither of you seem to want to dig in. Ryland’s waiting in silence, probably watching the unsettled look on your face. You stutter, “Right—I should… did you see—?”
Ryland purses his lips, pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. “...No.” His hand goes straight for the glass, tossing back a large gulp of water. This seems to relieve him a small bit, because when he places the glass back down, he seems slightly more composed. Ryland sits up straight in his chair, more relaxed to look you in the eyes. You don’t buy it.
“Are you lying?” you ask him, fork hovering over the pasta. It’s still welling up steam; you might as well keep prodding until your meal cools down.
Ryland sucks in a deep breath, before giving you a strangled, “Maybe.” So, he did see. He was only trying to save face just now, feigning cluelessness. You knew he was too slow to look down; you could tell as soon as you dropped the towel.
Finally, you’re dropping the form down onto the plate and looking straight down at the table. It’s difficult not to slam your head straight down into the bowl. You’re seething with embarrassment. “Oh my God!” You don’t know what’s worse—Ryland seeing you naked, or the fact that you’d been thinking about him just seconds beforehand.
He’s being a good sport, raising his palms up. “It’s fine! It’s fine,” he says to you. “I’ve taken general physiology. A naked body isn’t going to put me off. It’s natural.” The thought of Ryland comparing his viewing experience of you to a textbook diagram, professorial tone and all, is only making this worse. He realizes his mistake rather quickly, and tries his best to amend it as smoothly as possible. “I was also a teenage boy with Internet access.” Not any better. He tries to adjust one last time. “And I’ll text you next time I get out of lab early?” That calms you down, which calms him down.
For the time being, you’re both able to pick your forks back up and start eating again. You’re able to get a better look at Ryland as he pulls the marinara-drenched pasta up to his mouth. He cooked for you both. That’s nice. It’s more marginally comfortable now that you’ve both resolved the little road bump from earlier. Your mind returns back over to the initial conversation: Professor v. Undergraduate Student. “So, is it really that serious about dropping the samples? I’m assuming there’s contaminants, or—”
He nods, “Well, we only have so many palettes. It’s really reckless to drop stuff, and if we were in a professional setting, and this is more pseudo-professional than anything else, it’d be…” Ryland tries to select out the right word “…catastrophic.”
You give Ryland a gasp, nothing but sarcastic: “Like, World War Z?”
“It would be exactly like World War Z,” he affirms dryly. Ryland chews quietly at his food, a small, satisfied grin on his face. It’s a success; he thinks you’re mildly funny. This is a better dinner than it started and, awkwardness aside, you think that it’d be difficult to get tired of evenings like this. You have to wonder how many dinners you’ll have with Ryland like this, especially when the summer ends and you’re both busier. He won’t always get home early, and neither will you. It’s rather unlikely that you’ll sync up often.
When the two of you are finished eating, you’re getting ready to stand up and collect the dishes together. Ryland is quick to beat you to it, grabbing your plate, then his. Your half-full glasses are still left there on the placemats to drink—and he’s already making large strides over to the sink. “I don’t mind doing them,” you tell him, “—the dishes, I mean. You cooked, so it’s only fair.”
There’s a gentle clatter in the sink as Ryland places the plates and utensils at the bottom. You take your glass into your hand, trying to chug down your water so your glass can join the rest. Ryland’s shaking his head, leaning against the counter as he watches you tilt the glass up higher. “I can do them. I figure you probably want to turn in early after your little accident.”
You nearly spit out your water, dropping your glass down on the table with a huff. “You can’t call it that,” you say, “You’re making it sound like I peed myself on the playground.”
“I don’t know what you’d rather me call it,” Ryland replies, a grin starting to grow on his face. It’s far too easy for him to do this kind of thing—teasing you to entertain himself, and making you all the more antsy. “A… whoopsie? Or, surprise! That might be more fitting.”
“Nothing. You can call it ‘nothing’ because it didn’t happen!” you tell him. Full denial. It’s your own ego speaking, a meager attempt to make up for some of the dignity you’ve lost in the past hour. You can already hear him mumbling under his breath, “kinda hard to forget,” before you’re standing up to drop your glass into the sink with the rest of the dishes.
Getting closer to Ryland isn’t doing you any justice, despite how strong-willed you’re trying to act. His blonde hair is casting a soft shadow over his forehead, dark-blue eyes lowering to scan your face. He’s looking down at you with a curiosity to him that’s nearly on-par with how he reads over research findings. Stubbornly, you tell him, “If you tell anybody, I’ll move out.”
“Ouch. I wouldn’t even think of telling anyone,” Ryland affirms, “...My eyes only.” You’re about to pinch his arm, but he’s already putting his hands up to stop you. “Okay, sorry, kidding.” Before you can berate him any further, he turns back around to face the sink, grabbing up the sponge and dish soap with hurried hands. He’s starting to bunch up suds on the plates as he tells you, “Seriously, I wouldn’t blab.”
Satisfied enough with his placation, you begin to pad away back down the hall to the bathroom. Once there, you find yourself heaving in a deep breath. To the right of the sink on the counter, your toothbrush is neatly next to Ryland’s in a tall ceramic cup. It’s so difficult to get away from him when he’s everywhere in the apartment. You don’t hate it, necessarily; it’s just… more than you’d expected to take in. Slowly but surely, you peek your head out the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of him in the kitchen. Ryland’s focus is still dead-set on the dishes, but he’s still wearing a small grin on his face. Still dwelling on the hour. God, he’s the worst.
—
Ryland has his nose buried in his laptop, doing a little searching for fellowships in time for the Fall semester. While he’s on the couch figuring out financials, you’re right beside him, looking through his collection of Blu-Ray DVD’s. He really does enjoy his sci-fi classics. You’re trying your best to stay attentive to the older style graphic designs of these DVD cases, and not Ryland’s rapid typing. It doesn’t take much resistance for you to bring up your lingering thoughts. “We should have ground rules, you know,” you tell Ryland. “To ensure that we’re not hating each other before the start of the semester.”
Ryland’s nothing but agreeable—but he hesitates a little in his response, with a reticent “...Okay.” His hands pull up from the keyboard, and he shuts the lid of his laptop just slightly to give you his attention. “Is this about the…?” It’s clear that you’re both still hung up about your little accident from the other week.
“No. A little, maybe,” you utter with a half-shrug. “Did you not have that kind of thing with your last roommate?” You pull your legs up into a criss-cross atop the couch cushions. He’s a little sheepish about this question, digging his fingertips under the band of his digital wristwatch.
“I don’t know. He was always either a hermit studying or he was out doing field work,” Ryland replies. “What were you thinking?” He doesn’t know what to expect—but you don’t seem very strict, which is a good thing.
You rub your palm into the back of your neck, trying to mull over a good list for Ryland. “Like… chores, for example. We can rotate to make sure that we’re both pulling our weight. Making sure to turn all the lights out to save on electricity. And, like, no hook-ups in the apartment.” That last line punches out of you in a clumsy manner.
Ryland gives you a funny look, something like a pout. He nods, “That one’s easy. I don’t sleep around.” You aren’t surprised. He doesn’t seem the type.
Still, you find yourself sighing out a “Great. Cool.” You don’t know why you feel so relieved about his particular response. Or, you do, and you just don’t want to bring yourself to admit it. He’s not seeing anyone, and it makes you feel a little fuzzy inside. You have to push it down
Ryland raises a brow: “Do you?”
“No,” you reply curtly. He nods. And you’re both sitting there on the couch with a prolonged stall in conversations. You don’t know how you’re supposed to recover from this, aside from continuing straight onward from expectations. “About habits—obviously, we’re both going to be working a lot, schoolwork and part-time. So—”
“I might stay up late a few nights a week to work on my thesis. It’s a lot of writing, editing, more writing,” Ryland explains. “I’d use my desk, but it’s easier if I’m right next to the coffee pot. And I… tend to pace around when I’m having trouble ironing things out. If it’ll bother you—” He’ll probably tell you that he can go to the library or an open-late diner, but it’s the last thing you want.
“No! Definitely not,” you shake your head. You’re maybe too shy to tell Ryland that you like that he’s on the more driven end of things. “I’m not a bad study partner if you ever want to do work sessions, either. And, uh, one second—” He watches closely as you take your phone up off the arm of the couch to tap across your phone screen. On the coffee table, right beside his laptop, his phone pings. The notification comes up wide on his lock screen. He picks up the phone, pushing his glasses up to get a closer look. Location shared.
Ryland blinks. “Oh. Are you sure?”
“It’ll let you know if I’m here or out on campus. Good for emergencies, too,” you tell him. As transactional as you want it to sound, there’s something vaguely personal about handing your whereabouts over to him. “You don’t have to give me yours back but—” Your phone buzzes. Ryland’s savvy, already having tapped away at his touchscreen to share his location with you.
“Handy,” he hums, “And it’ll make it a lot easier for me to not walk in on you.” That’s the goal, you think. Ryland places his phone back on the table, face-down. Then, he’s leaning back against the couch, tapping his palms rhythmically on his knees. It’s simpler than you thought it would to arrange the finer details with him. It’s oddly endearing how this is panning out for the two of you. It’s starting to look a little bit more smooth for this year.
Ryland starts up again, “Good we’re doing this now, ‘cause I’ve been meaning to ask you on a grocery run.” You tilt your head. Ask you on… a grocery run? “So I can see what you like,” Ryland explains, “That way, if you ever need a refill, I’m not wandering about the aisles like a lost dog.” You can picture it in your head, him collecting your favorite foods off the shelves dutifully with his earbuds playing some ongoing science newsfeed.
“That’s kinda sweet.” It’s really sweet. Boyfriend sweet—but you need to keep yourself away from that train of thought, avoid it like the plague. The semester hasn’t even started yet, and you’re fending off that terribly high chance that you might start growing feelings for your roommate.
—
By the end of month one, the two of you are starting to get the hang of things—smoothing out house rules, acclimating to each other’s summer schedules. By now, you’ve graduated co-habitating and actually started living together. It’s not without the occasional roadbump. Your next time going out with friends is disgustingly exhausting. Home at the apartment by midnight, you find yourself shrugging your coat off in a lightly tipsy attempt to get un-ready. You throw it on the coat rack with a huff, kicking off your shoes. Ryland’s right behind you, tossing his house keys into the ceramic bowl you’d bought for the both of you; you think now that he gets more use out of it than you do. Since getting dropped off, the two of you have been dead quiet.
It’s comfortable being silent with Ryland, with no grand expectations to keep talking to one another. Especially after a night out like the one you’ve just had, you’re grateful for it. There were just so many questions. “What is it like living together?” “How are you two getting along?” “Have you fought yet?” Good, yes, sort of. He was better than you at handling all the interrogation, full of clever comebacks and topic changes. You were… less adept. You love your friends, you do, but their egging both on was all too obvious.
You toss your bag on the couch and collapse down on the cushions with a groan. Ryland joins you a minute later, after tossing his hoodie on the back of a dining room chair. His knees bump against your own as he crashes on the couch, and you can tell he’s giving you a glance a few seconds at a time. You stare up at the ceiling, neck resting comfortably on the couch cushions. “Our friends think we’re hooking up,” you say. You don’t have to beat around the bush. You know it, and he knows it, too.
“Well, we live together. They’re going to think what they think,” Ryland says, taking his glasses off and tossing them on the coffee table in front of you both. “For some reason, they’re just… fixated on the thought of us shacking up. I tried to tell them, we’re only living together. It’s totally utilitarian.”
“Right. We’re doing this because it’s convenient—I keep on saying this,” you tell Ryland. It’s an impossible allegation to fend off, especially when the two of you are so undeniably single. Maybe, your mutual friends have picked up on some prolonged looks you’ve given him here and there—but they really are jumping to conclusions.
“All things considered, it’s better for me than it is for you.” He’s saying this like it’s the most straightforward logic in the world. You don’t know what to make of it.
You tilt your head a bit to see Ryland massaging his temples. After this much time out, he always gets a little bit restless. “...How’d you figure that?”
“Well, because I’d be dating up.” Until now, he’s been totally distracted by the lingering migraine in his frontal lobe, and now Ryland’s flinching at the sound of you shooting up on the couch. He practically jumps a foot in the air, realizing how worked up you are about it.
“Dating up?” you guffaw. There’s no chance in hell that he’d be able to think that up on his own accord. “Who came up with that bit?”
“I don’t know. Marissa. Marissa’s new guy-friend. Everyone,” Ryland admits easily. Of course. “They were saying all kinds of stuff when you went to the bathroom.” You find yourself groaning at the thought of them bombarding Ryland with dating advice.
“Why would they say that? God, it’s terrible.”
“Well, it’s not what I think.” Ryland backtracks, “I mean, I would think that because you are objectively attractive. You’re like, you know,” he gestures haphazardly towards you, starting to mumble more inaudibly, “—the hot roommate.”
You have to double take. “What?” It comes out more stern than anything else, like you’re trying to get him to plead guilty for saying it.
“You’re attractive. It’s not an outrageous thing to say.” This time, he’s a little bit more confident in the assertion. He said it once, he can say it again. Ryland gets this tone, you think, when he’s talking about scientific theories. It’s always so argumentative with him, so logically snide. He’s using that tone now, with you—about you. You’re not mad about it. In fact, it’s a little bit flattering. He thinks you’re the hot one.
“You are blowing my mind right now,” you murmur, eyes feeling like the size of saucers. Ryland seems to pick up on your stunned disposition and tries to amend his words as quickly as possible.
“I made an observation. You really shouldn’t let it get to your head.” Rude.
You scoff, “You obviously meant it, and you so can’t take it back.” As much as you’d like to giggle like a teenager, but you’ve got to keep it together at least a little bit. Something like courage brings you to lean over on the couch and give him a soft kiss on the cheek. It’s supposed to be a little “thank you,” just like you’d see in the movies, but it feels a lot more genuine than you’d like. Too friendly. You’re regretting it as soon as it happens—your lips brushing against the side of his face. Your breath stalls in your chest, and Ryland’s dead quiet. As soon as you’re off of him, the two of you are face-to-face with the same mortified look in your eyes.
Ryland is throwing his glasses back on, but by the time he can get a second look at you, you’re in a hurry to stand up off the couch cushions with a hasty fumble of your arms and legs. Once standing, you feel yourself clasping your hands together politely behind your back. Ryland’s hand is hovering over the spot where your lips hit his cheekbone, and he’s looking at you dazed. “I’d better go get ready for bed. I, uh… goodnight,” you stutter out, before pivoting on your heels and making sweeping steps towards the hallway. You slide in and slam the door shut behind you, mind running too quickly for you to keep track.
It’s difficult not to dramatize it all. It was so easy for him to admit you were attractive, and so easy for you to take the compliment. You don’t have to read into it, and neither does he. But, whatever’s running between the both of you—that high-strung, antsy feeling that you’re unable to get a good grip on—is impossible to ignore. You have no idea what you’re going to do about it, considering there’s another ten months left to the lease. Two semesters to go and you most definitely feel something for Ryland that exceeds what you should feel about a roommate. You're going to have to sort it out quick, or your school year's going to be much harder than anticipated.
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.
thank you steven spielberg for creating a male and female protagonist who are the only two people of their kind on earth, who understand each other better than anyone else, "whatever you do, don't let go', who are literally DESTINED to meet each other and are literally spelled out to be goddamn soulmates and narrative foils
and not making their relationship romantic even though it would've been the easy thing to do.
Check the series masterlist for full description/tags/etc. You worked with Ryland Grace on the Project Hail Mary and there was a growing relationship between you two before Ryland was forcefully placed on the Hail Mary. You were trying to solve superluminal (warp) speed, could you bring Ryland back before any more time passed?
Chapter thirteen, 4.3k words.
The ride up on the space elevator seemed to have dragged on longer than usual, Grace's thoughts – and his heart – were going a mile a second. There were so many possibilities as to what this spacecraft was for.
Eventually he and the space crew, with Rocky, made it to said ship, connected with a tunnel much like the one Rocky had made from Blip A. That in itself brought back a flood of memories as he made his way to the airlock latch. It was odd, it most certainly had mechanical openings and instructions printed on the outside on how to open it. What made his heart lurch was the first sentence on the instructions: ‘Hello Dr. Ryland Grace’. So, this really was meant for him. Suddenly he felt overwhelmed and had to fight back tears that threatened to spill.
“Grace?” Came Rocky’s voice from behind him.
Grace turned around to see it was just Rocky in his atmospheric suit, the other scientists were clearly at the other end of the tunnel. How thoughtful. “Yeah pal?”
He was holding his little brail reader as Grace liked to call it, pointing it at the flat words printed on the door. The Eridians were able to see the ‘Project Prometheus’ and Sol solar system as they had been raised, clearly whoever designed this knew Eridians would see it first. “It says your name. And that it is unmanned. Why would Earth send you an unmanned spaceship?”
Grace shrugged his shoulders as he turned to open the latch. “I'm not sure buddy. The only way to find out is to go inside.” The door was heavy but Grace was able to open it without too much trouble, showing the airlock inside that looked almost the same to the one on the Hail Mary. “You coming inside?”
Rocky's fingers twitched but after a short pause he replied, “Yes, yes. I am curious.”
Once Grace closed the latch and sealed the exterior door a male AI voice spoke up, « Hello Dr. Ryland Grace. Hello Rocky. Welcome abroad ‘Project Prometheus’, please wait while the pressure adjusts. »
After a few moments the light to the interior door went green and was opened rather easily, still, Grace couldn't help but hesitate as he stepped inside. It said it was unmanned but maybe it was a trap of some kind. The ship was smaller than the Hail Mary, though very similar to the dormitory room, with some small lab around a corner. The AI spoke up again, « I am an AI much like the one of the ‘Hail Mary’ and I have been programmed to answer any questions you have, but to also show you a few things. » A mechanical arm much like Armando came down from the ceiling, gesturing to the table and chair that had a laptop on it. « There is oxygen on board so it is safe for Dr. Grace to remove his helmet. Apologies to Rocky and the other Eridians. But we have a message for the Eridians too: from all of humanity we thank you for saving our star Sol. »
Rocky was ‘staring’ at the arm, fingers twitching once again in nervous agitation. “Do I speak to it?” He asked Grace.
Before Grace could answer the AI interjected again, « You may, if you like. If you wish to I could record a message to be sent back to Earth? »
Grace cleared his throat, “Maybe later. I want to know why you are here. How did you get here?”
Again the arm pointed to the table with the laptop, it looked as if it had been mounted in place. « There is a video from Dr. L/N that explains all. »
Grace felt as if he was going to throw up, felt as if the floor had fallen beneath him. Illogically he felt as if he was suffocating in his suit so he decided to take this AI's word and took his helmet off, thankfully the ship was indeed full of oxygen. And yet, he felt as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.
“Grace is that... Isn't that the name of your mate?” Rocky sounded worried.
“Yes,” Grace managed to breathe out. He mustered the energy to walk forward despite feeling paralysed and place his helmet gingerly on the table, looking at the laptop as if it was an explosive. Carefully Grace sat down on the chair as his eyes remained glued onto the laptop. There was a platform next to the table that Rocky was able to meander up, just sitting a little lower than Grace but still able to see the laptop.
“What are you waiting for?” Rocky asked.
Grace didn't move his eyes off that laptop, “I don't know.” Did he want to find out what was on the laptop, find out what you had recorded for him? What if he had been too late? Though, logically speaking why would they send out a ship to Erid, how did they send a ship out to Erid? It would take sixteen years to get here – it would have had to be sent not long after the Hail Mary left Earth's orbit! But it was only addressed to him – and the AI knew about Rocky! Refusing to stall any longer he opened the laptop and immediately a video started playing.
It was you. Well, not quite as he remembered, you looked tired, had a few grey hairs around your temples and a few fine wrinkles around your eyes. But it was certainly you.
Hello Dr. Grace – Ryland. I bet you have a lot of questions, so I do apologise but this video will be quite long. Well, at least I hope I am speaking to you Ryland, if not, hello to the Eridian scientists. I should start off by saying thank you, because of the bravery of the Eridians we were able to save our star. We do have a translated audio version of this recording, the AI on the ship can help you find it.
In that moment the AI spoke in perfect Eridian, which would have been impressing for Grace had he not just found out he saved the sun, he saved Earth. He had to pause the video to let a few tears escape.
“Oh dear. Too much going on,” Rocky muttered behind him. “Thank you AI but we do not need your help.” Grace could sense Rocky shuffling closer to him. “Grace, do you want a hug?”
Without a second thought, Grace just nodded and wrapped his arms around his alien friend. He was grateful for the atmospheric suit instead of the rudimentary ball, it meant he could hug his friend more properly now. Rocky's hugs were always so warm, obviously because his friend was like a million degrees, but the suit was able to keep most of it from escaping and harming Grace. “We did it, Rock!” A loud sobbed wrecked through him then, making his next words stutter out, “Holy... holy shit. We did it...”
Rocky let out an amused sound, “I told you, Grace and Rocky saved the stars!”
The hug went on longer than was probably necessary and Grace allowed himself a moment to collect himself before he hit play again.
Ryland if it is you watching this... well then our educated guess paid off. I hope that my other guess is correct and that the Eridians found a way for you to survive, even if on the ‘Hail Mary’. Again, I cannot thank the Eridians enough. I uh... well there's a lot to say. First of all, yes: the Taumeoba you sent to Earth has worked and our sun is almost at full luminosity. You and Rocky quite literally saved all of humanity. That's something no one will ever be able to repay to you, I don't have the sufficient words to express our gratitude, even my own gratitude. There are a few medals for you, Heracles will show them to you later. There's some for Rocky as well. You are both more than worthy, in fact some medals hardly seem fitting enough. From world leaders across the globe, not just here in America. You're truly a hero and I believe that with my whole heart. I saw those logs, I can't imagine the stress you had to endure, especially without Yao and Ilyukhina... Thank goodness for Rocky. Often I found myself looking up at the stars, wondering how you were fairing, but found some solace knowing you weren't alone. To find out Yao and Ilyukhina died was devastating – not only for you but of course their families; they would look up into the stars thinking their loved ones were saving the universe, without knowing the had died long before their mission. I cannot imagine how scared you must have been. Sorry, you probably don't need reminding.
But you and Rocky are both incredibly brave. Ryland, I want you to know how proud I am of you, how brave and selfless you are, how smart you are. I admire you more than you'll know. I mean, you quite literally met alien life – made first contact twice! You even figured out how to translate an alien... I don't think you realise how damn cool that makes you. Thank you both, endlessly. You're both hailed as heroes Earth-side and rightfully so.
Brave. Sometimes Grace still felt like a fraud. He winced when he thought about his dead crewmates drifting in deep space.
I've included plenty of news reports on what has happened on Earth for the last seventeen years for you to look through, though some of it is bleak. However, it wasn't long until we were seeing results, that Taumeoba works fast. Though yes, the Earth has been drastically cold for the last decade, humanity was once again able to work together. For the most part. There has been no World War III as it was deemed a waste of resources and money. Those wasteful AI data centres were also outlawed globally; some owners even being jailed for the gross pollution. Though, sadly, about two billion people have died, mostly from impoverished countries. But with the endless energy from Astrophage, large scale greenhouses for both crops and agriculture were able to thrive. Once the rich elite class realised they actually needed humans to survive, many chipped in to life saving measures for Earth to buy us more time. The stock markets also, of course crashed, which sent the billionaires into a panic as they no longer had the net worth they once had, many came to me to find a solution with superluminal speed.
No fucking way. But of course, it made sense. There was no way this ship was sent here to Erid sixteen years ago. You had aged, only he and the Eridians were addressed to. This had to be sent with superluminal speed. He watched very intently as you went into great detail about how you finally figured it out, even comparing it to the different warp speeds from Star Trek to put it into context, which he appreciated.
A few months ago you and the Eridians might have noticed a probe in Erid's atmosphere, it was sent from us to confirm if you and Rocky had made it to Erid. It was simply taking recordings, though unable to tell us anything useful about Erid due to the thick atmosphere. But it told us that the Hail Mary was there. That was all I needed to get this Project off the ground. I had in theory figured about superluminal speed about five years ago, but had not acted on it until we got the Taumeoba. Once I knew you were alive and heading to Erid I was able to actually make probes and spacecrafts for testing. As soon as I figured it out I wanted to get spacecraft sent out to the Hail Mary as soon as possible... but we ran into problems with initial testing. And I had to think about many variables, my biggest concern being exploitation. What if warp speed ends up less like ‘Starfleet’ and more like some expanding empire? But once those Beetles arrived, it was Eva Stratt who helped me get this programme off the ground. She had promised me it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. I'm sorry for not finding a way to do it sooner, for having reservations. Besides, there was no way of knowing five years ago where in the Tau Ceti solar system the Hail Mary would end up.
Secondly... well, Herakles will need to give you something.
In that moment the arm – Herakles – placed a piece of folded paper on the table, sliding it forward towards Grace. Again, it felt like this inanimate object was some kind of explosive. Nevertheless, Grace gingerly picked it up and stopped the video before he opened it. This was rather unorthodox and unexpected, why would he need to see a piece of paper? Couldn't you just show it to him on the screen?
The header of the paper was from some type of laboratory, the date indicating it would have been about ten months after the Hail Mary left. It was addressed to you and it was... some type of DNA test?
A paternal test.
His eyes widened. You had a daughter. But it wasn't a DNA for yourself of course, it was a DNA test for Grace. It matched. This was his daughter.
If the floor felt like it had fallen beneath him before, then all he could describe feeling now was falling into a black hole. He let the paper fall out of his hands in disbelief and it landed silently on the table. The anxiety that filled him now felt like a torrent, like he was drowning. He wanted to get up and scream, to throw things. But he was rooted to the spot and unable to move.
“Grace? What is wrong?” Rocky was certainly worried now, but Grace quite literally could not respond. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't function. After a few minutes Rocky gave up waiting and pointed his reading device at the paper. “What does this mean? DNA test?”
“I...,” Grace was struggling to find his voice, “I have a daughter. A child. Offspring.” It was dated not even a year after the Hail Mary left Earth's orbit... the Hail Mary left almost seventeen years ago.
“Offspring... Like my pebbles...” Rocky mumbled.
Decidedly he wanted answers, so he hit play on the recording before he could think twice.
You will see a paternity test and I debated for a long, long time about whether to do this. But I figured you deserve to know, I would want to know. I'm sorry if that wasn't the right call. But about two weeks after... after the ‘Hail Mary’ left, I found out I was pregnant. Two weeks pregnant, which means the birth control failed. I went to Stratt as soon as I realised and she, of course, had you DNA saved so we were able to run the tests. The baby is yours, though of course I had no doubts – but I figured if by some miracle... you'd want to know for absolute certain. I never thought I would get that miracle. I kept the baby, I know with doomsday looming it was a selfish choice to make... but I couldn't do the alternative. I just couldn't do it. I know, it's unbelievably selfish and you have every right to be angry and pissed off at me.
Pissed off? Grace had a lot of emotions rolling through him right now but anger wasn't one of them. Well, he was angry in regards to the life he lost, but not at you. Sure, maybe it was the wrong choice to make but... the Taumeoba was working. It was one hell of a gamble.
This is guilt that I have carried with ever since she was born. But I have even more reason to thank you now – because of you saving the Earth it feels as if a weight has been lifted, some of that guilt evaporated. Our daughter will now have a future.
Our daughter.
So, thank you, Ryland. Our daughter is like you in a lot of ways, especially in looks. She has blonde hair like you, the same shade of blue in her irises. She's as sharp as a tack and talented as hell. She's a constant reminder that you are real, not just some dream... that somewhere out there in the cosmos you exist. Her name is Evie, I hope you approve. I know how hard it is for teachers to pick a name, but I don't recall you ever talking irately about an Evie. Apologies if I got that wrong.
Evie... What a beautiful name. His heart felt as if it was shattering into a million pieces and he hadn't even realised he had been crying this whole time. You called out to Evie and he heard the sound of a door opening and closing before a teenager appeared on screen. She shockingly did look like Grace in many ways.
“She looks like you, even her nose is the same shape as yours,” came Rocky's voice next to him.
Uh, um. Hi, dad. It feels weird to say that. You have always been just a concept. Though I have never met you, I miss you. Mom always speaks so highly of you, I think you would have been a good dad. Meeting aliens is pretty cool though, Rocky is cool – so that makes you cool by proxy. Um, thanks of course – Rocky too – for being the literal saviours of Earth. Seems like a surreal thing to say. But I'm proud to have a dad who saved the stars. No one else can say that. Hope living in outer space is as cool as it seems in movies, uh, okay... bye dad.
She was blushing and fidgeting the whole time, clearly feeling like a fish out of water. But once she left the screen Grace had to pause the video once more so he could weep into his hands. Rocky was asking him some question, but Grace couldn't hear him. Never in all the years he had spent awake in outer space did he think this could be a possibility. It was a lot to process.
He got up and paced around, placing his hands on his hips as he tried to organise his thoughts. “I can't breathe.”
« Oxygen levels working as normal. »
That made him roll his eyes, reminding him of Mary. “Haha, thank you Herakles,” there was no humour in his voice. Trying to regulate his breathing he looked around the ship, there was certainly less equipment on board. Right now he wanted to collapse on the floor into the foetal position, or maybe he wanted to fling himself out the airlock. He wasn't quite sure. Instead, he looked over to Rocky, who had remained seated. “Can you believe this, Rock?”
“Yes, it is all in the video,” he replied, deadpan. “What does this mean for Grace?”
Grace let out a long sigh, “I don't know, pal.”
“Watch more,” his alien friend instructed sternly.
Knowing Rocky would pester him about it, he relented and sat back down to watch more of the recording.
Sorry, she's a little shy. I suppose this is all rather unorthodox. But she's a good kid, I couldn't have been luckier.
You looked sad, despite the smile you tried to give. It was then he noticed you were fidgeting with your necklace. The Xenonite necklace he sent you.
Ryland, I would be lying if I said I didn't miss you. Not a day has gone by where I didn't think about you. I still haven't seen that movie we wanted to go see, I can't bring myself to do it. I also can't bring myself to move on it... it feels wrong. Besides, dating hasn't been high on the priority list. Figuring out how to get you home has, if you want.
Home? Did he still consider Earht home? He looked over to Rocky and wasn't so sure. You explain the warp speed and the spacecraft – Prometheus – he is sitting in, that if he chose to, he could come home, it would only take a month. You explain that if Erid was any closer, the warp speed could in theory be instantaneous, then you start talking about the warp-speed in Star Trek, trying to contextualise it for him again.
Of course, if you don't want to come home I– I would understand.
The pained expression on your face says otherwise, making Grace's heart twist.
If that is the case, then please just send back one of the Beetles. If we detect this spacecraft in our solar system – you'll exit superluminal speed around Pluto – we will expect you find you on board. Once at Pluto, or Pluto's distance I should say, it will take about six days to get to Earth given how fast you'll be travelling. Heracles will navigate everything, getting you to the International Space Station where two pilots will board and land ‘Prometheus’ not far from Houston.
He... He could go home. And it wouldn't take him sixteen years and risk another coma. This was unbelievable, he was almost shaking like a leaf at the possibility. It was now that Grace noticed Rocky had become very still, even by Eridian standards. A lot of time had passed on Earth and the Earth as he knew it didn't exist anymore. But he had you... he had a daughter. A daughter he had never met. He would be like a stranger to her.
There's so much I want to say to you.
Then say it, he thought, wiping more tears from his eyes.
I have included two other video recording on this device; one of students you used to teach – at least those that Eva was able to track down. And another of a compilation of home videos of Evie growing up. The latter is rather long, I found it hard to only pick a few. But Ry... please do not think you are under any obligation to return home. I am sure you have made yourself a home on Erid, or on the Hail Mary. I know Rocky means a lot to you too. You're also not under any obligation to return my feelings, I know much time has passed, perhaps even our time has passed...
He felt sick hearing those words.
But I want you to know I care deeply about you and I always will. Herakles will show you a few things we packed on board just for you and Rocky – including those medals. Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, for giving me everything. Thank you for saving Sol. Thank you for being the best lab partner.
The video ends and Grace is staring back at himself. He looks, quite frankly, awful. Before he or Rocky can say anything, Herakles’ arm plops a tidy box on the table. Without hesitation Grace opens it. On top he finds various golden medals for him, from various countries. There's a few notes with each, one of course with the familiar White House logo in the corner. The medals for Rocky are made out of what looks like Xeonite, chain and all. So, they wouldn't melt, no doubt. He placed Rocky's medals on the table and silently slid them over to Rocky's side, where his alien friend careful inspected each one. They were textured enough that he wouldn't need his reading tool to discern what was on each one. Neither one said anything, it felt as if breaking the silence in the air would rip a hole in the hull.
Grace found a picture of you and Evie, who looked to be about middle school age, the writing on the back in unfamiliar handwriting said ‘We love you and are so proud of you. Thank you dad and Rocky for saving the stars’. He stared at the picture for a long time, a sharp pain resonating deeply in his chest. Fighting through his blurry, teared-up vision he found more things in the box, three friendship bracelets. Though one of them was made out of Xenonite, with small Xenonite chain and larger beads. The beads spelled out ‘Best Friends for Life’ - matching one of the classic plastic beaded ones. The third classic plastic beaded one spelled out ‘Universe's best dad’. He found a note in that same handwriting, from Evie, that she had made the friendship bracelets for him and Rocky, so they could match.
The beads seemed to weigh a tonne each on his hands, as if the weight of this gift was so monumental he couldn't bear to carry it. A lump formed in his throat as he thought about Evie making these, getting you to now doubt get the Xeonite supplied for her. The pain he feels now feels like it is fracturing him from the inside out, it feels more intense than his betrayal had felt.
He turned to Rocky, who was busy looking at the picture with his brail reader. “You have a family,” his alien friend stated.
Grace held out the friendship bracelet for him. “Yes. My daughter made this for you, she made me one too.” His voice sounded scratchy, like he had been crying too much. He supposed he had been crying too much.
“Oh! Thank, thank, thank! What is a bracelet?” He asked, genuinely grateful for the gift.
“It's jewellery, like the ones Adrian wears, or the ones you wear when you celebrate.” Grace put the two plastic bracelets on his own wrist. “See? Like this.”
“Adiran and pebbles will be very interested. Are medals like necklaces?”
“Kind of, though people don't usually wear them. They are more like badges of honour, for doing good. It is Earth's way of showing thanks.”
“Amaze, amaze, amaze,” though his voice sounded more sombre than usual. “Grace can go home now.”
Grace couldn't help the loud sob that escaped him. Could he bear to leave his alien friend again?
And you coming back to me is against all odds.
Author's note: Sorry for the delay in uploading! It's been a busy week (please read Yesteryear if you haven't, it's so good!). I also chopped this chapter in half as it was just getting out of hand, lmao.
Tags (lmk if you want to be added): @shittyprofilebutfuckit @risakawamori @qardasngan
Thank you all as always for likes/reblogs/comments (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
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