You work part-time at a quiet, almost empty library that only he seems to visit. Every time he checks out books, he leaves small handwritten notes inside them—poems that feel too personal to be random. Eventually, you realize he isn’t just inspired by literature… he’s been writing about you without ever saying a word out loud.
The library sat on the edge of the city like a forgotten secret.
Not abandoned, exactly. There were still regular patrons, still children who came in after school to do homework, still elderly couples who wandered through the history section on quiet weekday mornings. But compared to the bright cafés and busy bookstores that crowded the streets downtown, it felt detached from everything else, tucked away beneath old trees whose branches scraped against the windows whenever the wind picked up.
You loved it for exactly that reason.
The silence never felt empty there.
It felt alive.
The rustle of pages. The soft hum of the heating system. The occasional creak of wooden shelves that had stood there longer than most of the staff had been alive.
And, for the past year, it included one very specific visitor.
Kim Namjoon.
At first, he had simply been another patron.
A polite man who always arrived alone.
Who spent absurd amounts of time browsing.
Who checked out more books than any human being should reasonably be capable of reading.
Who somehow managed to return every single one on time.
You knew who he was, of course.
Everyone did.
It would have been impossible not to.
Still, he seemed strangely ordinary inside the library.
No bodyguards hovering nearby.
No cameras.
No stage lights.
Just a man with glasses slipping down his nose as he stood between shelves, reading book jackets with intense concentration.
You didn't speak much.
Mostly greetings.
"Good morning."
"Good afternoon."
"Have a nice day."
Simple things.
The kind exchanged between librarian and patron.
Nothing more.
At least, that's what you thought.
Until the first note.
It happened completely by accident.
You were processing returned books near closing time when a folded piece of paper slipped from between the pages of a poetry collection and landed on the desk.
At first you assumed it was a bookmark.
Then you opened it.
The handwriting was neat.
Elegant.
The words were brief.
The woman at the desk smiles like she knows secrets the world forgot.
That was it.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just one sentence.
You stared at it for several seconds before laughing softly to yourself.
Someone's writing exercise, probably.
You tucked it aside.
Forgot about it.
Until two weeks later.
Another note.
Different book.
Different handwriting? No.
The same.
There is comfort in people who belong to quiet places.
Your brow furrowed.
Interesting.
You slipped the note into your pocket.
Then another appeared.
And another.
And another.
Weeks became months.
The notes kept coming.
Never long.
Never signed.
Always hidden inside books returned by the same patron.
Poetry collections.
Philosophy texts.
Novels.
Art books.
Every single one checked out by Kim Namjoon.
You never confronted him.
Partly because it felt ridiculous.
Partly because you weren't entirely certain the notes belonged to him.
Until one rainy afternoon.
The library was nearly empty.
The sky outside had turned silver.
Rain drummed softly against the windows.
Namjoon stood at the checkout desk with a stack of books balanced in his arms.
You scanned them one by one.
Neither of you spoke.
Comfortable silence.
Then a folded slip of paper peeked from the pages of one book.
You saw it.
He saw you see it.
And for the first time since you'd met him—
Kim Namjoon looked genuinely flustered.
His eyes widened.
His hand moved immediately.
Too late.
You had already noticed.
The silence stretched.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then he cleared his throat.
"...I forgot that was in there."
You looked at him.
Then at the paper.
Then back at him.
"You write notes in library books?"
A faint flush crept up his neck.
"Sometimes."
"That's technically a crime."
His lips twitched.
"A crime?"
"A literary crime."
His laugh escaped before he could stop it.
Deep.
Warm.
Unexpected.
And somehow that moment changed everything.
After that, conversations started happening naturally.
Small ones at first.
Recommendations.
Favorite authors.
Books neither of you liked.
Books both of you loved.
Then longer discussions.
Art.
Music.
History.
Poetry.
Life.
The strange loneliness that could exist even when surrounded by people.
You discovered quickly that Namjoon thought about everything.
Every subject became an exploration.
Every conversation wandered somewhere unexpected.
Hours slipped by without either of you noticing.
And through it all—
The notes continued.
Only now you knew who wrote them.
You just pretended not to.
Because he never mentioned them.
And neither did you.
Until the day everything changed.
It was late autumn.
The library had nearly closed.
The sun had disappeared hours earlier.
Most of the lights had been switched off.
You were shelving returned books when a familiar folded page slipped from a novel and landed at your feet.
You picked it up automatically.
Unfolded it.
Then froze.
Because this one wasn't like the others.
This one was longer.
Much longer.
Your eyes moved across the page.
I keep telling myself that inspiration is a harmless thing.
Writers observe people. We turn moments into words. We collect details.
The way someone laughs.
The way they tilt their head when reading.
The way they speak about books they love.
I thought that's all this was.
Observation.
But observation isn't supposed to make your heart race when someone walks into a room.
Your breath caught.
The library suddenly felt very quiet.
Observation isn't supposed to make you rearrange your schedule just to spend ten extra minutes somewhere.
Observation isn't supposed to make ordinary days feel brighter.
Your hands tightened around the paper.
I don't think I'm writing about a stranger anymore.
And that terrifies me.
You stopped reading.
Not because you wanted to.
Because your heart had started pounding too loudly.
You already knew.
Before reaching the end.
You knew.
The woman at the desk.
The quiet place.
The smiles.
The observations.
All of it.
Every note.
Every poem.
Every hidden line.
They had always been about you.
Not some imagined muse.
Not a fictional character.
You.
The realization hit with startling force.
Because somewhere along the way—
You had fallen for him too.
Not the celebrity.
Not the public figure.
Not the global icon.
The man who wandered through library aisles searching for books he probably didn't have time to read.
The man who remembered every recommendation you'd ever made.
The man who listened.
The man who looked at the world like it was made of stories waiting to be discovered.
The man who wrote poems and hid them where he thought nobody would ever find them.
Your chest ached.
And suddenly you needed answers.
Immediately.
You folded the note.
Set the book aside.
Then marched toward the philosophy section.
Because there was only one place he ever disappeared to when he was thinking.
Sure enough.
There he was.
Standing between shelves.
Book in hand.
Lost in thought.
Until he looked up.
Saw your expression.
And immediately knew.
His face went pale.
"...You read it."
Not a question.
A statement.
You held up the note.
"Yes."
Silence.
He closed the book slowly.
The air between you felt fragile.
Like glass.
One wrong move and it would shatter.
You watched him swallow.
Watched him struggle for words.
Which was somehow shocking.
Because Kim Namjoon always seemed to have words.
Yet now he looked completely lost.
"I wasn't planning for you to find that one."
"I gathered."
A nervous laugh escaped him.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
Looked away.
Then back at you.
"I know this sounds ridiculous."
"It probably does."
"It definitely does."
You smiled despite yourself.
That seemed to help.
Only a little.
He exhaled slowly.
Then said the thing neither of you had said for months.
"The notes were about you."
Your heart skipped.
There it was.
Out loud.
Real.
Visible.
No longer hidden inside books.
No longer tucked between pages.
Just truth.
Simple and terrifying.
"I know."
His gaze searched yours.
Waiting.
Bracing for rejection.
For embarrassment.
For something.
You could see it.
For all his confidence on stage.
For all his success.
For all the millions of people who adored him—
Right now he looked vulnerable.
Almost painfully so.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," he admitted quietly.
"I know."
"I just liked talking to you."
Your chest tightened.
"Namjoon—"
"And then I started looking forward to seeing you."
His voice softened.
"Then I started writing about seeing you."
A small laugh.
Self-deprecating.
Hopeless.
"And apparently I kept doing that."
You stared at him.
At the honesty in his eyes.
At the fear there too.
Then you took one step forward.
His words stopped immediately.
"You know what's funny?" you asked.
He blinked.
"What?"
"I thought I was imagining things."
His brow furrowed.
"What things?"
"The way you always picked the desk closest to mine."
A faint blush appeared.
You continued.
"The way you stayed longer than necessary."
Another blush.
"The way you kept checking out poetry books even when you clearly preferred philosophy."
Now he looked horrified.
"I was not that obvious."
"You were extremely obvious."
His groan echoed through the aisle.
You laughed.
And something shifted.
The tension broke.
The fear loosened.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough for him to smile.
Enough for you to move closer.
Enough for honesty.
"Namjoon."
"Yeah?"
"I like you too."
The words settled between you.
Soft.
Certain.
Real.
For a second he simply stared.
As though he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard correctly.
Then his eyes widened.
Then he laughed.
A genuine laugh.
Bright and disbelieving.
"You do?"
You couldn't help smiling.
"Yes."
His smile became breathtaking.
Not because it was perfect.
Because it was so completely happy.
The kind of happiness that couldn't be rehearsed.
Couldn't be performed.
Couldn't be hidden.
And for the first time since you'd met him, he looked utterly speechless.
Which felt like an accomplishment.
"You know," you said softly, "you could've just asked me out."
His laugh returned.
"I know."
"Instead you wrote poetry for almost a year."
"I know."
"You hid it in library books."
"I know."
"You made this significantly more complicated than necessary."
His grin widened.
"That does sound like something I'd do."
You shook your head.
Then, before you could lose your nerve, reached for his hand.
His fingers immediately intertwined with yours.
Like they'd been waiting to.
Like he'd been waiting to.
The library around you remained quiet.
The shelves stood unchanged.
The books remained exactly where they had always been.
Yet somehow everything felt different.
Because the story that had spent months hiding between pages had finally reached its ending.
Or perhaps its beginning.
And later, years afterward, when people asked how you met, Namjoon would always claim it happened through literature.
You would insist it happened because he committed repeated literary crimes.
And every time, without fail, he would laugh.
Then squeeze your hand.
Then look at you with the same affection that once filled countless hidden notes.
summary: Maybe running away from your hybrids wasn't a good idea.
or,
Y/N leaves her family home to go UNI, leaving behind six hybrids. Leaving a second time is proving to be nearly impossible.
warnings: this series will deal with body image issues, toxic relationships, family issues, sexual themes, Non-con, possible rape, abusive themes and more. If that isn't your cup of tea please continue scrolling.
Authors note: yet another story. This one i have been posting on my ao3 account! feel free to sus it out there as well at King_myg
As always, my stories follow dark themes so if this is something you aren't comfortable with I suggest looking elsewhere :) Enjoy! feedback is always appreciated.
Hybrids had been commonplace in your youth, growing up with five in your home before you turned 16. Hybrids had become a hot commodity two years after your birth, being revealed to the public after years, and years, of perfection. It took roughly a year before the hybrid trend caught on, with celebrities and other wealthy people sparking the trend, you didn’t doubt now that they had been paid to promote the latest species added to the planet, and like always, it worked. Your parents were slow to fall into the trend considering their status, purchasing a hybrid a few years older than their eldest child when you turned 10, a male Sea Otter named Seokjin. Your parents were enamored by the male, raising the new addition almost as a son. There was always an invisible line, something everyone knew not to cross when it came to the relationship between human and hybrid, while Seokjin, or Jinnie as your parents had called him, seemed content with the care, you never understood it. His presence was confusing, his creation baffling. You found it hard to connect, and not just because of the 6-year difference in age. Hybrids were created to get along with anyone of any age, and while he had tried his best to be friendly and form a friendship with you, it always fell flat. Your parents loved having Seokjin around, he was helpful toward your mother, doing all the things you and your siblings refused to do. He joined her on shopping trips, and coffee trips and kept her company in salons. Meanwhile, he kept your father company with his outdoorsy activities your brother had never taken an interest in. Seokjin was always thrilled to join your father for early-hour fishing trips hours away, and it seemed to be something they genuinely bonded over.
For your brother's 16th birthday, he had requested a hybrid of his own, and your parents happily obliged, thrilled that your brother had taken an interest. The month before his actual birthday they had taken him into the city to pick his very own hybrid. The process would take some time, so they had tried to get onto it as quickly as possible so that the hybrid would be home by the time his birthday hit. There were a million and one steps to the adoption process, they checked income and work status, looked at your homes, interviewed all household occupants, and made sure any other hybrids in the home were well cared for and open to sharing their ‘territory’. You were sure most adoption centers weren’t as thorough, but your parents were always keen to go about things the right way, especially when their children's well-being came into play.
Exactly 1 month and 2 weeks later, the afternoon before your brother's birthday, the trio returned with the newest addition to the household (or 'family' as your parents had proudly announced!) Jiho, your brother, had introduced his hybrid Hoseok, a ferret the same age as him. Jiho and Hoseok had become incredibly close in the year they had spent one-on-one. They had similar personalities, bright and bubbly, and enjoyed a few of the same hobbies. It was around the time of your sister's sixteenth birthday the following year when she had requested 2 hybrids. She got along well with Seokjin, and Hoseok, but rarely got to spend time with the latter your brother not wanting to share his gift, often gloating. Following the same steps as they had with your brother, this time starting earlier due to your sister's pickiness, the hunt for your sister's lifelong companions commenced. Eventually, she settled on two from the same adoption center, which made the process much easier on your parents. By this point your parents had pulled back from their parental duties, starting to enjoy their retirement. They had run their own business for longer than you could remember, they had made more money than you could ever spend and they decided it was time to take a break. With your brother only a year off of adulthood, and two hybrids of similar ages to Jiho, your parents were more than happy to entrust their daughters' safety to the three– soon to be five– men.
Your sister had proudly shown off her hybrids, claiming to have gotten the most handsome ones ever. While you were sure that wasn’t entirely true, even you as a child could agree that your sister had picked two very attractive boys. Jiyoo, your sister, had ended up picking Jimin, a Swift Fox, something you hadn’t heard of, and Taehyung, a coyote. They were polite, shy men who had playful personalities once they settled in. They garnered plenty of attention from Jiyoo’s school friends, the mass of young teen girls that had started amassing your home had been overwhelming. Jiho had quickly become jealous of Jiyoo and demanded a second hybrid only weeks after her birthday. It didn’t take much convincing from your parents, who agreed that if Jiyoo could have two, why couldn’t Jiho? Lucky for Jiho, his previous adoption made the process much quicker when it came to bringing home his next hybrid. The entire thing took roughly two weeks, and suddenly the fifth hybrid was home, another male of the same age as Jiho, a dingo named Namjoon. After Namjoon's arrival, life had settled into an easy flow. Your parents' presence was always coming and going, but their constant calls and messages filled some of the holes in their absence.
Over the next four years you had noticed your siblings coming and going attention to their hybrids, proudly showing them off to friends and online, but behind closed doors, their frustration had built up. Annoyance with their clinginess, the constant need to be near was beginning to be more of a nuisance to your siblings. They were careful to hide their growing frustrations from their parents whenever they returned home, always showing off new talents and changes to their appearances, piercings, or haircuts they had recently gotten. You had kept your distance from anything hybrid-related as much as you could, and whilst it had taken some time for them to catch on to your carefully planned avoidance, they eventually caught on and left you alone. The only hybrid you had actively sought out and spent any time with had been Namjoon. Your ‘friendship’, if you could even call it that, had formed after you were caught struggling with a school assignment. Namjoon had asked to take a look and was quick to help you out with what seemed to be a never-ending supply of knowledge. From then on, all your homework and assignments were completed with Namjoon close by whenever your brother and Hoseok went to tennis. Whilst it wasn't a close relationship, you were content in the dingo hybrid presence, often forgetting he wasn’t just your brother's friend from school, but an actual hybrid.
As your 16th approached, your siblings grew excited, and curious about what kind of hybrid you would choose. The three of you weren’t very close, always some kind of divide had existed between you all, stopping any kind of sibling bond from forming. You weren’t too bitter about it, you found their personalities far from pleasant. You had tried your best to explain to your parents that you didn't want or need a hybrid, you had never expressed any interest in one, so why would you suddenly change your mind? When pestered about gifts, you had given a list of what you wanted, and perhaps you should have been more specific with your words. You had been an animal lover, something that was still popular among the middle to lower class. You had always wanted a cat, just a regular house cat like your school friends had. You should have assumed your parents were only skimming over your list, maybe you should have just waited until they were home before you requested a pet.
You were uneasy when you came home from a friend's day out to celebrate your birthday to find your siblings excitedly waving you over.
“Y/n, you said you weren’t getting one!” your brother grinned, knocking your shoulder as if you had told a joke.
Your blank face must've been enough for your eldest sibling to catch on to your lack of understanding. He had rolled his eyes, your sister cutting him off once he reopened his mouth, she was quick to tell you to go to your room to see the ‘surprise’ your parents had dropped off. The giddiness in her words had your chest constricting, but you did as told despite every cell in your body screaming to turn around. Your bedroom door had been left ajar, already a red flag. Your door was always left shut. Using the tips of your fingers you pushed your door open, a breath you weren’t aware to had been holding fell past your lips as you stepped into your room, empty.
At least you had thought it was.
You had walked further into your room, tossing your backpack onto your bed as you eyed over everything. Not a single thing looked to be out of place. All the anxiety that had built up in your body when you ascended the stairs had melted out of you, relief washing over you far too early. The click of your door behind you falling shut behind you had you tense back up, your brain had refused to let you turn around to face whoever (whatever) was behind you.
“Do you have no survival instincts at all, Master?” The last word fell out harsher, almost as if the word had been spat onto the hardwood of your floor.
Your jaw clenched, irked at the attitude of the man who broke into your room. You turned on your heel, arms crossed over your chest. The male in front of you looked roughly your age, your parents keeping to the theme. He was taller than you, small-framed, and soft-faced. His hair was short and dark, complimenting his honey skin. He looked at you with annoyance, like you had intruded into his own home. His eyes were a striking blue, standing out vibrantly against the dark color of his hair, and he stared at you so coldly that you felt like your skin was trying to peel itself away to hide.
The male opened his lips once more but was quickly cut off by your brother and sister barging into the room, the door barely missing the stranger in your room. His jaw clenched, his gaze staying glued on you as your siblings invaded your space more than it already had been.
“Surprise! Isn’t he such a cutie?” Jiyoo cooed, looking the younger male over with a grin. “He was dropped off this afternoon, dad had it all arranged, but Mom picked him out for you! A black cat, right?”
A choked sound left the hybrid's throat, his eyes narrowing in on your sister. “Leopard.” He corrected, his eyebrow twitching in what you assumed was annoyance.
Jiyoo sent him a nasty look, her lips pursed as she looked the boy over. “Cat ears, cat tail..” She trailed off, before crossing her arms. “Pretty sure you fall under the cat category, kid.”
Your sister's words seemed to have snapped something in the hybrid, his eyes hardening in silent rage. Despite the look that made you want to melt between the cracks of your floorboards, your sister stood her ground, a smug smirk on her lips. A perfectly plucked brow quirked up, as if silently taunting the boy, ‘What are you gonna do?’
This day had seemed to spark a lifelong feud between the two.
Your relationship with the hybrid, whom you later learned was named Jeongguk, had been tense. You weren’t too sure about how he felt, his eyes always regarded you with disdain, and on a good day, boredom. Despite this, he followed you everywhere. The only escape you had from the leopard hybrid was your days at school. He lingered everywhere you went, be it at home or out with your friends. His poor attitude had soiled many friendships, a lot of your friends found his company uncomfortable and since you had unknowingly become a package deal, your friends dropped like flies. Even poor Namjoon had backed off, leaving you lost in a sea of assignments. On the few occasions you had given in to your pride and asked Namjoon for help, he had kept a considerable amount of distance from you, much different from the way he used to hover over you or sit shoulder to shoulder as he walked you through everything.
Jeongguk’s presence had proven to be lonely, whether he had meant it to be or not, you weren’t sure. He seemed to lack, or maybe just didn’t care for social cues. He ignored you, bossed you around, and was often too rough. He didn’t form any kind of relationship with the other hybrids of the house, he tolerated them and would sit in the same room as them until you returned home, using them to fill your absence. You quickly learned Jeongguk had unparalleled loyalty, devoted endlessly to you. Your brother had quickly picked up on your hybrid's strength, and his interests in physical activities. In the times you managed to slip away and have space for yourself, and Jeongguk was forced to be alone, he would often hang out in the home gym, or join Seokjin and Jiho for video games in the living room. Jiho had decided he and Jeongguk had far more common interests than the two of you had shared, and he proposed a swap. He offered you a choice of whichever of his hybrids in return for yours. There was no denying the thrill of getting rid of Jeongguk once and for all, you had been quick to bring the offer up to the leopard hybrid, who looked at you in disgust.
“No Master.”
Jiho had been bitter about the rejection, claiming you were being selfish. Your older sibling wasn’t informed that the rejection had come for Jeongguk himself, who had some choice words about your brother. To keep the peace between the men of the house, human and not, you took the blame.
Three years couldn't have passed fast enough. You finished your final year of school, got accepted to the university of your choice, and organized an apartment in the city with roommates, which meant no ‘pets’. You were finally free of hybrids. All your plans had been kept away from Jeongguk, and you were thankful that your brother didn’t care enough to speak about you to the hybrid, and your sister spent no time around Jeongguk, so your secret never slipped. It wasn’t until the night before you were due to leave, that the bags you had managed to pack over the last few weeks were stacked up in your emptied room and ready to go. You were going over a mental checklist, eyes fluttering over everything in your room to ensure you hadn’t missed anything important when your door flew open. You had yelped, your socked foot kicking into your suitcase. Cursing you looked over your shoulder with narrowed eyes, only for the anger to melt away at the sight of an enraged-looking Jeongguk. His chest which had grown muscular over the last few years was heaving as if he had just run the entire length of the Great Wall of China twice, his eyes looked crazed, looking over you and your empty room. His eyes finally landed on yours, an accusatory look that almost made you regret everything you had planned.
“Where are we going, Master?” his voice straining, as if trying to control the obvious rage bubbling under his skin.
“Not we, Jeongguk.” You sighed, leaning against your bedpost to keep the weight off your aching toes. “Just me.”
The leopard gave a very forced laugh, sounding more like he was choking. It honestly looked like he was in pain trying to keep himself in check. His knuckles that gripped the doorway had turned bone white, his jaw flexing as if trying to hold back his words. You watched as his eyes fell shut, his eyelids squeezing shut as if he were in pain. Maybe he was. When his eyes flew back open, locking back on yours all anger had seemed to fade away, back was the blank look he usually regarded you with.
“Master doesn't go anywhere without her pet.” He gritted out, once again seeming to be in pain.
Your shoulders sagged, and all the oxygen in your body seemed to deflate out. Part of you wanted to snap at him, ask him why you never went anywhere without him. Why did he have to be so clingy? You gave him the space to be his own person, why couldn’t he just go against what he was taught? Why did he have to be this way? Maybe if he had been nicer, more open like Jimin or Hoseok you could’ve tried to be his friend. Jeongguk was too moody, his presence often left you on edge and made you feel miserable, you didn’t want friends like that.
“I don't have any pets.” Your shoulders shrugged, finally looking back to the hybrid who looked like he had the wind once again knocked out of him.
“Master has me.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You shook your head, sucking in a long breath. “You aren’t my pet Jeongguk, you're a hybrid. You’re too human to be a pet.”
Confusion flickered across the man's eyes before the same hard look settled back. Why did he always have to look so angry?
“But I'm not human.” He said matter-of-factly.
You snorted, nodding in agreement. He wasn't. Jeongguk, despite his mostly humanoid features, wasn't… Human. Getting along with Jeongguk had been impossible, and exhausting. Despite all your common interests, all the grounds you both stood on that could have made an impressive friendship, his attitude had made it impossible. He was blunt and abrasive. The way he looked at you made you want to shrivel away from his eyesight, and yet every time you tried he followed. If you strayed too far his fingers wrapped around your wrist, an unforgiving grip that left your bones aching. He scared away your friends, boys you liked, there wasn’t a life for you with Jeongguk lurking around. You had tried so hard to reach Jeongguk, to break that trained way he behaved. You hated the way he referred to you as Master, and himself as a pet. It always makes your stomach churn painfully. You had all but begged the hybrid to treat you as an equal, and he had always refused. You had given up a year ago, whatever hybrids are taught was too far ingrained into them for you to help.
“No, you're not.” You agreed bitterly.
The leopard cocked his head, his brow raising in silent questioning. Maybe he expected more from you, an explanation of what you meant, but you said nothing. There was nothing. You were sick of trying to maintain, and fix, all the issues you had with Jeongguk. You felt like a middle-aged woman stuck in a loveless marriage.
“Master, where are we going?” He questioned again, his words firmer.
“Not we, me.” You reiterated, rubbing your eyes tiredly.
"Master doesn’t leave with–”
A frustrated groan cut Jeongguk off, and you were surprised that it had come from you. His jaw clenched shut, his hands now gripped by his side.
“I do, Jeongguk, and I will.” The sternness of your words seemed to bother the hybrid across from you, his shoulders shaking.
“No.” He spat out.
You scoffed, years of resentment bubbling up your throat. “So now you can make decisions, go against me?” Your voice verges on hysterical laughter. “Honestly Jeongguk, go fuck yourself. Go away.”
Your words seemed to snap whatever invisible rope had been holding Jeongguk back, his body lurching forward. There wasn’t enough time to react, Jeongguk knocking you off your feet and onto your back, the softness of your mattress hitting saving your spine. Your eyes looked up at the hybrid who stood over you, the muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching as he glared down at your shocked eyes.
“Master doesn’t leave.” He hissed, his body vibrating. The muscles in his throat flexed like he was trying to physically keep the words down. “Stay with Jeongguk, safe.” His words were chopped as if it were his first time speaking the language.
Shaking your head, your heart clenched nervously in your ribs. Jeongguk has always been rough, but nothing like this. He had never shoved you. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, trying to wiggle back, your legs stuck between Jeongguks. He quickly caught onto what you were trying to do, his hands shooting down to your thighs, tugging you back down the bed. He quickly climbed on top of you, his thighs on either side of your hips as he continued to scowl down at you.
“Jeongguk, get off.” You huffed, hand reaching to his chest trying to shove him away. To absolutely zero shock, his body didn't even budge.
“Stay safe here, Master.” He repeated.
The desperate, crazed look Jeongguk stared down at you with, had your skin burning in discomfort, and for the first time in three years, you were scared of him. Never had you felt any fear toward any of the hybrids that resided in your family home, even with Jeongguk’s less than stellar personality, had you ever felt threatened or fearful of him until this moment. So, instead of arguing with him, instead of attempting to fight back, you gave in. You went limp, all the fight you had left in you was breathed out in a heavy sigh.
“Okay, I’ll stay.” You agreed, hoping he couldn’t see any hint of the lie that fell from your tongue. “I’ll stay here, safe. You can help me unpack in the morning.”
The hybrid kept a steady gaze on you, his eyes reading over every inch of your face before slowly nodding all previous tension in his body melting away. For the first time since you had met Jeongguk, his features relaxed. There wasn’t any hostile glower, no tension or aggression left in his body. You noticed the twitch in the corner of his lips, his attempt to fight back a smile. His hand shakily moved toward your face, moving at a snail's pace. Fingers lightly grazing over your jugular before his palm took up resting on your cheek, his thumb running along your cheekbone. For the first time ever, Jeongguk looked at you with something you could only describe as adoration, and that scared you more than his icy eyes ever have.
It had taken hours, but Jeongguk eventually went back to his own room that was shared with Seokjin, the hesitation clear as day. You didn’t get a single second of sleep, eyes glued to your phone's clock waiting for the hours to pass. As soon as your phone hit 4:30 am you got to work, creeping through the halls with your bags. You were sure your heart was in your throat, trying to force itself out of your mouth. You had never felt as much anxiety as you did at this moment. The possibility of Jeongguk hearing your footsteps, your breath, even your heart, was far too real.
Your muscles don't relax until the cab's tires crunched against the gravel, the main road coming into view as you approached the gates of your home, you were approaching freedom. Out of habit, your eyes flickered to the rearview mirror upfront, taking a peek at your childhood home that you'll miss for the next few years, all relief seemed to freeze as your eyes connected with Jeongguk’s furious eyes through the mirror.
hmm thinking about grace and reader starving on the way to erid..
thinking about reader joking that if it comes to it he should probably eat them because they would definitely taste better (and because they volunteered to go on the mission/were ready to die in the first place) but grace won’t even entertain the idea of them going before him… thinking about him giving you a larger portion of the coma slurry… thinking abouttt him lashing out at rocky and reader when they tell him he needs to eat… thinkin about him breaking down after he starts to yell because if he does die like this- he doesn’t want reader’s last memory of him being him getting angry :(
Ryland wants to be your real life husband, statement.
He’s sooooo nervous about crossing professional boundaries or something, like actual jittery about making it obvious how much he likes you and wants to spend time with you outside of work hours but doesn’t wanna fuck things up and make it awkward.
This man is just so damn helpful around work, always picking up your printing if he swings by the staff room and it’s there, maybe he brings you coffee on spare periods or during lunches.
You’d totally eat lunch together, probably do your supervision duties together too- some things are better with company. He also totally gets roped into playing with the kids when he’s on duty at the basketball courts.
He would see some of the kids doing the ‘this is for you meme’ and would a hundred percent dribble the ball towards the hoop, when the kids aren’t defending because they want to see the incoming disasters, and point a hand to you.
“This one’s for you.” And do a proper jump shot. He’d miss though. It's a close call, but it would bounce off the rim and bounce off sadly towards the side of the court. He slinks back to stand beside you, a little sheepish when he admits “okay I was always better at defence.”
The rest of the duty, and even for months afterwards, the kids would attempt to badger him into another try or point at you and copy his words with varying degrees of success.
You guys definitely chaperone each other’s school excursions. Like, they need a female and a male teacher by law, and every year when he takes his students to the planetarium for the astronomy unit, he asks you first, having already filled out the paperwork saying that you’re going to be attending.
Teachers are the cliquest mother fuckers around so best believe that everyone has just sort of accepted you and Ryland as one unit. The teasing in the staff room kicks it off, coworkers joking about Ryland being husband material. Then the admin girls calling him your work husband when he starts walking in with you in the morning (which totally isn’t intentional- he definitely doesn't time his morning commute so he’s chaining his bike up when you’re walking past the bike racks each day. He’d laugh, sunny and bright from the morning light, a little rosie flush high on his cheek. “Guess we’ve just got good timing”).
And once the students catch wind of this? Oh it’s over for you two.
If there’s one thing pre-teens love, it’s getting their grubby hands on a teacher’s personal life- especially their love life.
Your students joking about finding you a boyfriend is nothing new, you always laugh and evade the prodding, but maybe your friends with one of the kids mum’s or their older sibling, someone who’s just close enough to find a way to glance and your private social media, and gets the word around that you are single.
It starts simple, whinging in the morning while you read the daily announcements saying “But Miss, Mr Grace is perfect for you.” and then on Mondays they hit you with the “Did you and Mr Grace do anything over the weekend?”
They start referring to your supervision duties and ‘dates’ and during free time, when you let the kids pick music out, they play that one Raye song ‘where is my husband’, turning the chorus up loud enough that it lures Ryland in from a few rooms down, for a noise complaint.
Still, the music volume is nothing compared to the screeching a class of thirty-odd eighth-graders make, when the lyrics: Baby, where the hell is my husband? What is taking him so long to find me? play while Ryland rounds the corner of your classroom doorframe, leaning up against it with an amused smile at the sight of your rampant students.
His glasses low on his noise bridge as he looks at you over the rims, arms crossed as very obvious laughter threatens to spill past his lips.
You’d just hold your left hand up, mouth the lyrics to him. I would like a ring, I would like a ring I would like a diamond ring on my wedding finger. I would like a big and shiny diamond that I can wave around And talk, and talk about it. Maybe you’d wriggle your ring finger for emphasis. He’d raise his eyebrows, mouth ‘wow’ at you before reminding the students that there are other classes around and to keep the screeching to a minimum. He’d saunter back to his own class and the kids in yours would fawn over the whole thing- maybe asking if you’re already secretly married (a conspiracy that does its rounds every six months or so).
But the next day, you’d walk into your class room before the day really kicks off, a little wrung out from marking and last minute lesson plans, fully prepared to put on some lofi and have the kids do independent assignment work, go through the drafts you’d finally finished giving feedback on.
Your desk is tidy, as it usually is before the sheer mass of everything from your work bag is dumped on it throughout the day. But right when you’re about to chuck your bag in the middle of the wooden desk top, you pause. There’s a ring pop, in the center of your desk. No note or anything, but it’s early, and your room had been locked- only teachers with rooms in this block had a key, so there’s no need for a sticky note claiming the ring. There really is only one option.
And during recess, when you lean up against the fences at the basketball court, warm under the summer sun, watching Ryland chatter with the students. You note idly, that he keeps glancing over at you, cheeks as red as the ring pop you’re sucking on, as rosie as the candy has left your lips.
“Why'd you have to chase the light / Somewhere I can't go?”
In which Ryland is sent aboard the Hail Mary and you have to say your final goodbye.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Stratt is not heartless. She lets Ryland see you one last time before he’s sent off.
“They can not help you,” She warned, voice even, “You know that. I can not stop you from telling them the truth. But you will be on that ship in the end.”
Ryland sat silently on the couch; head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, glasses hanging off his face. They had moved him… somewhere. He wasn’t sure. A break room of sorts, maybe. Anywhere was better than a cell, he supposed.
He could’ve tried to run, but he knew it was useless.
Stratt continued despite his silence, “…I would advise you do not tell them. I’m sure the last thing you want is to cause them more distress than necessary.”
Ironic, Ryland thought bitterly. He’d have some snide remark for Stratt… but his head was too much a mess to think of anything.
Stratt left not long before you arrived. Seeing you broke something in Ryland.
You beelined for him, and he shot up to meet you half way.
You clung to him, hands gripping his thick cardigan desperately. Ryland held you so tightly it was almost suffocating, a hand on the back of your head.
It had been over a year since you two had last seen each other in person. Since Ryland was drafted for Project Hail Mary.
They never let you see him and never let him leave to see you. The only thing that kept you two going were the phone calls you could sneak in here and there, and the promise that Ryland would return home after Hail Mary’s launch.
A promise that could no longer be kept.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice was shakey and weak. You had only been informed of Ryland’s departure a few hours ago, and it hadn’t even been from Ryland himself.
Ryland swallowed thickly, the words caught in his throat.
He could tell you. Nothing was stopping him.
Cowardly, he was scared. He didn’t want to leave.
Selfishly, he wanted comfort. A naïve cry that you could save him.
But Ryland knew better. His fate was already sealed.
He hated to admit it, but Stratt was right. If he told you the truth, it would only make things harder. Ryland may be a coward, but…
“‘Twas last minute decision…” He mustered out, the lie heavy on his tongue, followed by a broken, “I’m sorry.”
Tears gathered in your eyes, your hand cupping Ryland’s cheek, “Please, you can’t go.”
“I have to,” Ryland’s throat robbed, his own eyes watering as he placed his hand over yours.
“You promised me you’d come home,” Your voice trembled, words barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry…”
You two were only given an hour. An hour. The first time you had seen each other in person in a year and the last time you would ever see each other again. Just one hour.
Ryland was a mess, but he tried to stay strong for you, who was broken in his arms. Every plea you made broke his heart more and more, and after a while, his fear of death was overshadowed by his guilt of leaving you.
He wrapped his cardigan around you, and you wept— the notion truly solidifying the reality of the situation.
“Don’t go, please…” You tried to beg one more time, and Ryland wanted nothing more than to adhere to your request. He only wished you could know.
Tears stained his cheeks as he placed a firm, shaky kiss to your temple. He couldn’t think of anything to say. For the first time, talk-to-much Ryland Grace was at a loss for words.
“I love you,” He murmured against your temple, voice low and strained.
You had to be dragged out of the room.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Ryland stared at himself on the screen, stuck in a daze.
Beyond the screen, blurred in his peripheral vision, he could see the whiteboard full of arithmetic. He’d already made his decision— it was the saying it aloud part that hurt.
He cleared his throat, tapping his finger against the table as he looked down at his lap.
“I, uh, only have… the resources for one. I can’t do both,” He explained to the recording, “I can… go home. Or I can save Rocky.”
He paused, looking back to the whiteboard the camera couldn’t see, staring at the top left corner. A photo of you and him was held there like a magnet by Rocky’s mini model of the Hail Mary.
“…These past few months, since Rocky said he’d lend me the fuel… All I could think about was returning home to them. Sure, they’d be nearly three decades older, but—” He swallowed hard, “I’d be home.”
“But… I… If they’re even still…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, unable to even consider the possibility.
Ryland sat in silence for God knows how long— trying to hold back the tears. This was, by far, the hardest decision he had ever had to make.
“…If they knew, they’d understand. The beetles will be on their way to Earth— I already saved them… Now, I have to save Rocky.”
He signed off on the recording, his body now moving on autopilot.
In less than 12 hours, he had launched the Beatles and turned the Hail Mary around, heading in the direction of the Blip-A.
His chest was tight, his heart aching. He held onto the photo of you two tightly, tears streaming down his face.
He placed a gentle kiss over your face, uncaring of how pathetic he must have looked.
“I’m sorry…” Ryland said to you one last time.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Note: This is longer than I intended and shorter than I would’ve liked. I couldn’t find the motivation to write this better and more in depth, but couldn’t let the idea go to waste. Made this blog just to share this. Not sure if anyone will even see this but oh well lol
ryland falls hard but is scared of being left behind. but there are consequences to avoiding what is right in front of you.
✶.🏷 2.5k — cw: no use of 'y/n'. angst. avoidant!ryland. sunshine coded!reader. ryland lowkey self-sabotages. canon-compliant to the movie. sorry no happy ending for these two. title pulled from and based on nauseous by conan gray. kinda edited and proofread; all mistakes are my own
a/n: guys im kissing the brick ok? oh and this is my first time writing ryland so apologies if he might be a little ooc since i've only watched the movie as well!
ryland grace masterlist
YOUR LAUGH FIRST CAUGHT RYLAND'S ATTENTION.
He first heard it when he was brought into that makeshift lab filled with argon and stuffed into that suit to figure out what the Petrova sample was.
Ryland looked around the lab for a second. "Am I expendable? Is that what you want me?"
Stratt leaned into the mic. "That's not the only reason."
"It's almost like, you don't care if I die." Ryland let out a nervous laugh as he stared at the observation room.
Stratt turns back and talks to the other military and science personnel in the room with her. The chattering was inaudible to Ryland, and the smile on his face dropped. "Hold on, you have to talk about it?"
After talking to the rest of the delegates for a minute, Stratt finally turns around and speaks into the mic, "The consensus here is that it would be preferable if you did not die."
"Thanks, guys." Ryland quipped, albeit in a dry tone.
Then, he heard it. Before Stratt clicked off the mic, a small but bright laugh made its way through the receiver and into Ryland's ears. A sort of warmth sparked in his chest, overriding for a moment the anxiety and pressure he was under at that moment. He glanced over at the observation room, and his eyes honed in on you—the only person who had mirth dancing around in your eyes.
Ryland didn't know whether or not you were laughing at him or the situation, but he shook off the blush he knew was on his face and got to work on the sample. But the sight of the half-smile was burned into his brain (for whatever reason).
After Ryland discovered life from the Petrova line, his world became a whirlwind of science, breeding astrophage, and impromptu fighter jet flights, and as soon as he officially met you on that aircraft and shook your hand, feeling your slightly chilled skin from the wind against his own warm (but slightly sweaty) hand. You sent him a smile that sent a jolt down his spine and seemed to ground him despite the rocky waters he was in. He knew it was over for him.
The kindness you showed him didn't escape his mind when he felt so alone on the ship (barring the weird kind of kinship he and Stratt had).
"Morning, Dr. Grace!" You chirped with a smile as you passed by his lab.
Ryland would look up from his station to wave at you, "Morning." His voice cracked slightly, an awkward smile on his face, before it turned into a slight grimace as you left his eye line.
"They say 'Morning' to me everyday, why does my voice crack every time?" Ryland muttered to himself before busying himself and pushing the interaction to the back of his mind.
Ryland was quick to notice that even in the race to save the sun, you were like your own. Everyone seemed to gravitate towards you; it was as if you had your own orbit that naturally pulled everyone in and kept them there. And he was no exception—Ryland wanted to feel the warmth of your smile shine against his skin.
When Stratt had meetings with all the other officials on the boat, he ended up with you each time. Ryland had to pretend that his stomach wasn't in knots when he could feel your gaze burn into him when he would give updates on his findings or when your hands would accidentally brush where they would rest on the table (were the two of you sitting that close to each other? Ryland never noticed). He thought that being around you should have sent his stomach fluttering, but it felt more akin to a rock settling heavily in his gut.
In the rare times that Ryland had to himself, he couldn't help but find himself in your company. There was a rare type of warmth you had that the others on the ship lacked. Genuine hope radiated from you that had yet to fade in the midst of looming doom that came from the sun potentially dying and the utter chaos that might occur if that happens.
Most of the time, he would find you sitting on the platform at one of the highest points of the ship, staring at the ocean. Ryland would observe from a distance, letting him selfishly drink in the sight of the setting sun painting your skin in an orange hue and the contented smile on your lips.
"I know you're there, Ryland. Come sit." You patted the space next to you. Your tone was gentle, and the gentle breeze brushing your cheeks carried your voice and filtered through Ryland's ears.
Ryland ignored the burst of warmth that spread through his body when his shoulder brushed against yours as he sat down. Neither of you said anything, letting the silence speak for itself as the two of you looked at the remnants of the glittering water as the sun set.
Then, he felt a weight on his shoulder. Ryland glanced over at you; your eyes were shut, but he knew you were still awake as you fiddled with the charm on your bracelet. It felt like his shoulder was burning from the contact, but he resisted the urge to pull away. Ryland also closed his eyes and breathed in the salty ocean air.
God, he was falling quickly and falling hard. Ryland never felt this type of want before in his life. The utter want to love someone so fiercely, so deeply. And that scared him. It was terrifying how fast you managed to enrapture him, pulling him into your orbit, and it felt like he couldn't help but circle you.
Ryland stood up slowly, your head slipping off his shoulder. You looked at him with confusion in your eyes.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I just remembered I have a report to give to Stratt." Ryland gave a flimsy excuse and ran away as if he had a tail tucked in between his legs.
Ryland escaped to his room (you could barely call it a room, given how small it was) and rested his forehead against the cool metal of his door, his heart pounding against his chest. "What am I going to do?" He murmured to himself in the quiet of the room.
Your knuckles tapped on the metal table gently, jolting Ryland out of his dazed state. His hand slipped from his face and almost sent him into the table, but he managed to catch himself, albeit a bit awkwardly.
Ryland wanted to sink into the ground at nearly embarrassing himself in front of you, but the feeling faded at the sight of your kind smile.
"Having a late night?" You asked him with a knowing look on your face. It wasn't the first time you've seen Ryland in his lab this late when everyone else had clocked out at an appropriate time.
Ryland sighed, leaning back in his chair, nodding at you. "Trying not to." He gave you a tired smile.
He noticed that your eyes were studying him, and he tried not to visibly squirm under your gaze, before your gaze stayed on his face.
"Is something on my face?" He started to grow a little self-conscious at the sight of the growing smile on your lips.
"It's just—can I?" You gestured to his glasses that were askew on his face.
Ryland felt the warmth bloom on his cheeks and the knot that twisted in his stomach as he nodded gently. He held his breath as you fixed his glasses on his face, adjusting them so they sat right on the bridge of his nose.
"You know," You started to say as you pulled away from his face. "It wouldn't kill you to take a break from this once in a while." You gestured to the lab and the report he was working on.
"Ah, well. As they say, there's no rest for the wicked. Then you add the pressure of trying to save the sun, and suddenly it feels like I can't take a break." Ryland admits, running a hand through his already mussed-up hair.
You nodded. "You can't help save the sun if you're burnt out." You shot him a pointed look.
Ryland couldn't help but let out a tired laugh at your unintentional pun, making your eyes alight with joy at the sound of his laugh. You leaned your hip on the edge of the table and watched him with a soft smile, tugging on your lips.
"You know, it's been a while since I've seen you around." You said gently after his laughter subsided.
He swallowed thickly, his eyes not meeting yours. "I know." And that he knows very well.
Ryland made the decision (albeit a juvenile one) after the sobering realization that he was falling for you to avoid you at all costs. He tried not to make it obvious, but after you saw him change direction to avoid running into you, it was pretty clear what he was doing.
"Take a break, Ry." Your voice was soft as you looked down at him. "Come down to the bar and relax."
Ryland stared at you for a moment, his gaze taking in your tired yet gentle smile. He sighed before rising to his feet. "Lead the way." He sent you a crooked smile, adjusting his glasses, making your smile widen, ignoring the way his stomach twisted with nerves.
Once the two of you got to the bar, you immediately got swept away by Ilyukhina, which made you turn around and mouth 'sorry' to Ryland. He waved you off and gestured to the bar, sending you a thumbs-up. Ryland quickly ordered a beer as he slumped into an open barstool. He let the singing and chattering of his colleagues fill his ears as he sipped on his beer. Ryland was hoping the alcohol would settle the nauseous feeling in his stomach (it didn't).
But Ryland was content to people-watch from his place at the bar. But his gaze would never stray far from your figure, a small smile dancing on his lips as he watched you drink and dance with Ilyukhina. He didn't know or realize how long he was looking at you until you caught his gaze and started to approach him.
"Wanna dance?" You asked with a breathless smile, holding your hand out to him.
Ryland stared at your hand. He noticed the sun charm on your bracelet; it glinted in the bar's yellow lighting.
It's not like he didn't want to dance with you. But he was anticipating the outcome if he did. Ryland wasn't sure if he was ready for what you were really asking him. He was scared, to put it lightly. He didn't know what would happen if he did take your hand, what the outcome would be, or whether it would end up like it usually does with him alone. So he did the thing he was best at.
Ryland cleared his throat. "I'm not much of a dancer."
"I'm not either." You were still smiling at him, even though he noticed that it was as bright as before. You grabbed his hand and coaxed him from the barstool.
Ryland went willingly, wanting to feel the warmth of your palm against his. He wanted to savor the feeling of how right it felt to have his hand in yours—they fit together seamlessly. Then you squeezed his hand, sending him back to the present.
Ryland ripped his hand from yours, stuttering as he spoke. "I-I'm sorry. I c-can't. I just can't." He brushed past you and made a beeline for the exit. He made the mistake of glancing back at you. Ryland's chest burned at the sight of the hurt expression on your face.
He swallowed thickly and shook his head as he left and made his way back to his room. It was for the better. He thought to himself.
Rapid footsteps approaching him broke him out of his self-loathing. He turned around to see you practically running toward him.
"You can't do that." You said, breathlessly. "You can't just run away."
"I'm sorry." Ryland's voice was brittle as he basically shrank in on himself.
You shook your head at him. "I don't know what I did. I tried giving you space once I saw you were avoiding me."
"I wasn't—" Ryland's attempt to deny your (correct) accusation died in his throat once he saw the stare you were throwing him. "You didn't do anything." He reassured softly.
"It kinda feels like I did." You wrapped your arms around yourself, looking smaller than you ever had in front of him.
You didn't do anything but be yourself, and I'm a coward. Ryland thought to himself as he shook his head. "You didn't, I'm just…" He trailed off.
"Just what, Ry?" You asked softly.
I'm so scared of what will happen if I let myself think that being with you won't end up in a disaster, and that I'll be left behind in the wreckage. Ryland's jaw clenched as he looked away from you. "I'm sorry. I can't do this." He muttered before turning and walking away from you, not wanting to see the broken look in your eyes or expression.
Ryland threw himself into his work after that night, and you became a sort of specter in his life. He noticed that his life was a lot dimmer now that you weren't in it. But he knew in some twisted way it was for the better.
Then, the explosion happened, and he was given only three hours to decide whether or not he wanted to go on a suicide mission. For a moment during that time, he considered going to you for help, but before he could, his time was up. But Ryland didn't know that his fate had already been decided, even if he declined.
Ryland ran, but it was fruitless. As he was being pinned down, he swore he could hear you yelling for him. He yelled out your name as he was pleading with Carl before he felt the world go quiet against his will.
Ryland didn't know who he was, not exactly. He knew he was smart, he knew that the sun he was seeing wasn't his own, and that he was alone on this ship heading for Tau Ceti E, for reasons he had yet to figure out.
He rummaged through the duffel bag he presumed was his and found two Polaroids of himself and someone he didn't yet recognize. But he found them beautiful—the photo was a candid of them smiling, with the sunset as the backdrop, painting them in a golden hue that emphasized their glowing grins. Taped to the back of the photo was a black leather-corded bracelet with a sun charm.
Ryland instinctively put it on and rubbed at the charm with his thumb, staring at it hard. He doesn't know why, but there's an ache in his chest as he looks at the sun charm and the photo of the person. But by the time he does, Ryland is already 11.9 light-years away from the one person that he knew he shouldn't have been so nauseous around.
I really wanted to send this idea to someone, and you seemed like the most trustworthy person, so here you go 🫴
I always have this little story in my head about Ryland Grace with a fiancée on Earth, and before he leaves, he asks they what they thinks, and they replies something like, "I'll support your decision." And then, when he's taken away by force, they're forced to watch because they can't do anything about it, and they spends 11 years without seeing anyone, holding onto the almost impossible hope that he'll come back. I know that, like I think canonically, he stays on Rocky's planet, but I like to think that he comes back to her, he remember his love, like the flashbacks of the dead wife at the beginning of the movie; he has an engagement ring, right? It must mean something. Then he comes back on the spaceship and meets they for the first time in 11 years.
Like In most fanfics, reader goes to space with Ryland, but I want to suffer like a wife with her husband at war, but for him to come back in the end.
(and Ryland is touch starved, just dropping it here)
That's it, I love a fluffy angst, bye.
a/n: thank you for entrusting me w thisss. unfortunately it did cause me to write an entire 2k word blurb. enjoy haha im crying rn.
bc i can picture perfectly the kind of life ryland grace would have—still teaching science at grover cleveland middle, coming home every evening to your shared apartment, having home-cooked dinners and catching up on each others’ days. you’ve been engaged for a year now, saving up for a ceremony and a short trip somewhere nice. it’s cozy and you love each other and you don’t really want for much beyond what you have because what you have is perfect. it’s a good life.
and then he gets recruited by stratt. when you get that first call from grace from the facility and he’s telling you about the astrophage—venting about his dissertation and proving his own findings wrong—you have to pick him up off the ground, make sure that he knows that he’s the smartest guy you know. and your support is really what gets him to volunteer himself up for the project. and when he calls a week later to tell you that he breeded astrophage with a security personnel named carl, he’s ecstatic. and you’re ecstatic for him. your fiancée is THE leading scientist on astrophage research and you no doubt let him know that you couldn’t be prouder of him. for grace’s sake, you have to suppress that underlying feeling in your gut that it’s starting to get bigger than either of you realize.
the next year of your relationship—still strongly engaged and calling nightly—is long distance. grace isn’t legally allowed to tell you anything about what he’s doing for project hail mary, but he does try his best to tell you stories about his work and you do the same. and in between all of that keeping up, the two of you are still talking about what your wedding should look like (given that grace helps those astronauts go up and save earth). the calls, really, are a lifeline for the two of you considering you haven’t been able to actually see each other. and really you’re texting grace whenever you feel, sending him pictures of your daily routine, assuring him that you’ll be doing a big dinner for the two of you, with decorations and a banner, when he returns.
and the last call you get from grace, he’s in tears—voice raw and raspy—and he’s telling you that he doesn’t know what to do. he tells you everything about the accident, dubois and shapiro, how devastating it was for them to pass together. how he’d only been thinking of you immediately after, and he wanted to get you on the phone. and then he tells you, barely audible, that stratt wants to send him up. you know grace—and you know the last thing he’d ever want to do is leave you.
there’s been a good life waiting for him back home, and his fiancée who’s been so, so patient about the work that he’s been doing. and really, you have been happy for him because grace loves the work and this is possibly the most important research any scientist could do in their lifetime. he’s saving the world, and you’ve been holding up the fort. you tell grace that you’ll support him whichever way, even though, maybe selfishly, you want him to choose to stay. of course, you’re relieved when he decides, by the end of that two hour call, that he’s going to tell stratt no.
and the next call you get is from stratt—who’s been taking care of your ryland—and you have a pit in your stomach when she tells you that he’s “going to be considered a hero.” she doesn’t say it outright, but you can only imagine how scared he must’ve been and you’re worried for him. you try to question stratt, but she assures you that he’ll be in good hands. she tells you that she’s going to wire you what grace would have been granted for his work, as well as a small percentage of his belongings; she assures you that the rest she’s packed to be loaded onto the ship for him. stratt ends the call telling you she knows it will not be (and will never be) enough. and that she is sorry. because grace talked about you all the time.
it isn’t right. watching the hail mary launch on live television and knowing that your fiancée—your ryland, who’s not even supposed to be on the ship—is going up. you cry for about two weeks straight, wondering how you’re going to do without him, before you finally pull it together and acknowledge that grace is smart. that he’ll make it back to you.
and grace, having woken up with no memories of you, is wondering why he feels a sadness in his chest that comes and goes as he’s figuring his way around the hail mary. he’s able to piece it together partially when he finds his engagement ring, in a satin pouch, with the rest of his boxed things. he’s not entirely sure—thinks maybe it’s just a regular ring?—but it fits perfect on his ring finger and he remembers (partially, it’s all blurry) that he proposed to someone at sundown in golden gate park. that’s a warm memory.
in the eleven years you’re waiting for grace, basically everyone thinks you’re insane. they never say it to your face, but you know they think you’re waiting up on something that’s never going to happen. because it is impossible; saying that dr. ryland grace will return back to earth when he’s hundreds of years away sounds absurd. you know that, and still you’re waiting on him to come back because you know, as scared as he was to be sent up, that grace is stubborn. when he has his mind set on something, he sticks to it—and if he has his mind set on you, then it means he’ll come back.
for grace, it all clicks together slowly. he’ll remember parts of you through different moments on the hail mary. there’s a small bottle of your perfume underneath his graphic t-shirts that he ends up using for good luck. in the projection room, by chance, rocky chooses out one of your favorite movies off the laptop—and he’s realizing that he knows the lines way too well for him not to have seen in a lot of times (and it’s because of you). when rocky and grace have the “mate” conversation, grace is still unsure; he tells rocky that he’s sure he has a mate, shows him the ring, and says that he has a gut feeling that they probably miss him a lot. even if grace can’t quite recall you, he agrees with rocky; the few years he’s been with you isn’t enough. and grace tells rocky that he hopes that his fiancée is happy now—which makes him cry a whole lot an hour later when he thinks about it more.
you know eventually that something went right, because the beetles come back and the science comes out for these taumoeba things that you know grace is responsible for. your microbiologist fiancée really did end up saving the world. you never cease to be proud of him—and you’ve still got the same place now as you did all those years ago (because you don’t want grace to feel out of sync when he comes back down). the day that news comes out, you make sure to pop a bottle of champagne for him and bring out a pointed party hat. it’s funny—you’d never know that he had the same thing with his crewmate rocky across space, party hat and all.
grace remembers you in totality on the beach in his biodome on erid. there’s an image recurring in his head of the two of you walking on the beach in san francisco, the first time you met while he was still doing his post-doc, your little second-floor apartment in san francisco—a good life. a perfect life, still left on earth. grace has known for a while know that sad feeling buried in his chest is because he’s too far away from where he’s supposed to be. he knows he needs to leave erid as soon as the eridians fix the hail mary; he doesn’t want to make you wait any longer.
at year ten and a half, you get a call. by then, the sun has returned to its original luminosity you’re really in the habit of answering calls, spam or not, just in case. it’s stratt. she’s calling you from a secure line in the middle of nowhere (undisclosed—because she’s still sort of on the run) to tell you that satellites have picked up on the hail mary. he’s alive. there’s a bit of guilt in her tone—she’s known since the beetles, and wasn’t able to get the information to you soon enough. you tell her that you’d known regardless, faith being enough, and she promises to mail you the videos on an encrypted drive.
and you realize, after getting that envelope in the mail and plugging the usb drive into your computer, that grace has addressed you in each of his log videos. the first few, he’s got a hard time recalling things—says stuff like “so, i think i’m engaged” and “i think we used to do dinners together, so i’m thinking of recording during meals. is that boring?” and his new friend rocky, “is weiiiiird” and “grace mate very patient”—and in the last ones he recorded before sending off the beetles, he details how he’s hoping you’re well and that he’s sorry he’s running late.
and about a half year later, grace finally comes home. you drive to the facility they fly him to when the hail mary touches down, hands trembling on the wheel. and grace insists on bypassing the medical examinations because he hears by chance from a nurse that his fiancée is waiting in the lobby. the staff is kind, really, for letting grace push past them and leave the exam room to find you. after a minute of barreling down stairs and finally locating the visitor’s lobby, grace practically busts down the door. and you’re there in the seats. no bag or belongings—you’d rushed to come over.
you probably hug for a solid ten minutes straight—both of you bleary eyed, trying not to cry then and there. naturally, grace breaks first. you have to take his glasses off, hang them on the hem of your shirt, just like you used to. and then he’s tucking his face into your neck, breathing you in. you have to give him a kiss on the forehead and lead him back to the exam room for his physicals.
you have to admit to grace that you’ve stayed in the apartment, haven’t changed a thing, haven’t seen anyone else—still the two of you have your engagement rings on. when the two of you get home, a long drive later, grace practically crumples at the sight of what you’ve done with the place. a “welcome home” sign, balloons, and a berry cake in the fridge for the two of you to split.
it feels like heaven for the two of you to sleep in your queen bed together again—for grace to return to folding his glasses up on the bedside table; his old essay books are still there, right where he left them. and you’re there, under the covers, for him to snake his hands around and linger his fingertips over your skin. it could easily get heated—you both know that—but it also seems that grace just wants to feel that you’re right in front of him. (of course, it does get heated eventually, probably the morning after this first night because grace has been craving your body for the past eleven years).
and there’s the getting back into the routine. it’s not like this is the first time you’ve lived together, but there’s something just different about it, because it’s been so long and you’re both just so grateful. realistically, you stay in for a week straight—trying to catch up, and also because you’re inclined to just be with each other, sleeping in, lazing around on the couch, doing dinners like you used to. slowly but surely easing back into your old life. and even if you’re older and grace is older and you’ve lost out on a decade, it doesn’t matter because you’re together again.
"You die soon, question?!"-Rocky learns about periods.
Ryland Grace x AFAB!reader
Would Rocky absolutely flip his pebbles learning what a period is?
Like, imagine this. You and Grace living in your beachside cottage on Erid, the weather is always perfect, the sound of the waves against the shore calms your every nerve, and you get to live peacefully with the man of your dreams.
However, of course, you are a woman. Which means nature must punish you.
Grace rolls over in your shared bed to hear you grumbling and groaning. The blue-eyed scientist didn't have to ask. Actually, he was scared to. He knew what those groans meant.
If he was honest with himself, he was ashamed to not have thought of this sooner. You had just arrived on Erid, and it wasn't a huge problem on the ship, because there were SOME supplies for this specific situation.
For a limited quantity, anyway.
Grace runs his hand through that mess of blonde sitting atop his head, grabbing his glasses and placing them lazily on the bridge of his nose.
"You okay, babe?" he asks in that absurdly attractive morning grumble of a voice. At the sound of his tone, you turn your head to him. And without you having to say a word, he presses a gentle kiss to your temple and pulls the covers off himself. "Don't worry. I'll figure something out."
You return to your cocoon of quilts, of which now you have abundance thanks to your partner leaving you lonely. However, your body was suffocating itself too much to be bothered. Ryland would be back, eventually.
Grace slips his shoes on, lazily throwing on something more acceptable to be seen in, despite his only potential audience being yourself and a pile of rocks. He steps out the door, breathing in the false wind, before making his way down the stairs to rummage through whatever supplies they may have had left for this particular situation. And, of course, there wasn't a pad or a tampon in sight. Not even a menstrual cup? These assholes could afford to launch a giant ship into space, costing millions, but they couldn't send a piece of silicone for the women on board? Come on.
It is then Ryland hears the clumsy, strides across the sand leading up to his home. He smiles, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Hey Rock," he greets, still slightly groggy.
"What Grace doing, question?" Rocky chirps, practically squeezing his way under Grace as the blonde lay his knees on the ground, rummaging through the supply boxes. "I'm looking for some stuff to help Y/N, bud," Grace states, now wide awake.
"What Grace mate need help with, question?" He inquires, curious. Before he began explaining, Grace realized that when he DID explain this to Rocky, it would not allow any room to protest the whole "leaky, squish-blob" thing he'd been on about. Oh well. Rocky would only keep pestering if Grace never told him what was going on.
"Well, uh... How do I explain this," Grace trails off for a moment. "On Earth, you can be born with this thing called a uterus. And it has this lining around it that kinda makes it like a nest, for an egg. Remember that from when I told you about human reproduction?" Rocky nods.
"Okay good," Grace continues. "Anyway, if the egg isn't fertilized, the 'nest' sheds and it... kind of just falls out, I guess is a good way to put that... all the blood and tissue that was used to make the lining isn't needed, because the egg isn't needed, since it never got fertilized with any sperm."
Rocky pauses for a moment, processing Grace's explanation. From what he had been previously informed, blood and tissue is like, most of what makes up a human. And.. you were LOSING it?
"...NO!" He was devastated. How could this be happening?! You were losing all your matter and Grace didn't even care! "Bad! Bad! Rocky help Y/N now?! Why Grace do nothing?!"
Grace was flabbergasted by the response of his igneous friend. "Wh- well, Rock, uh-" "It's normal for us, babe." Your voice chimes in, from the window above the two boys. You have messy, frazzled hair, and you kind of looked as if you were still fighting sleep.
Ryland Grace had literally been across the universe and had never seen something so beautiful.
You smile, albeit quite pained, and made your way opposite the window to shuffle yourself out the door and bring yourself around the cottage to grab hold of your nerdy man. "It happens all the time, it just has the potential to hurt like a bitch. And this time it does." "Which is why you should be in bed, love..." Ryland says softly, intimately. You cup his cheek with sentiment, kissing it gently. He knew you could handle it, but he didn't want you to have to. All things considered, some things should be easier on Erid. He just hadn't considered this small factor. Well, more like one, almost lifelong factor.
It wasn't the first time, and it would not be the last, but in this moment, Grace considered himself a fool. And in his defense, you hadn't really thought this over either. There were much more pressing matters at stake for a while.
As for you, you were okay with figuring something out a little later. You tug on the taller man's sleeve, signaling you wished to return to bed with him. Once careful glance at your eyes, and he knew that was just what you needed. At the moment, anyway. So, he scoops you up, pecking your jaw sheepishly, carrying you back inside without a care.
"We'll talk later, Rock."
—————————————————————————
A/N: obviously this is meant to be sweet and cute and all that but the thought of Rocky being one of those people that’s like “I HATE periods! LEAVE HER ALONE!” (6’5 btw) is hilarious to me.
Somehow turns grocery trips into a mini adventure. You don't like asking employees for help? Ryland will wander the store with you to find it independently! He'll always bring a list of groceries that he follows religiously
Fidgets with his ring when he's nervous. It reminds him that you're with him, physically or not. Bounded by a small ring clasped onto his ring finger. It's a promise.
Will call or text during lunch when he’s at school teaching. Hearing your voice, or even seeing your messages bring him all the joy in the world!
While he already had good hygiene before meeting you, he definitely ups his game when you two marry. All of a sudden he’s keeping his stubble maintained and keeping his chest hair however you like it
Hands down takes charge in taxing season. He doesn’t want you worrying about any of the math in general… if you beg him enough he’ll reach out his expertise to your friends
Ends up getting roped into Nintendo from his students, and falls down a rabbit hole of Smash tournaments and Tomodachi life gameplays. After a few months go by you eventually feel bad for letting the man’s fixation go untreated :(
Adding onto the last hc, when you buy him an old switch one, and then Tomodachi life, he’s quick to thank you. By that I mean peppering your face with kisses!
Makes the two of you nearly instantly, and gets extremely agitated when your Mii doesn’t want to fall in love with him. Once he breaks the news to his students about the game, they practically beg to be added in.
So now Ryland has an island of kids and the two of you… he may have set you two as parents. Shh don’t tell 🤫
Textbook definition of a gentleman. He’ll open doors for you, hold your bags when you two go shopping, and more often than not, he’s the one driving you around… Yet he still screams loud AF if they’re a an insect around
Knits types of planets or cells for you, it’s his weird love language, okay? He’ll be like “I made you a fifty five Cancri AE ball! Because you’re just like a diamond to me!”
By this point he’s probably got cooking down a little better. So when you get home from work, there’ll be a small meal already made. He treats every occasion like this as if it’s a date, candles and all
Definitely a type of person to always research what he’s buying at the store. The company has to be ecologically good. His insistence has increased since the marriage, he needs to keep you safe!
Tries to be the big spoon when cuddling, but I’d like to think his body naturally curls into its own ball… so you always move to cuddle him instead
Loves everything about you. He doesn’t care if you want to complain to him about your insecurities, because he’ll always reassure you that you’re perfect to him. That’s all that matters, right?
Takes you stargazing all the time! He points out different constellations, and probably makes some up for the heck of it to amuse you
The two of you always binge the most random shows together. I like to think that Grace finds any show that has science in it fascinating, and explains anything you don’t understand in a more simple way
Chronically offline in the social media aspect. This man is a huge YouTube nerd! Love documentaries on science, or any topic! Tries to rope you into watching some
Loves going on walks! Once you two got married this only increased tenfold. When you joined him on them? He felt his heart stop. Seeing someone achieve the best version of themselves makes his heart beat in joy
Probably tried to start a garden of sorts, but kept forgetting to water the plants. You left him sticky notes to remind him to do so… and now it’s thriving!
Pauses a little during parent teacher meetings when he sees the family walk in. This totally has no reasoning behind it
Stands up for you with no hesitation, even if you get mad at him afterwards. He won’t take yelling at all, from a teaching view and personal belief
Tries to buy as many matching things as possible! Definitely a matching kind of husband, he wants the world to know you two are in it together
Anytime something reminds him of you, he'll immediately text you about this amazing discovery.
he isn’t good with physical touch, i might be biased because i dislike physical touch but yes grace will not touch you at all! not even in a sfw way. he shows his love through his actions and words, especially through those stupid puns he makes.
he is chivalrous but in his own awkward way, yup he’s that type of guy to do the sidewalk rule with you and also serve you, the type of guy who would quite literally roll a red carpet for you to walk on.
he only starts feeling comfortable with touch once YOU get more confident with him, sometimes fiddling with his fingers or caressing his face. however all these touches makes his mind go blank every time and he often has to look away to cough a bit or else his nose starts bleeding.
he is defensive, the only time he will ever touch you even without you warming up to him is when a stranger looks at you in a certain way or when a guy makes a snark comment about you/catcall you. he will first defend you verbally before throwing his arm around your shoulder or holding you against him at the hip protectively. yes he will curse for you.
he is soooo observant, as a scientist he quite literally knows how to analyse things, he knows what you like, dislike, and loves observing your body language to discern whether you are in a good mood or not.
he is very patient with you, i think as a teacher he has enough patience for you and he will never ever lash out at you just for showing your emotions. if you have a short temper he quite literally could sit and wait for you to cool down.
he likes kids but doesn’t want one of his own, so many men often say they like kids just because they want children of their own but for grace? he just likes working with children, likes to understand them and has really good intentions from the start. you can voice up and ask him you want a child with him and he would freeze and most likely ask you to give him some time to think about it, he just finds children to be incredibly expensive and a hugeee responsibility.
he is always touch-starved, since he doesn’t like physical touch and often doesn’t touch others be it intimately or not, when you guys start getting more intimate, just the mere touch of your body sends him into a frenzy.
grace’s hands will be on your bare skin, gliding from your ribs to your hip bones as if to permanently scar the feeling of your skin into his brain.
he looks… desperate? jaw slack a little bit as his thumbs pressed onto your hips.
your shirt was ridden up, leaving you in just your panties.
“g-grace?”
“s-sorry, give me a moment,” he apologises, before leaving kisses from where your heart is caged in the middle of your ribs, before kissing down to your pelvis.
you were giggling because it felt ticklish.
“haah you’re so soft with me grace,” your hands slowly slide into his hair locks and he immediately moans, loving the feeling of your fingers scratching his scalp lightly.
“a-ah.. i’m either gonna fall asleep right here or hhhh start cumming,” you chuckle as he lays his head on your pelvis, hands gliding all over your ribs like he is worshipping your body.
“you haven’t even seen my tits grace,”
“doesn’t matter.”
he goes crazy just by seeing a peek of skin from you in public, not even from your sexiest parts like your breasts or your ass, it can even be from your hips, the way your low rise jeans reveal your skin whenever you bend down, oh grace has to look away and talk to himself before all the blood from his brain shoots down to his groin too fast.
he lovessss your fingers in his hair, one day he was crying, maybe from a bad day at work or from recalling some of his traumatic past. you would walk over, hugging him with his head leaning against your collarbones as your fingers glide through his hair. that was the first ever time he felt your hands in his hair and he has never felt so happy his whole life. he would cry even more as you soothe him but he just loves your fingers in his hair, loves the way your nails lightly scratch his scalp.
from then on, his favourite past time activity with you is to just sleep on the same bed, just to have you hug him like a pillow and your fingers scratching his scalp lightly. his favourite position is of course with his head snuggled into the crook of your neck, and his arms hugged tightly around you.
he will study your interests and indulge in them himself too! he sometimes yaps your ear off about his own interests and would often apologise and hear you out too, however he would try out your interests and hobbies just to see how you feel. you have a favourite show to watch? he will watch it just to see where’s the hype, you love drawing? he isn’t the best artist but he tries to start drawing more often during his personal time just to feel how you feel when you draw.
this also allows him to get gifts for you that comes from the heart, maybe he uses your tablet to draw sometimes and often finds the tablet to be a bit more laggy than it should be, then it gives him an idea of what he wants to get for you; a new tablet.
he is always helping you no matter what. imagine you guys had an argument and it was so ugly, grace would often times cry it out himself in the bathroom before facing you again, he would always create space between both of you guys which may be bad or good, HOWEVER, during the silent treatment if it seems you need help with anything, like turning the stove on or fixing a cabinet, he WILL do these things for you. eventually he always waits for you to come back to him, maybe your hands start sliding across his scalp again and that alone makes him so happy he could sob.
colt is, for the lack a of a better word, a breathtaking kisser.
in the literal sense.
his presence alone is a distraction to you, seeing as whenever you so much as even lift your head up, he's in your peripheral, and you don't have to meet his gaze to know he's staring at you with eyes so full of love that it's nauseating.
then there's how he always beelines to your side, looking anything but nonchalant, though you can't be sure which one of you is the problem when the simplest of greetings, a mere raspy "hi," makes you feel like you're one breath away from admitting yourself in the psych ward. despite how seemingly lovestruck he is, he always makes sure to mind his surroundings when showing affection, adjusting the amount of pda according to your comfort levels; deciding on the spot whether it will be fleeting brush of his knuckles against the back of your hand, or him gently tilting your chin up, the pad of his thumb feathering over your lips before he cups your cheek in his palm, eyes half lidded as he murmurs, "i'm listening..."
and then there is him kissing the soul out of you. his hands wrap around your torso so easily, hands sliding up and down your back to pull you impossibly closer before one eventually settles on your nape.
things get too intense too quickly with his tongue sliding against yours, your lungs burning and eyes stinging with tears when he refuses to distance himself from you even an inch. murmuring his name into his mouth doesn't seem to get through to him as his lips chase yours when you make a move to pull back, occasionally accompanied by small bites on your lower lip, and you're still unable to discern whether he's begging you to continue or if he's scolding you, because apparently how dare you need air to survive.
must be nice, being a stuntman who can hold his breath for five whole minutes for the once in a blue moon underwater scenes.
it's not like you can do anything but pull at his hair with an indignant whine to begrudgingly force his lips off yours.
"point taken, baby." a chuckle rumbles from his chest when you finally separate, looking at you with a lopsided smirk as he caresses your side soothingly.
you can kiss the smirk off his stupidly handsome face when you manage to catch your breath.
as if in sync, both of your eyes drop down to the string of saliva connecting your lips, though the tension dissipates a bit when colt dives forward to steal a short kiss, effectively avoiding getting scolded by immediately busying his mouth with your neck, peppering butterfly kisses and small nips alike on your heated skin.
"you're impossible," you giggle, your vice grip on his hair loosening in favour of gently scratching at his scalp.
"mmh," he all but purrs in reponse, "you love me."
"no doubt about it," you shoot back without hesitation, and the flaps of all the butterflies in colt's stomach might as well be audible as he buries his face in your shoulder with a quiet squee.
your lips find their way onto his temple, "get back up here, mister. i need to kiss you silly for that little stunt you pulled earlier."
"... the one on set or when i was kissing you breathle— whoa!"
summary: Ilyukhina forces you to do karaoke with her and ryland is taken by surprise.
author’s note: i’m finally done with school!! i have so many ideas to write but until im home (which won’t be for another two days) here’s a little drabble.
karaoke on stratt’s vat was a common occurrence and honestly, you don’t know how you made it this long without someone forcing you to sing anything. working on a top secret project to save the world was hard work, to say the least, and it was nice to see everyone let loose and feel normal. even if it was just for a few hours.
you weren’t one who liked attention. you could vibe and dance along with everyone else, as long as you could tell everyone was too intoxicated to be paying attention to you. everyone, except one person to your knowledge.
no matter what room he was in, ryland grace could always seem to pick you out in the crowd immediately. it’s like the sound of your voice was a beacon to him, drawing him in no matter what he was doing.
it made it hard for him to focus during meetings, especially if you sat a little close to him. you once touched him in the lab and ryland couldn’t focus on anything else all day. he just kept replaying the quiet little “excuse me, dr. grace,” and the feeling of your hand pressed against his back. for the rest of the day the spot you touched prickled at the thought of you.
ryland knew it wasn’t appropriate to be crushing on you and thinking of you all the time, especially when his brain should be preoccupied with other things. but man, it was so hard not to think about you when you were everywhere.
he watched you from the bar. sitting, one leg up on the sofa, watching as Ilyukhina slurred out the words of a song. you danced in your seat, cheering her on. ryland tensed as dubois approached you , handing you another drink. he rested his arm on the back of the sofa, leaning down to whisper something to you. whatever it was made you laugh, covering your face with your free hand.
ryland’s heart twinged at the sight. he know lots of people had been hooking up, to relieve some stress and to cope with the reality they were living in. he knew you were friendly with everyone, even with him. and any niceties you said to him, would keep him up at night as he tried to decode them in his bed alone.
ryland stared at his nearly empty glass. Ilyukhina had started her third song of the night, and as everyone started pairing off, he knew it was only a matter of time before he would retire back into his room. the song she sang sounded familiar to ryland, definitely a song he heard countless times at department stores back home. it wasn’t until the chorus he recognized it as please please please.
he bopped his head a long, thinking of the students he had that played this song numerous times during lunch, or sang it in the hallways during passing periods. he put his head in his hands. he really missed his life before this sometimes. he wanted his old routine back, the normalcy of his apartment and school. the fog, how much he missed the sight of the fog, creeping into the bay. ryland was too caught up in his own daydream to realize Ilyukhina was pulling you out of your seat to sing this song with her.
it was until he heard it, that he realized what was happening. the second verse started, and the voice changed completely. ryland had attended so many of these by now that he knows what she sounds like at various stages of intoxication. and she’s had way too many drink in her to sound coherent. plus, this voice sounds a little too perfect. a little too sober and on key to be Ilyukhina. there’s a twinge of shyness and sweetness in it, that he can only pick up from one person.
he snaps his head up and as the realization hits him. by then the chorus has started and he sees you standing in front of everyone, uncomfortable but trying to seem calm. Ilyukhina has completely abandoned trying to sing, instead she’s holding onto your shoulders, swinging a long to the song. ryland can’t help but watch as you effortlessly, sing the song. you’re hardly even trying and it sounds so beautiful. gosh, is there anything you aren’t good at?
he watches you lead Ilyukhina to the seat you were in. you look around the room, there’s less people now, and even the ones still lingering aren’t listening and he can feel you ease up a little. you start singing the bridge and ryland is fully enthralled in you. his head leaning against his hand, he’s never seen and heard something so beautiful.
you’re eyes flutter over to him, locking eyes as you finish the song. ryland can’t even comprehend what’s happening, and you can feel the blush creeping up on your neck from how ryland is staring at you.
the song ends and there’s scattered claps and cheers around the room. you give ryland one last look and he’s clapping, a the biggest smile on his face.
you make your way off the stage, uttering something to Ilyukhina about needing another drink. you walk over to the bar, next to ryland.
“that was really good,” ryland says, face still in awe. you let out a small laugh, the flush returning to your face. “thank you, dr. grace.” you say, looking down at your shoes.
“please, just call me ryland.” he says, grimacing at the formality of what you called him.
“okay, ryland,” you say, and now he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks at the way your names rolls off your tongue. you guys stare at each other for a second too long before ryland clears his throat, thinking of something else to say.
“maybe when we’re all back to our normal lives you could pursue singing. change career paths, you know” he mentally kicks himself for how stupid he just sounded. his poor attempt at complementing you, flirting with you, made him sound like such a dork. but when the sound of your giggle reaches your ears, he looks up at you, a little hopeful.
“ah, yes. world renowned scientists turned pop star,” you laugh. just as ryland is about to say something, the bartender places your drink in front of you.
“hey, i’d support it. i’d be your number one fan,” he says, taking the last sip out of his drink. your begin to grow a little shy, a smile slowly creeping into your face.
“well thank you, ryland. you’re very sweet” you take a sip of your drink, and ryland could melt from your words, and sheepish demeanor. how could he not think about you 24/7 when you’re this adorable.
you hear Ilyukhina call your name, and you turn to face her. she’s motioning you to join her on the couch. you turn to ryland, who looks a little sad to see you go, but trying so hard to seem normal.
“i’m gonna make sure she’s okay.” you trail off, giving ryland a soft smile. he returns it, nodding his head. “yeah, of course.” he watched you turn to walk back to Ilyukhina.
“i’ll see you around though, ry,” you call out, looking at him one last time. he smiles wider, giving you a small wave. and when you’ve turned back around he feels his heart lurch at the nickname. he might be obsessed with you now.
Ok.... How do you think Ryland would react to a s/o jealous/protective of him? Like some single mom's shooting their shot with him at an event or something
hes so oblivious AGH and he’s so in love with you he doesn’t realise at all
It had been a nice day so far, you always enjoyed the yearly barbecue the school hosted, it was nice to see Ry talking with the other teachers and all his students coming up to you asking about him. But one thing was ruining your good mood.
There was one mom who seemed to never leave his side.
Everywhere he went, she seemed to be there.
You didn’t know her name. You didn’t need to know her name, who she was, who her kid was. All you needed to know is that she was definitely, without a doubt, trying to flirt with Ryland.
The jealousy brewed slowly but surely. You had seen as soon as she entered how she beelined towards him and since then, you’d not been able to get a single word in with him. No matter how many conversations you kept getting involved in, your eyes couldn’t leave her.
You watched as she laughed at everything he said, nodded at his words, twirled her hair.
Oh, it made you feel sick.
A woman was talking at you, a teacher maybe. It didn’t matter, you’d had enough, ‘I’m sorry,’ you interrupted her spiel that you weren’t listening to, ‘I’ll be back in two minutes, just gotta go do something.’ Your words were trailing off as you started walking away from her and straight towards your boyfriend.
As you got closer behind him, you could see the woman’s eyes flicking to you every few seconds with..possessiveness? Like she was trying to tell you to back off.
By this point you were beyond pissed and didn’t even think when you reached him before pulling on his shoulder to turn him around, the almost shocked expression on his face disappearing as you kissed him, a hand going to the back of his head.
It didn’t last long, maybe five seconds at most, but when you pulled away you could feel the eyes of surrounding people staring at you. The one pair that you knew weren’t on you, however, were those of that mom who was now walking away and towards who you assumed was her child.
‘Hi,’ Ryland’s cheeks were red and his mouth slightly open.
‘Hey,’ you replied with a small smile playing on your lips, ‘I missed you.’
‘Mm, I was just talking to, uh, to Katie, she’s Jake’s mom and was just,’ he took a breath, ‘just wondering how he’s doing in class.’
You started to walk away from him but you could hear him follow behind you, ‘Ry, she was flirting with you.’
When you sat down on a bench, you looked up at him and were met with a confused look and a breathy laugh, ‘Oh, no no I don’t think so, she was just, yeah, just being nice.
He truly didn’t see it.
‘She was flirting. I didn’t like it,’ it was honesty, not anger at him, it was you expressing your feelings.
You could see him register this through his tiny nods.
‘Okay.’ It wasn’t dismissive, he waited to see if you had anything else to say, he wanted to hear you.
‘Ry, she wanted you..bad,’ you were saying this with a smile now, a laugh beneath your words.
‘You sure about that?’
‘Mhm, who wouldn’t want a piece of this?’ Now you were properly playing into this. You looked him up and down as you spoke, your hands holding your weight on the bench as you rested on them.
He bent down, wrapped a hand around your waist, and guided you up to stand, ‘Well there’ll only be one person getting a piece of this.’ The distance between you was small enough that the volume he said this at wouldn’t be heard by anyone else.
You hummed in thought before laying a peck on his lips and making your way to the table with the food on it. You picked up a paper plate and two burgers, putting mayo on one of them and ketchup on the other.
Ryland was now watching as you walked back over to him. When you made it back, he picked up the burger with ketchup and gave you a smile of pure love.
You knew he wouldn’t make a move on someone else but the thought of someone trying to make a move on him left a bad taste in your mouth. That taste was quickly forgotten though when you took a bite of your own burger and heard your boyfriend tell you about the other chats he’d had with the teachers and the drama he’d found out on that day alone.
The mom didn’t so much as look in his direction for the rest of the afternoon. Ry was constantly looking over to you with a cheesy grin when he found you.
PART OF THE : STOP CRYING YOUR HEART OUT SERIES !!
He doesn't mean to fall asleep.
The crying has exhausted him, left him hollow and wrung out like a rag. His eyes are swollen. His throat is raw. His head aches from dehydration and vodka and the sheer force of his own grief.
He drags blankets from the empty bunks. He drags pillows too. He makes a nest on the floor beside your bed—a pathetic, lumpy nest of stolen comforters and flat pillows and one stuffed animal he found in your bag. He lies down on his side, facing you.
He doesn't mean to fall asleep.
But his body betrays him. His eyes close. His breathing slows. And he slips into darkness.
He's in a room.
Not the ship. Somewhere else. Somewhere with fluorescent lights and folding chairs and a projector screen. A safety lecture. He can tell by the boredom radiating off the other people in the room: scientists, engineers, astronauts, all of them slouched in their seats, doodling on notepads, checking their watches.
He's not sitting. He's standing near the back, leaning against the wall, half-listening. He doesn't feel like part of this. He feels like an observer. Like he's just… hanging around.
The instructor is droning on about stasis protocols. Something about the medically induced coma. Something about the waking process. Ryland's attention drifts. He looks at the ceiling. He looks at the exit sign. He looks at a woman in the front row who's braiding her hair.
Then the instructor says something that snags his attention.
"-in the event that the automated waking mechanism fails, a manual override code is required. This code is unique to each mission and is stored in the physical safety codes binder, which can be found in the cockpit. The binder is labelled, and the code is listed under 'Medical' and then 'Stasis.' The code format is five numbers followed by three letters. Do not attempt to wake a crew member without this code. Doing so can cause seizures, strokes, permanent brain damage, or death."
"Once the code is entered into the stasis pod's manual interface, the waking process will begin automatically. The crew member will regain consciousness within five to six hours. During this time, their vitals should be monitored closely. Do not remove any tubes or IVs until they are fully awake and the system indicates it is safe to do so."
The instructor clicks to the next slide. A diagram of the stasis pod. Arrows pointing to the manual interface. A list of steps.
Ryland tries to memorize it. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know that he'll need it. He just… files it away. Somewhere deep in his brain. Somewhere the coma couldn't erase.
The dream shifts. The room blurs. The instructor's voice fades.
And then he's somewhere else. A hallway. A door. A voice calling his name—
He wakes up.
His eyes snap open.
For a moment, he doesn't know where he is. The ceiling is wrong. The light is wrong. The humming of the ship is wrong.
Then he sees you.
Still asleep. Still breathing. Still alive.
The dream crashes back into him. The safety lecture. The code. The binder. The manual override.
"Oh my god." he whispers.
He scrambles to his feet. His legs are asleep—pins and needles shooting up from his knees—but he doesn't care. He stumbles, catches himself on the edge of your bed, and nearly falls on top of you.
He catches his breath. He looks at your face. Your closed eyes. Your slack mouth around the breathing tube.
"I'm going to wake you up." he says. His voice is shaking. "I'm going to wake you up. I know how. I remember. I fucking remember."
He checks your vitals first. Obsessively. Heart rate: steady. Blood pressure: good. Oxygen saturation: optimal. You are stable. You are healthy. You are ready.
He runs.
He runs and sprints through the corridors. His bare feet slap against the metal deck plates. He doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything except the binder.
He reaches the cockpit. Slides to a stop. His hands are shaking so badly he can barely grip the doorframe.
"Binder," he gasps. "Safety codes binder. Where is it?"
He tears through the cockpit. Drawers. Lockers. Shelves. He knocks over a stack of papers. He sends a pen flying. He doesn't care.
And then he sees it.
A black binder. Thick. Labelled in white letters: SAFETY CODES – DO NOT REMOVE FROM COCKPIT.
He grabs it. He almost drops it, his hands are shaking too much, but he catches it against his chest and hugs it like a lifeline.
He flips it open. His fingers are clumsy. He turns pages too quickly, skimming, searching.
"Medical-" he mutters. "Medical, medical, medical…"
He finds the tab. He rips it open and runs his finger down the page.
"Stasis. Stasis. Stasis override…"
There it is.
STASIS MANUAL OVERRIDE CODE – HAIL MARY MISSION
Code: 8472XKJ
He stares at it.
"8472XKJ." he whispers. "8472XKJ. 8472XKJ."
He repeats it over and over. He says it out loud. He says it in his head. He writes it on his palm with his finger, tracing the letters and numbers into his skin.
"8472XKJ. 8472XKJ. 8472XKJ."
He runs back.
When he reaches your compartment he's breathing hard. Sweat drips down his face. He doesn't care.
He kneels beside your bed and finds the manual interface (it's a small screen on the side of your pod, hidden behind a plastic cover). He's never noticed it before. He's never had reason to look.
He pulls off the cover. His fingers fumble. The cover drops to the floor. He doesn't care.
The screen lights up. A keypad appears. Alphanumeric. Five numbers, three letters.
His hand hovers over the keypad.
"8472XKJ." he whispers. "8472XKJ."
He types the first number. 8.
His finger trembles. He almost presses the wrong key. He pulls back, takes a breath, and tries again.
8.
4.
7.
2.
X.
He pauses. His finger hovers over the K.
"XKJ," he mutters. "X, then K, then J."
He types K.
J.
He stares at the screen. The code is entered. The display reads: CONFIRM MANUAL OVERRIDE? YES / NO
He doesn't press yes. Not yet.
He reads the code again. He compares it to the binder. He reads it three times. Four times. Five times.
"8472XKJ. 8472XKJ. 8472XKJ."
It matches.
He presses YES.
The screen changes. A progress bar appears. MANUAL WAKE SEQUENCE INITIATED. ESTIMATED TIME TO CONSCIOUSNESS: 5-6 HOURS.
He stares at the screen.
"Five to six hours.." he whispers to himself.
He looks at you.
"Five to six hours," he says again. Louder this time. "You're going to wake up. In five to six hours, you're going to wake up."
His eyes fill with tears.
"I'm going to be here." he says. "I'm going to be right here when you open your eyes. I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be the first thing you see."
He takes your hand. He settles onto the floor beside your bed. And he waits.
The first hour is agony.
He watches the clock. He watches your vitals. He watches your face for any sign of change. Every beep of the heart monitor makes him jump. Every flicker of your eyelids makes him hold his breath.
Nothing happens. Not yet. The manual override is working, the screen says so, but the changes are internal. Chemical. Neurological. Things he can't see.
He talks to you. He can't stop talking.
"You're going to be confused when you wake up." he says. "I was confused. I didn't know where I was or who I was or why I was here. I panicked. I screamed. I broke things. I hit things. I had a tantrum like a fucking toddler. Glad you weren't awake to see that.."
He laughs. It's a nervous, shaky sound.
"You probably won't do that. You seem calmer than me. More together. Even in a coma, you're more together than me."
He squeezes your hand.
"But if you do panic, that's okay. That's so okay. I'm here. I'm not going to let you hurt yourself. I'm going to talk you through it. I'm going to be the calm one. For once in my life, I'm going to be the calm one."
The second hour passes. Then the third.
He's dozing. Not sleeping (he couldn't sleep now, not when you're so close to waking) but drifting. His eyes are half-closed. His head is resting on the edge of your bed. His hand is still holding yours.
And then—
Your fingers twitch.
It's small. Barely noticeable. A slight contraction of the muscles in your hand. But he feels it. He feels it because his hand is wrapped around yours, because he's been holding on for hours, because he hasn't let go even to eat or drink or use the bathroom.
His eyes snap open.
"Hey." he says. "Hey, can you hear me? I'm here. I'm right here."
Your eyelids flutter. Not open—not yet—but flutter. Your breathing changes. The ventilator is still doing most of the work, but he can see your chest rising and falling with more effort now. Your body is trying. Your body is fighting.
"That's it," he says. "That's it. You're almost there. You're doing so good. You're doing so good, kid."
He sits up straighter. He moves to kneel beside your head, close to your face. He wants you to see him. He wants to be the first thing you see.
"I'm here. I'm right here. When you open your eyes, I'm going to be right here. You're not alone. You're never going to be alone again."
It happens slowly.
Your eyes open. Just a crack at first. Then wider. Then wider still.
You are looking at him.
His breath catches in his throat. His heart slams against his ribs. He has never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.
"Hey-" he whispers. His voice breaks and cracks like a teenager's. "Hey there- hey. Welcome back."
You blink. Your eyes are unfocused. Confused. You don't understand where you are or what's happening or who this strange man is, leaning over you with tears in his eyes and a smile that's trying so hard to be brave.
Your mouth opens. The breathing tube is still there. You try to speak and nothing comes out: just a choked, garbled sound around the plastic in your throat.
Your eyes go wide.
"Hey, hey, hey." he says, standing up quickly. "Don't try to talk. There's- there's a- a tube in your throat. Don't panic, it's just helping you breathe. I'm going to take it out, okay? I'm going to take it out and then you can breathe on your own. But you have to stay calm. Can you stay calm for me?"
You don't answer. You can't answer. Your breathing quickens—too fast, too shallow. The heart monitor starts beeping faster. The ventilator wheezes as you fight against it.
Panic.
You're panicking.
He sees it in your eyes. The same panic he felt when he woke up alone. The same confusion. The same terror.
But you're not alone.
"Okay-" he says. "Okay- okay, I'm taking it out now. Hold still."
He reaches for the breathing tube. His hands are shaking, but he forces them to be steady. He remembers the medical training, slightly fragmented, fuzzy, but there. He knows how to do this.
He deflates the cuff. He pulls gently. The tube slides out.
You gasp.
It's a horrible sound, a wet, choking, desperate gasp. Your body isn't used to breathing on its own yet. Your throat is raw. Your lungs are burning.
But you're breathing.
You're breathing.
"That's it," he says. "That's it. Just breathe. Slow breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You can do this. You're doing so good."
You're not doing good. You're hyperventilating. Your chest is heaving. Your hands are clawing at the sheets, at the IV lines, at the tubes still taped to your arms.
"No, no, no," he says. "Don't pull those. Those are keeping you alive- leave them alone. Please, kid, leave them alone."
But you're not listening. You can't hear him. The panic has you. Your hands find the IV in your elbow. Your fingers curl around the tube. You start to pull-
He doesn't think.
He just moves.
He climbs onto the bed—onto your bed, onto the narrow medical cot—and he wraps his arms around you.
It's not gentle. It's not careful. It's desperate. He pins your arms to your sides. He presses you flat against his chest. One arm brackets across your back, holding you so tightly you can barely move. His other hand cups the back of your head, pressing your face against his chest, right over his heart.
"Stop," he says. His voice is low. Firm. Desperate. "Stop. You're okay. You're safe. I've got you. I've got you and I'm not letting go."
You struggle. For a moment, just a moment, you try to push him away. Your hands are trapped between your bodies, but you twist and squirm and try to get free.
He doesn't let go.
"Shhh," he says. "Shhh, shhh, shhh. It's okay. It's okay. You're not alone. I'm here. I'm right here. Just breathe. Just breathe with me."
He rocks you. Slightly. Gently. Back and forth, back and forth. The same motion he vaguely remembers using with his students when they scraped their knees or lost a pet or failed a test they studied for.
And then..
You stop fighting.
Your body goes limp against his. Your hands uncurl from the IV lines. Your breathing slows. The panicked gasping gives way to hiccups, then to soft tears, then to a small, barely-there tremble.
You're crying. Quietly. Softly. Your tears soak into his shirt, right over his heart.
He keeps rocking you. Keeps sushing you. Keeps holding you.
"That's it," he whispers. "That's it. Just let it out. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."
He smells like soap. Like laundry detergent. Like the cheap cologne he found in one of the deceased crew member's lockers and decided to use because he wanted to feel human again.
You press your face into his chest. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. You are so small. So warm. So alive.
He closes his eyes. Tears slide down his cheeks. He doesn't wipe them away. He just holds you.
Eventually, however, hte crying winds down.
It takes a while, but eventually your breathing evens out. Your trembles fade. Your hands stop clutching and start just… resting.
You tilt your head back. Just slightly. Just enough to look up at his face.
Your eyes are red. Your cheeks are wet. Your lips are chapped and raw from the breathing tube.
You open your mouth.
"Grace…?"
Your voice is barely a whisper. Cracked. Rusty. Unused.
But it's there.
And you remember him.
His heart stops.
And before he can say anything—
The world tilts.
He's not on the ship anymore. He's somewhere else. A hallway. Fluorescent lights. The smell of coffee and disinfectant.
He's standing outside a door. His door. His lab door. He recognizes the little plaque: DR. RYLAND GRACE – MOLECULAR BIOLOGY.
There's someone with him. A man. Black. Familiar. Carl. His friend. His colleague. The man from the other flashbacks.
Carl is holding a polaroid camera. He's grinning. He's saying something—the words are muffled, like Ryland is hearing them through water—but he's gesturing excitedly.
And then-
"Grace!"
A voice. Young. Excited. Familiar in a way that makes his chest ache.
He turns.
And there you are.
You're running toward him. Your face is flushed. Your eyes are sparkling. You're holding a piece of paper covered in calculations and you're so excited you can barely contain yourself.
You collide with his side. Not hard, you're not trying to hurt him, but with enough force that he has to lift his arm to accommodate you. His arm settles around your shoulders automatically, like it's done this a hundred times before.
You wrap both arms around his waist. You press your cheek against his chest, right over his heart. You look up at him with eyes so bright, so full of joy, so desperate for his approval.
"I got it!" you say. Your voice is clearer now. Less muffled. "I finally got it! The calculus! I've been working on it for two days and I finally got it right!"
He looks down at you. His face softens. He smiles.
"Yeah? I'm so proud of you, kid." he says. And he means it. He means it so much it hurts.
"Smile!" Carl's voice cuts through. Muffled, but recognizable. "Smile for the flash!"
Ryland barely has time to look up. He sees Carl raising the polaroid camera. He sees the lens pointing at them.
He looks back at you. You're still pressed against his side. Still beaming up at him.
He smiles. He gives a clumsy thumbs up with his free hand.
And then the flash.
White. Blinding. Bright.
And then he's back.
He's on the ship. He's holding you. You're looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, waiting for an answer.
The memory is still burning in his chest. The hallway. The lab. The polaroid. The way you looked at him like he was the only person whose opinion mattered.
"Dr. Grace?" you say again, using his title this time, as if afraid of having overstepped some invisible boundary. Quieter this time. Nervous. "Are you… are you okay?"
He stares at you.
And then he pulls back. Just enough to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs brush your cheeks, wiping away the tears.
"Yeah-" he says. His voice is thick. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm- better than okay, actually. I'm…"
He laughs. It's a wet, broken, beautiful sound.
"I remember you, kid." he says. "I don't remember your name. I'm sorry. I don't remember your name. But I remember you. I remember holding you. I remember you running up to me with your calculations. I remember how excited you were. I remember how proud I was."
Your eyes widen.
"I remember too, bits and pieces. But we were- are, friends, right?"
He nods, now just holding your face in his hands, looking at you like you're the only thing in the universe.
"Do you remember who you are?" he asks.
You hesitate. Your brow furrows. You're trying. He can see you trying.
"I…" you start. Then stop. Your face crumples. "I don't… I don't remember my.. name. I don't remember…"
"Hey," he says quickly. "Hey, it's okay. I didn't remember my name either. I didn't remember anything at first. It comes back. Slowly. In pieces. But it comes back."
He sees the panic rising in your eyes. The same panic he felt when he woke up and didn't know who he was.
"Okay, different look at the question." he says. "Do you remember who you ARE? Not your name. Not the details. Just… who you are. As a person. What you like.. what you don't- um, your favourite food, maybe?"
You pause. You think.
And then you nod. Slowly. Tentatively.
"I think so.." you whisper. "I remember… I remember being smart. I remember that i like working hard. I remember…"
You look at him.
"I remember you," you say. "I remember trusting you. I remember feeling safe when you were around."
His heart cracks open.
"That's enough," he says. "That's more than enough, gosh. Your name will come back. The details will come back. But you know who you are. That's the important part."
He pulls you into his chest again. He can't help it. He needs to hold you. He needs to feel you. He needs to know you're real.
He doesn't let go.
He can't.
He holds you like a child holds a stuffed animal—desperately, needily, like you're the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His arms are wrapped around you so tightly you probably can't breathe, but you don't complain. You just press your face into his chest and let him hold you.
He strokes your hair. The back of your head. Slow, gentle strokes, the way you might pet a cat or soothe a crying baby.
"I was so scared." he whispers into your hair. "I was so fucking scared when I woke up. I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one. I was screaming and crying and throwing tantrums like a child and I thought I was going to die alone and no one would ever know."
His voice breaks.
"And then the ship said there were two living organisms. Two. And I ran. I ran so fast. I didn't even know who you were but I ran because I couldn't be alone. I couldn't. I would have done anything. I would have sold my soul for a rat. For a cockroach. For anything alive that wasn't me."
You chuckle, wetly. He rocks you. Gently. Slightly. Back and forth, back and forth.
"And then I saw you. And you were so young. So small. You looked like my students. Like the kids I left behind. And I thought, 'How could they do this? How could they send a child?'"
He presses his cheek against the top of your head.
"And then I found our picture. The one Carl took. The one where you're wrapped around me like a koala and I'm giving a thumbs up like an idiot. And I…"
He stops. His throat closes up.
"mnhm?"
"I threw up." he admits. "I wasn't even drunk. I just looked at your face and I threw up because I couldn't handle how much I cared about you and I didn't even remember you."
You shift in his arms. Your hand comes up to rest on his chest, over his heart.
"Really?" you whisper.
"Oh, really." he says. "I've been talking to you for days. I've been holding your hand. I've been reading to you. I've been crying over you. I've been praying to a god I don't believe in to please please please let you wake up."
He pulls back. Just enough to look at your face.
"You're not alone." he says. "You're never going to be alone. I don't care what happens. I don't care if we die out here. I don't care if we save the world or if we fail. We're going to do it together. You and me. That's the deal. That's the only deal."
Your eyes fill with tears.
"Okay." you whisper.
"'kay." he echoes.
He pulls you back into his chest. He holds you tighter. He rocks you slower.
He is not alone.
He is not alone.
He is not alone.
He doesn't realize he's doing it.
He doesn't realize that he's using you to regulate himself—that every stroke of your hair, every gentle rock, every whispered reassurance is as much for him as it is for you. He is soothing himself through you. He is holding onto you because if he lets go, he might shatter.
His heart rate is slowing. His breathing is evening out. The panic that has been living in his chest since he woke up. The constant, low-grade terror that he is alone in the universe. Is finally, finally starting to quiet.
Because you're here.
Because you're warm.
Because you're alive.
He presses his nose into your hair. You smell like hospital soap and sleep and something else.. something young and clean and human.
"'m sorry." he murmurs. "I'm being so needy. I'm probably crushing you. I should let go."
He doesn't let go.
"You don't have to let go.." you say. Your voice is muffled against his chest.
"I'm getting snott all over y'r hair, kiddo."
"I don't mind."
He laughs. It's a wet, shaky sound.
"You're too nice to me." he says.
"You were way too nice to me, too, back on earth." you say. "So now i'm giving it back."
He stops breathing.
"Who told you that..?" he whispers.
"no one.." you say. "I just… know. I remember that."
He closes his eyes.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, okay."
He holds onto you as the adrenaline fades.
As his body remembers that he hasn't slept properly in days. That he's been surviving on vodka and protein bars and sheer desperation. That he's cried so much he's probably dehydrated.
His arms loosen around you. Not because he wants to let go, he never wants to let go, but because his muscles are giving out.
"I'm tired.." he admits.
"Then sleep." you say.
"I can't. What if you…"
"I'm not going anywhere." you say. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving."
He looks down at you. At your young, tired, tear-stained face. At your red eyes and chapped lips and the small smile you're trying to give him.
"You promise?" he asks. And he hates how small his voice sounds. How childlike.
"I promise." you say.
He nods. He settles back against the medical mattress. He pulls you with him carefully, gently, minding the IV lines and the monitors, until you're both lying on the bed.
He wraps his arms around you again. You curl into his side, your head on his shoulder, your hand resting on his chest.
"Is this okay?" he asks.
"This is okay." you say.
He closes his eyes.
"Goodnight, kid." he whispers.
"Goodnight, Dr. Grace."
He wants to correct you. Wants to tell you to call him Ryland. But he's too tired. Too wrung out. Too overwhelmed by the simple miracle of you being here, being awake, being alive.
He falls asleep with you in his arms.
And for the first time since he woke up on this ship, he doesn't dream of being alone.
Begging for Dad Ryland drabble or hcs...he'd be such a good dad- like he already has the dad jokes on lock let's give that man a child☝🏼 Also your work is so delicious I eat up every single fic of Ry you write
Okay fluffy dad Ryland while I take a break from writing filth!! I LOVEEEE dad!Ry. FEM! READER OK. Girl dad Ryland for the win.
Ryland Grace number one most attentive caring husband while you’re pregnant. He reads EVERY book, probably knows more about this pregnancy than you. Sometimes he explains stuff that you’re experiencing and then stops when you glare at him like “I know.”
Insists on putting together every piece of baby furniture alone so you don’t have to move or strain yourself. You’re carrying his baby, you should be resting!!!
Tears up buying baby clothes, shows you a pair of teeny tiny shoes and says something indecipherable about how babies can FIT INTO THOSE?
SOSOSOSOSO excited to be a dad, like when you told him you were pregnant he cried for an hour. He never thought he’d get this.
Hc that he calls you his moon and he’s your sun so he calls the baby your star. Ok? Ok.
Talks to baby star every day, resting his head on your knees as he tells her random science facts, about how much he loves her, about how much he loves her mama.
Holds your hand and soothes you throughout the entirety of the birth process ohhh ☹️
OBSESSED with baby star. Watches over her ALL of the time, insists on doing every late night wake up unless she needs feeding if you breastfeed.
Becomes hyper aware of every risk ever, babyproofs the house like all hell especially when she starts crawling.
Her first word is dada and he bawls his eyes out again because that’s HIM!!! He’s dada!!!
If she falls asleep on his chest, he is completely trapped. He’ll let his phone die, let his body go numb, disregard eating. His baby girl is sleeping.
He talks to her like she’s an adult. “Compelling argument against nap time, little miss, but you’ll need more supporting evidence than just screaming” and “I can see that you’re currently learning about gravity, but I’d like your peas to stay on your tray please, sweetheart.”
King of dad jokes from THE start. He doesn’t care if she can’t understand them yet, he will tell her the most stupid jokes and then crack up laughing like they’re genius.
As she gets older, bedtimes become a sacred ritual. Bathtime, one story, cuddles, a glass of water, two hundred questions (especially when the “why?” phase hits) and wayyy too many goodnights, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
More on the why phase!! He tries to answer every question, but sometimes they’re just a little too abstract and ridiculous. “Why toes?” “Why people?” “Why money?” “Why why why” all before 9am.
Inventor of ridiculous and elaborate songs. Laundry is a song. Breakfast is a song. Everything is a song.
Her vocabulary becomes incredibly impressive as she starts talking more and he’s the reason for that. Who doesn’t want their 5 year old to be using words like “presumptuous” ?
He keeps EVERY drawing she brings home. Every single one. No matter what. He wants to encourage his little artist!
Deeply competitive during board games but lets her win anyway ☹️☹️
He’s the dad that says yes to pretty much everything. If you say “ask your dad”, she knows it’s basically a guaranteed yes. As she gets older, she learns to frame her questions in a way that will make you tell her to ask Ryland.
EXCELLENT at fathering a teenage daughter too. He’s so understanding she can’t even stay mad at him. It’s stupid. He listens to every bit of drama.
I’LL WRITE MORE THIS IS JUST ME GETTING INTO THE SWING OF THINGS!! Im a sucker for domestic family situations and Dad Ryland
