after a long night of grading his students science projects he turns his attention onto you.
a/n: this is my second fic and I’m already running out of ideas. please give me some! I wanna write a fic with Noah soon also!
you lay on the small couch that’s sits in the middle of yours and Rylands small living room. your legs are thrown over his lap, his free hand aimlessly massages your calves while his other hand types away on his old laptop. he’s spent all night grading away his students projects, all his attention on his laptop and almost no attention on poor old you. you let out a soft huff, Ryland turns his head towards you.
“you almost done?” you ask, wagging your foot on his lap. ry sighs softly. after a few more seconds of typing he closes his laptop. no matter how busy he is he always tries to give some attention to his girl.
he grabs your ankle and he tugs you closer, you fall back onto the couch cushions. he laughs to himself. “what?” he smiles coyly. you roll your eyes gently but waste no time spreading your legs for him to crawl between. he settles between your thighs, his fingers coming up to curl under the waistband of your sleep shorts. he tugs gently.
“this okay?” he whispers softly, leaning down to press soft kisses to your lower stomach. you sit up on your elbows and nod your head down at him. he bites his bottom lips and tugs your panties and shorts all the way down to your knees leaving you bare for him. he groans softly.
he reaches a hand up, thumb brushing against your clit. you let out a soft moan, your thighs tense either side of his head. he swipes over your clit again and again until your nice and wet. he licks his lips, wetting them before leaning down to kiss your pink nub softly.
you throw your head back, legs coming up to wrap around his neck. if there’s one thing about Ryland it’s that he loves to please you. he takes things nice and slow, slow enough to drive you absolutely insane before making you cum all over his finger, face or member. he’ll never let you go unpleased or wanting. not on his watch.
slowly he begins to lick and suck on your clit. you bite down on your bottom lip and your eyes squeeze shut. he’s enjoying this as much as you are, possibly more. he’s hard in his sweatpants, he grinds into the couch cushions beneath him. his licking and sucking doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.
“taste so good” he mumbles against your core. your hands slight down and into his dirty blonde hair, you grab handfuls of it and tug and pull relentlessly with each suck and long slow slick of his tongue.
he’s a huge science guy, it only makes sense that he uses his expertise and knowledge to use. he knows exactly what to do to make you whimper and moan. for such a nerdy, slightly awkward guy he’s awfully good with his body. you thank the stars that he spent his youth studying and learning instead of drinking and partying.
you feel yourself being pushed to the edge of climax. he ruts and grinds, licking and kissing at your pussy. “ry, baby im close” you cry out. that only makes him go faster, he’s determined to make you cum. he continues to hump away at the lounge, the friction making him moan and whimper against your sweet lips.
finally you cum on his chin, your body buzzes with pleasure. your back arches off the couch and your legs tighten around his neck. he lets out a muffled groan as he comes in his boxers. he can’t help himself. Knowing that he’s getting you off does crazy things to him.
slowly he pulls away, your sweet nectar drips from his bottom lip. “thank you honey” he sighs softly, kissing your right inner thigh.
part two of 'my place is among the stars (with you)'
ryland grace x reader
In which your world has not been the same since you woke up on that ship with ryland grace. and it would never be the same again.
or
you wake up in space with a stranger and slowly piece together why he doesn't really feel like a stranger at all.
word count: 14.6k (it just kept getting longer!)
content warning: again some (a lot of) inaccurate science, some plot alterations for my convenience, cussing, mention of parental death, miscommunication trope, idk they kinda makeout a little I suppose (bring back the art of a makeout for real), rocky being a menace and so much angst I am sorry!! (but also mega fluff so push through)
a/n: I am so overwhelmed by peoples support and love for the first part! I posted because I loved these characters and you guys have made me fall back in love with writing and sharing work. I appreciate all your patience, I had to pick up some crazy work hours this past week. but I hope you enjoy and I cannot wait to keep writing for you all! (I lowk hate the ending but yolo)
I love these two so much and would love to keep writing for them. lmk if you would like a part three or any other small blurbs about Ryland and Alien Girl!
There was a heaviness in the air, an almost uncertainty. The woman infront of you is so focused.
“Dr. Grace is my last hope,” she spoke up, honest, blunt. “And you are his”.
And that was all it took as you nodded, a loss for words, moving in a sort of trance to gather your things.
The memory shoots you up from where you slept, leaving you gasping for air, hands clenched tight in your sheets. Ryland and you had been taking shifts, one sleeping, one monitoring the flight path set for Tau Ceti. However you had been going in and out of consciousness for hours. The memories just kept coming, so fragmented that they did little to help you understand
Funny enough, the easiest part of all this to swallow had become that fact that you were in space. Because it was obvious, clear, right in front of you. Every other question felt endless, every answer felt hollow. Some memories were helpful, and others had sent you spiraling, unable to sleep for a few days.
It had been a few days ago when you woke up from sleep to a memory of your parents, the knock on your door from the RA of your dorm…that they were gone. The grief felt so heavy, yet so misplaced, for people that were vague shadows in your mind. That hurt you the most, that you could not recall these people…people you knew deep down were so good. Ryland had sat with you that night, silence between the two of you, no words good enough to mend what had happened.
Then came the flashes to a time before the ship. Bits and pieces of labs full of equipment that you somehow knew the names of, a flash to a jet sweeping through the air, a paper bag being your best friend in that moment. The two of you had come to each other in a sort of unison one night, both yelling the word Astrophage and beginning to dig through the memories together. It was that night that you came to the realization that Ryland Grace was a genius and the two of you would not be returning home. Staring at the equation he had completed on the whiteboard, the two of you sat in a silence so loud it made you want to cover your ears. It was exactly enough Astrophage to get to Tau Ceti…and none left to return. It was a suicide mission, the two of you had signed up to die. There had been a mutual understanding that night that if the two of you were gonna die you would die trying to solve the Astrophage problem, you owed it to the world, to yourselves. Though deep down your brain was far from ready to process that you would never be back to the normalcy of your home planet.
You glanced across the room, looking around for anything to ground you back to the present. The whiteboard caught your gaze, one the two of you had started to keep track of questions, checking them off when a memory came back to fill in the blanks.
Who are we? How did we meet? Friends? Enemies?
You had added the last part, you thought it was funny. But none of it felt so funny anymore…his last hope, the words pounded loud in your mind. Like two metal pans banging together over and over with no sign of stopping. There was something there, in that memory, a feeling of deep care, of admiration. He was someone you had left your life to help, he had asked for you to join his research. So…you must have been a scientist too? There were too many questions floating. At least you knew where you were going and what you needed to do…but who were you? And why were you even here?
You pulled yourself out of bed, seeing no purpose in forcing yourself to try to sleep. Your sleep schedule significantly shifts when it looks dark outside at all hours. Wrapping yourself in a jacket you had found packed in one of the several boxes, you made your way to the ships controls, Ryland sat in his chair scribbling in a notebook.
“I think I was a scientist too,” you spoke from the quiet, that piqued his interest as he looked, a smile growing on his face.
“Were you as smart as me?” he asked, looking back to his notes, his usual tone.
“Am,” you corrected. “Am I as smart as you…and the answer is probably smarter. I am smarter than you”.
You shrugged, as a burst of quick laughter came from him, his focus still on the notes. You moved around the room, taking in all the buttons, too many buttons. It had become normal, all these small memories popping in. It was like adding baseball cards to a collection, sometimes they were insane and other times they were mundane little additions that made the collection a little more unique. They were fun and sometimes not so fun…but details none the less, and you would take any your brain could muster to give back.
“What do you think is so special about this system?” Ryland spoke up, more to himself as he erased something in his notes. “The Tau Ceti system was the only star not infected-”
“Well it could be a lot of things, you know?” you spoke, as if on autopilot, words escaping you before you could even fully process them. “I mean, it could be a difference in spectral output that the Astrophage doesn’t want to feed on. Or, you know, evoluntionary pressure?”
He just stared at you, you just stared back.
He spoke slowly, eyes wide, “evoluntionary pressure?”
“Yeah, the idea that another life form could be eating away at the Astrophage and keeping it balanced,” you answered, equally as confused…the tiniest bit excited, maybe more than tiny. “Like a predator, but that is pretty far fetched”.
He shook his head in disbelief, a smile on his face, murmuring unbelievable under his breath.
“Smarter,” you reminded, a shrug of your shoulders. You had felt so useless thus far, not that you hadn’t been able to help but you weren’t sure where you fit. That’s why it was all so exciting when you remembered that you studied Tau Ceti and you were gonna see it. You were sure the earlier version of yourself, the one who remembered it all would be freaking out at the fact. You wanted to find her, she was in there somewhere.
The silence returned again, it was however much louder in your own head.
“You doing okay?” he spoke up, still focused, you still roaming the room, the two of you in perfect orbit. That’s what happens when you have no one else but each other, you are sure your brains may eventually murge into one. His jokes had become funnier, even if you knew they weren’t and he had become a friend, more than someone you were forced to coexist with.
“Yeah,” you spoke quickly, unsure what would happen if you let yourself dig deeper into the feeling.
He hummed…he didn’t believe you, you knew that. “Come on, let’s go”.
He spoke it so casually, getting up from the chair and setting the notebook down.
“Hey, so I am not sure if you realized, but we really don’t have anywhere to go to,” your voice slightly trailing off, watching as he began to walk out into the hall. “Ryland?”
“You know you have gotten a lot more sarcastic lately and it's really taking a toll on this relationship,” he yelled from down the hall and you could do nothing but roll your eyes and trail behind him.
When you finally caught up to him, he was already shifting through settings in what you had begun to call “that big room of screens” and he corrected that it really was a “projection deck”...same fucking thing.
“What’s your favorite place in the world?”he asked, turning his head to meet your gaze.
And you paused, really paused. You were sure that before all of this you would have been able to answer in a second but now you were drawing a complete blank.
“I…I don’t know,” you spoke up, quieter, honest, and it was a scary thought, to not know the smalles thing about who you were, what you liked.
“Just think of something, make something up,” he pushed.
“Fine,” you called up to him, before moving to join him up on the small platform. “Uh…maybe, the mountains?”
With a click on the small computer, the screens morphed into beautiful scenery of lush green mountains, the sound of the breeze flowing through the leaves filling the room. You took a seat, letting your legs slightly hang over the platform. He joined you. He pointed to a digital bird that flew across the screen, miming fake binoculars on his face with his hands, you just nudged him with your shoulder.
“Where would you have picked?”
“Probably somewhere with fog,” he spoke up, looking at you. “I am pretty sure I am from San Francsios…they got a lot of that”.
It felt like meeting someone for the first time, asking all those familiar questions. The two of you found yourself doing that on nights that were too quiet, asking things like favorite color or movie, making up the answers when you couldn’t remember. Placeholders until the memory came back.
You nodded along, letting the two of you fall into a familiar comfortable silence. One you had to get used to with two strangers who had nothing to talk about because they were strangers to themselves. It made your stomach ache in that now all too familiar way.
Then he stood up, practically jumped from where he was sitting and reached his hand out to you, gesturing with his head.
“What?” you asked, genuine confusion on your face.
“Up,” he just said. “Dance with me, come on”.
You just began to shake your head, waving your hands at him.
“No,” was all you said, turning to face forward, though a smile tried to force itself on your face.
He turned to the computer, you trying your best to remain uninterested but then he turned on a song and you felt like you had just gone down the hill of a rollercoaster.
“Stop,” he yelled at you, which made you shhh him with a significant amount of aggression. The whole library had turned to look at him, throwing needles at him with their eyes.
“What?” he whispered back.
“We are in the library,” you whispered back, just as aggressive.
“And you are freaking out about an alien presentation,” he deadpanned. You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. “See, even you know it's dumb.”
“It’s not dumb!”
“Making a fake planet with a made up alien species where we decided they all dance to sort through political conflict…”he drawled out the last word, a quirk of his brow, that dumb look he always did. You wanted to smack him.
“Okay, well,” when he put it that way.
“Yes?”
You just rolled your eyes and turned back to the papers, sorting through all the details you had spent way too long on. You never did anything halfway, it was something you had followed your whole life.
“Come on,” he spoke up, standing and throwing his things in his bag in a way that made you cringe. "Let’s go”.
“Where?” your head shot up. “We have an assignmet to do”.
“Not in this state we don’t”.
You just looked at him, a staring contest, him raising his brow up and down causing you to bury your head into the table. He then leaned down right next to your ear.
“Uh, earth to alien girl,” he spoke, covering his mouth to sound like a plane speaker…or radio…you weren’t quite sure but it made you laugh. You quickly stopped yourself. “I heard the laugh. The jig is up, we are going”.
He did not wait any longer, heading out of the door, eyes following him as he left. You quickly stood up, without much hesitation, laying your stuff in your bag and running out after him. There he stood, outside, at the bottom of the steps to the library, phone turned up to the highest volume, playing your song. “The Two of Us” from the Beatles blasted, a song the two of you had come to associate with the other. He was moving in sporadic ways, akin to the way a dad does to embarrass their own kid.
“What are you doing?” you called down to him.
“Seeing if our alien system we set up works,” he called back, never breaking his messy groove. “Come on!”
It was hard to say no to him, his exictmnet so infectious, his care to make you smile being one of your favorute things about him. It had gotten you through a lot of long nights. So you dance, him spinning you around, you trying to dip him. Even when people walked by staring, it was just the two of you who existed in that moment. It was perfect, you never wanted to forget it. The joy of dancing with a person, your person. Maybe your alien planet was on to something.
You came back just as quickly, looking at him, really looking at him. It was like you had jumped into a memory, only now you were both older, more tired…and potentially actually meeting aliens. You felt somewhat far away, in a daze, as he just waved his hand in front of you, waiting for you to take it.
“For all I know, we could have actually hated each other,” he urged. “Let me keep the peace for a little bit”.
“I don’t think there is any world where I could hate you,” you replied, and you knew somewhere it was true, as you reached for his hand and he pulled you up.
The dancing was a mess for a while, the two of you laughing through the stupid moves. He did the one person wave at a certain point, one you eventually joined in on. Then you stumbled into his arms, him steadying you, holding you. And you just leaned into it, the feeling of safety, of knowing someone was holding you up when you felt so uneasy. His head gently rested on top of yours.
The two of you just swayed, the sound of the music mere background noise to the way your heartbeats became so loud. Thump. Thump. BEEEEEEEP
You jumped apart.
“Approaching Tau Ceti".
The two of you froze, two deers in the headlights. You hadn’t considered what would happen when you actually reached Tau Ceti. For a while you were still sure this was some sort of bizarre dream.
Then, as if in sync, the two of you went into panic mode sprinting back down the hall to the control room.
—--
It was under control…really it was. You just were now floating in zero gravity and an alien ship was approaching.
Holy Fu- , wait you weren’t cussing anymore, or that’s what Ryland said…Holy Fudge!
You stood there in awe, Ryland looked like he was turning a shade of pale that you had never seen before. The ship approached, getting bigger and bigger and bigger until it parked right beside the two of you. It was strange, practically glistening, made of shapes you never would consider for a ship. But all you cared about was that aliens were real and you had been right.
“I was right,” you whispered out, the revelation of it all taking you back.
“What?” he practically yelled, looking at you for some sort of answer.
You just turned to smile at him, two words, “alien girl”.
The ship or Blip-A as the robotic voice continued to call it made itself known, so big it could swallow your ship up. There were a few moments where Ryland had tried to steer away, you gripped on to the back of the chair as he moved the ship back and forth. Then Blip-A would do the same thing. You went forward, their ship moved forward. You went back and they shifted back. It was like a game of Simone Says.
“What do you think it wants?” Ryland whispered, as if the other ship could hear, you turned your head and gave him a look. “What?”
“Blip-B approaching,” the robotic voice began, the two of you turning your heads in sync back to the screen. A small object was tumbling towards the two of you at an impressive rate…yeah okay maybe this was something to be worried about? But you couldn’t help the curiosity that stirred in you, the want to understand those on the other ship, to learn their world, what made them happy. Well, if there was even anyone actually on that ship. Ryland went into a full panic mode you had gotten used to, you still gripping onto the pilot chair to stop yourself from floating too far away. You braced for impact, one that never game as the mental canister hit the side of your ship with a small DOINK.
“Not a bomb,” you corrected, Ryland could not tear his face away from the screen. “Maybe they are friendly aliens?”
“There is no such thing as a friendly alien,” he bit back.
“Well, in our Alien class in college-”
He just glared at you once again, you smacked him on the head lightly with your hand, “Maybe they need help”.
“And maybe they want to inject us with eggs,” he looked at you like he had just said something profound.
“And you are a scientist?” you countered, a slight tilt of your head, still holding onto his chair.
The two of you watched for a while, just waiting for what was next. Maybe you were supposed to send something back. The two of you didn’t have to wait long before the next “Blip” was thrown, however this time much slower. They wanted the two of you to grab it, each move from them intentional.
“They think we are dumb,” Rylan practically deadpanned.
“Well, we better prove them wrong,” you began, gaze intently on the small object tumbling through the air towards the two of you. You tuned your head slightly upwards, making sure your voice could be heard by your robot companion. “How would we get to something like this?”
“Nope, nope nope nope,” Rylands voice began to come back, shaking his hands at yoy.
“Would you like to take a space walk Dr. (Last Name)?” the voice spoke.
We were gonna die out here anyways, might as well do it all.
“Yes” you spoke up and Ryland said the opposite at the same time. You didn’t even give him another look as you manuvered yourself down the hall, pushing against the wall to move, feeling so weightless. It was an odd feeling, one you had never experienced before and part of you was fine with maybe never expeirnecing it again. You were quick to find the set of spacesuits lining the walls, searching for one with your name on it. Now it became very clear how difficult it would be to get on but with the help of the computer voice you were able to find the manuel and squeeze your way inside.
In the middle of wiggling into the pants, Ryland came flying around the corner.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice in full panic. However, he too began to read the manuel, taking steps to pull the suit on.
“We are taking a huge step in human history,” you replied, like it was the obvious choice. “First contact”.
The two of you moved in a sort of connectedness, him putting on his suit because you said you would. It was how you worked, two people, trying to survive this all. And to do that, sometimes you had to do something insane and hope it worked. You stood in the tunnel now tethered to the inside of the ship, deprezerization happening around you as the door opened. You couldn’t have been prepared, how could you? The image of the infinity of space before you made your heart ache and deep down you knew this was big for you. You moved forward until you were just at the edge, nothing but stars. You were about to take the step when Ryland Grace came flying into you, shooting the both of you out of the ship.
His grip on yours was tight, the two of you wrapped together as you drifted out into the stars. You looked at him, really looked at him, his glasses slightly tilted inside his helmet. You wished you could reach out and adjust them for him.
“So…saving the sun?”
You barely got the words out before he stepped forward, closing the space between the two of you, pulling you into a hug. So tight, like you might disappear. You stood there for a second, air caught in your throat before you caved into the feeling. Your arms looped around him, head rested against his chest, as if this was something the two of you just did.
“I missed you,” he said, honest, real.
You stayed there, just together, quiet in the chaos of the day.
“I missed you too,” you finally let yourself say, quiet as if the whole world was listening and you wanted it to be just for him.
You would unpack all of that later, the hug feeling even more familiar now, even more personal. You gently released your hands wrapped around him and nodded with your head back in the direction of the small object tumbling closer and closer.
He nodded, the two do your drifting back towards the ship until you could grip onto the rialing outside of it. In a sort of quiet understanding, Ryland tied your tethers around the railings so you could move up and down the hull of the ship without drifting too far.
“Who do you think's gonna get it first?” he spoke through the radio system within the suits. A challenge, you didn’t have to even look to know he was looking at you with that stupid grin.
“Well I know it’s not gonna be you,” you bit back, eyes set on the object tumbling closer and closer.
Then he jumped and you did too, the two of you reaching for it, your hands getting closer and closer to the object until you were holding it tightly. You went to celebrate when Ryland Grace did it again, flying into you, this time on purpose, sending the two of you flying. You shut your eyes, grip on it so tight.
“I just sacked the quarterback,” he joked, grip still tight around you, the small cylinder pressed between the two of you, keeping you apart. Then you just laughed, laughed so hard you could barely breathe. Because you were in space, with a stranger you once knew, trying to catch an item from an alien ship and Ryland Grace had tackled you like it was football. And he laughed too, and for a moment, so small you could almost miss it, everything felt right. For a moment, a very small moment, you felt like you remembered him fully.
And when you looked at him, you knew he was someone important to you.
------
You sat at your desk, head propped up on your hand as you absentmindedly clicked your pen over and over. Enough that the sound began to fade into the background, anything to break the silence.
Procgess had been made in the past couple of days. Especially with the discovery of the centrifuge system. And then there was, of course, that other discovery. As in your new neighbor. As in, the alien.
You had yet to meet the guy but the new presence felt rather large. An alien ship had tethered themselves to your ship and you were sitting and clicking a pen for entertainment. You paused the clicking, glancing up at the camera psoitioned on your desk. Ryland thought it would be good to film logs…guess there was a first time for everything. Even if an alien encounter was not one of those things yet.
You reached up to hit a switch on the camera at the desk, watching as the red recording light began to blink on.
“Hi, uh, I am sure Ryland…or well, Dr. Grace has shared with you that we have made contact with an alien,” you began, leaning back in your seat. “I haven’t yet”.
A quiet laugh slipped out, the words sounded insane speaking them out loud.
“He said he had to make the sacrifice just in case,” you explained. “Because I know more about Tau Ceti than him so he would be less of a loss”.
You shook your head at the idea, a smile tugging at your lips no matter how hard you tried to keep it off.
“Which is-” you trailed off trying to find the word. “...kinda endearing if you really think about it…in a sort of messed up and terrifying kinda way?”
Your gaze dropped back to your hands for a moment before reaching for the pen. Click. Click. Click.
“But I wouldn’t really call him dying instead of me a success,” you were quiter now, gaze still set on the pen. “I’d rather not be alone”.
The words hung in the air, heavy. You had developed a mindset quickly on this ship, well after a lot of denial. You were dying. It was as simple as that, because there really was no other choice. And you would live like that, like there was no tomorrow. There was no time for hiding or being scared, it was a time for risks. It was a hard pill to swallow, sometimes that pill would get stuck in yor throat still no matter how hard you tried to wash it down with water.
You cleared your throat, setting the pen down. Your eyes drifted to the small figurine you had placed on your desk. The first time he had made contact he had returned with a small sculpture, a figurine that looked like two human shapes entangled in a hug, a tether tying them together. You were quick to realize it was the two of you when you had first entered space.
You smiled.
“Not like you guys arent great company,” you continued, gaze fixing back on the camera. “But he’s kinda growing on me…just don’t tell him that, it will get to his head pretty quickly”.
The sound of footsteps caught your attention, your head turning, seeing Ryland now leaned against the entrance to the room. He acknowledged the camera with a nod, giving it an awkward wave, well more like a flick of his hand, before turning back to you.
“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing down the hall with his head before continuing in the direction.
No explanation. What was new? You turned back to the camera.
“He does this a lot,” you admitted. “Just absolutely zero context”.
You looked back to see if he was there still.
“He is not a perfect teammate”.
“Not true,” his voice called through the ship.
You gave the camera a look, whispering a quiet, “this guy”.
“And grab your alien shirt!” he called out again and you quickly sat up in realization.
Oh. Oh Oh OH!
You snapped your head back to the camera, so fast that it made you dizzy for a second. Eyes wide, grin so big it was actively stretching your face. Reaching up, you clicked the switch for the camera, giving one last wave and then you lept into immediate action.
You found Ryland halfway in his suit, slightly struggling with one of the clasps, even so he refused to ask for any help, just giving a small thumbs up in your direction.
You were quick to grab your suit, attempting to catch up. But your hand shook with energy and you weren’t sure where to place it or how to use it. Your skin felt like it was on fire…in the best possible way.
This was it.
This was really it.
You wrestled with the zipper for a second before pulling it up. As you stood back up, you came face to face with the man, him standing there holding your helmet, placing it on your head. With a click it secured and he tapped on it like it was a fish tank. You fliched slightly, shoving him back.
“Am I really a bad teammate?” he asked and as you looked at him you realized he wasn’t fully joking.
You paused for a second, scanning his face,
“Yeah,” you answered, flatly.
You just as quickly smiled and tapped back on the glass of his helmet, his eyes meeting yours.
“Not at all. I got pretty lucky”.
The tension in his body slightly eased at that, a smile growing onto his face.
“I should have let you come the first time,” he admitted, beginning to walk down the hall. “You are the alien expert. I am just some guy who was wrong about water”.
“Everyones wrong sometimes,” you replied, trailing behind him. “You know, you kinda have to be every once in a while”.
At that, he glanced back at you.
“Can’t find the right answer if there hasn’t been a couple wrong ones,” you continued with a shrug of your shoulders.
The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, a growing understanding between the two of you. It was funny, you felt like you had known him your whole life. Maybe you had? Or maybe you just had been together for far too long on this ship with no one else but this guy and a camera. Either way, it could have been worse. You were happy with whoever decided they should send you up with the middle school science teacher.
When the door opened you were immediately blown back into the wall, you landing with a loud thud. A quiet groan escaped you. He had left that part out when he told you about his first encounter.
“Hey, hey,” Ryland began, scooting over to you, hand gently placed on your shoulder. “You okay? That has never happened before”.
You just nodded, at a loss for words for the tunnel system in front of you. It was a hard thing to fully comprehend, that there was another life form existing in parallel to your own. One that could build tunnels that connect to your ship.
“Gravity?” you just spoke up, standing to take a few steps into the tunnel, boots still connected to the ground.
“This, uh…yeah this is new,” he replied, standing up from where he had fallen and walking to meet you. “Just be prepared, this guy is pretty jumpy”.
You nodded, one again embracing the silence, taking in everything with each step. You knew Ryland was behind you, you knew he would be ready to help if anything were to happen. But you could not get yourself to be fearful, ever since Ryland brought back the small figurine, you knew this was not a harmful connection.
The end of the tunnel was made of different glass pieces, or something resembling glass, all creating different angles. You reached up, gently pressing your gloved hand to it, looking into the darkness behind it.
“I just, kinda tapped last time,” he offered, you smiled.
“Very scientific approach Dr. Grace,” you joked, glancing back at him.
A piece of you ached inside to feel how this would have felt having you remembered everything. But your body has not forgotten. Your body grew with energy, your heart thudding in your chest, your fingers practailly tingling, a smile so wide it could not be suppressed. You reached out and gently tapped on the wall and that's when you saw it, a small figure dash across your view.
You tapped on more time, soft, inviting, other hand still pressed to the glass. Then it appeared, a spider-like rock formation, slowly moving its way towards you. It stopped, moving its body in a way that reminded you of how a dog would tilt its head in interest and confusion. Then it reached out, a small hand placed against your palm, the glass being the only thing stopping full contact.
“Dr. Grace showed me the figure you had made of us,” you spoke, quiet, not wanting to scare your alien neighbor. “Thank you, it was beautiful”.
The creature in response made a symphony of noises, as if you played all the chords of a piano at once. A quiet laugh of astonishment left your your head turning to glance at Ryland whose gaze was on you. A gentle smile and a thumbs up, his signature move.
There was a burn in your eyes, it was all so overwhelming. All you could do was laugh, unsure what to do with all the pent up emotion.
The alien made another sound before tapping on the glass. You tapped again, the two of you going back and forth until it let out an almost grunt. You paused, stopping. He tapped again in a direction behind you and you followed it.
“Oh,” you breathed out, seeing another capsule. “Is that for us?”
The symphony of noise returned, the creature jumping around, moving erratically.
Ryland walked over to grab it before you could, coming to meet you by the glass, gently twisting it open. Inside was another model…figure…art piece? It was close in resemblance to a letter eight, small blue dots lining the exterior of the rings.
“Wow,” Ryland, spoke up as you continued to admire it. “Yeah, wow, I don’t have anything like this”.
The way he sounded genuine made you break your focus to smile. It was sweet.
“What is it?” he asked, more quietly, turning back to you.
You could only shrug, trying to examine every angle of it. Everything so far had a meaning, but maybe this was the exception?
You looked back up at the alien, waving the art piece in his direction, “it is beautiful, thank you”.
Ryland reached for it and you handed it over as he tried to place it on his head, “Is it a hat?”
The alien just grumbled in response, beginning to erratically tap again. You watched, trying to understand.
“Maybe a bow tie?” you asked, grabbing it from him and setting it against where the collar of his shirt would be.
The alien just continued to explode with sound and then you turned to watch him, really watch him. His two limbs reached up to tap his head…or you assumed it was head. He then gestured as if removing it, you slightly tilted your head.
“You want us to take off our heads?” Ryland spoke up, confusion lacing his tone. “Buddy, I am not sure how it works for you but this is kinda all connected”.
You slightly glared at him, he just shrugged. Thank you captain obvious.
The alien once again repeated the action…head? No, OH, helmet, he was meaning helmet.
“Our helmets?” you asked and the alien bursted with even more sound. You glanced back down at the figure in your hand, the pieces starting to connect. He had made the tunnel adaptable for the two of you, there was gravity and now, there was oxygen.
You looked back up at Ryland, showing him the piece again, “it’s oxygen…its the symbol for oxygen”.
“What?” he looked at you in confusion, taking the piece and turning it around. Then he held it up to the creature. “You are clever buddy”.
The alien just continued its explosion of emotion, once again repeating the gesture. You followed along, reaching up to unclasp the helmet when you flet a hand rest on yours.
“Maybe this isn’t the smartest idea,” he said, quieter this time, sending a quick glance towards your neighbor before snapping back to you. “I mean, this is a life or death kinda choice here…”
“And we aren’t already in a life or death situation anyways?” you bit back, he opened his mouth and then closed it. “I trust him”.
“You just met him”.
“And he made us a sculpture, created gravity and gave me a high-five,” you pushed back. “Most guys I have met don’t even open my car door for me”.
“You know, you just said something pretty profound back inside,” he countered, hand tighter on yours now to stop the movement. “You said people can be wrong sometimes”.
“Well I am not”.
“Well…we don’t really know if this is just some weird hat he made”.
You just stared at him, he stared back, then slowly his grip released and he nodded.
“I won’t change your mind,” he took a few steps back, a look of uncertainty on his face, shown futher in the posture of his body. Alert. Stiff.
You gave him a nod of ressaunace and a thumbs up, his classic, before turning back to the alien. Gently reaching back up, you unclasped the helmet and began to pull it off. Your heart beat in your chest louder and louder and louder, your ribcage felt as if it was shaking.
Then you gasped, taking in the air and for a second panic filled you. You opened your eyes, gaze snapping to him…you were breathing. You laughed in pure astonishment, the alien creature celebrating with you, and Rylan looked like he had just aged fifty years watching it happen.
It was late, the moons shining through the windows of the library, your desk in the corner lit by a small lamp. The usual, Ryland and you, there way too late. You flipped through your textbook, he stared at you in disbelief.
“You totally think aliens are real, don’t you?” Ryland spoke up from across the table you were studying at, finishing up notes for the class you shared.
“Well,” you stumbled for the right words. It wasn’t that unbelievable. “I mean, it would be kinda cool”.
“No, no, don’t shrug it off like that,” he pushed. “You lied, you did not take this class cause you had to”.
“Okay, fine!” you practically yelled, earning a few annoyed glares from others still studying. “I just…I mean is it that crazy of an idea? The universe is quite literally endless, there has to be something”.
He just smiled at you, that dumb smile, one you would normally throw a pencil at his face for. But you just smiled back because he didn’t laugh, didn’t make his usual dumb joke, he just nodded.
“Okay alien girl,” he began. “I will be waiting for your name to pop up on the news when you are the first to make contact with one”.
And you nodded back, cause he would.
And you had just done it, you made contact with an alien…holy shit. Where was your shirt again?
------
How do you prepare for an alien to move in? The answer, after much scientific research…you really can’t. The presence of Rocky, what Ryland had named him, was not a small one. You couldn’t ignore him, he was a permanent part of your lives, your new partner. And yes, he had opinions on everything. After the two of you had found his voice, most nights were spent with Ryland asleep in the tunnel while Rocky and you talked all night. You asked him any questions you could think of, him happy to answer in exchange for a few of his own for you. Sometimes the two of you would get too loud and Ryland would throw a pillow at you, which you would of course throw back. Grace okay? Rocky would ask and you would reply Yes, Grace is just cranky when he doesn’t sleep. The rock laughed at that, you did too…and even Rylan did from his sleeping state on the ground.
Most days were spent answering Rockys questions as the three of you worked through solving the Astrophage problem, the connector between the three of you. You all had a misson, one you would complete. There was now more than one world that depended on it.
“What do you miss most about home, Rock?” Ryland asked one night, the three of you in the projection room. Ryland sat against the hamster ball Rocky had made hismelf while you laid down on your back, staring up at the screens, listening and chiming in when you could.
You could think of a few things you missed, memories drifting in with each day.
Rocky sat with it for a while before speaking up, “My mate”.
As if in sync, Ryland and you both turned your heads to him, you finally completely tuning into the situation. The two of you shared a look.
“You have a mate?” Ryland asked, then stopped. “Not that…that’s like shocking it’s just-”
“He means how long have you been together?” you stepped in, Ryland relaxing back against the aliens enclosure.
“Hmm,” Rocky perked up as he talked, though you sensed the sadness that still followed him. “186.3 years”.
“That’s incredible buddy,” Ryland replied, gently patting the ball.
“Not long enough,” the alien replied, settling back down, a few quiet symphonic sounds leaving him.
You understood, understood more than you wished you had. It never was. It never would be. You scooted over to the other side of the ball, leaning against it, gently patting it as Ryland had earlier.
“We are gonna solve this and get you back buddy,” you spoke up, facing towards the screen, taking in the world you had left behind forever. A pit settled in your stomach, at least he would be able to return home, that was enough to keep you going. “Your mate will be so proud of you”.
Rocky shared his mates name, a beautiful symphony of sound that only the person you loved could ever be represented by. A silence settled over the three of you, the sound of waves crashing coming from the speakers. They were loud, they felt familiar, maybe you used to enjoy the waves.
“How long have Grace and (Last Name) been mate?” the alien spoke from the silence. And you and Ryland both snapped back to life instantly. You met his eyes for a second before turning away, trying to form words.
“We aren’t-” Ryland began.
“We aren’t mates,” you fisnihed for him, him sending you a grateful look. Rocky, always so blunt.
“Then why bicker like mates?” Rocky pushed further. “Why Grace look at you like that when you do not see, question?”
You kept your eyes planted to your hands, scared what would happen if you let them wander. Did he really look at you? Maybe that’s what you had been, long before this, maybe there had been a time where it was something more. You felt it, it lingered in the air, in the memories that would stir. It lingered in the present too, in late nights and honest conversations, in the way he looked at you when you took off your helmet, in the nights he would drape a blanket over you when you fell asleep at your desk.
You were about to answer, try your best to muster words, when Grace beat you to it.
“I am tired,” Ryland said, standing up, not giving a second glance to either of you. “I, uh, I am gonna head to bed”.
You noticed that with him recently, when questions got hard. It had happened a few days ago when Rocky had asked about going home.
You watched as he jumped down from the platform, heading into the hall, him dragging a hand down his face. You sat there for a while, in silence, unsure how to feel. What did you expect? There had not been any reason to assume anything, and he just…he wanted to leave an awkward conversation. But was it really that hard of a question?
“Grace okay?” Rocky spoke up, tapping on the part of the xenonite ball closest to your head.
“Yeah, “ you replied, not because it was honest but because it was easy.
“Dr. (Last Name) okay too?” and you could only laugh at that, cause you hadn’t truly been okay in a while, not since before you woke up on this ship.
“Yeah, buddy, I am okay,” you turned around to face him instead, tapping your fist against the ball, in which he mirrored.
You glnaced back at the exit to the room and you weren’t sure why this time was different, what the pull was, but you got up.
“I am gonna get ahead on some of my work tomorrow,” you spoke more abruptly. “I will see you in the morning, Rock”.
“Friend need help, question?” he spoke up and the words, those three words felt like a punch to the gut. You just shook your head at him and you were sure he sensed the feeling as he rolled back to lay in his ball.
You made your way through the hall quickly, turning each corner sharp until you made it to the dormitory again. There Ryland sat, edge of his bed, head in his hands. You had never seen him look so small and you were almost scared to approach him, like he might shatter.
You stepped slowly into the room, pausing right next to him, he made no move to akcnolwged you. Placing your hand on his back, you gently moved it up and down, him leaning into the touch, giving his weight over to you. You let him be selfish, let him give you something to carry because he always was the one doing it for you.
It was a while before he spoke, his words loud in the silence of the room. It was the quietest it had been since Rocky moved in.
“I’m sorry about what happened in there,” he spoke, so quiet, words thin and shaky. He took in a breath, barely getting a full breath in. “It’s just…everything is a lot right now”.
You just shook your head, hand still trailing up and down his back, “we don’t have to talk right now”.
“No,” he stopped you, meeting your eyes, his so heavy. “I want to. I need to”.
Then the silence greeted the two of you again, but not uncomfortable, just knowing. You moved to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, watching as he sat fidgeting with his hands.
“Do you ever get memories of the two of us before all this?” He asked, though his eyes did not leave his hands.
You nodded, even if he wasn’t looking, the question making you glance to your hands as well, “Yeah…yeah all the time”.
There was silence again but there was something in the air, a push and pull, a want to speak and a fear of what would come out. You glanced past your hands at the floor, gently bumping your leg against his, he bumped it back.
“We really liked studying late in the library,” you joked, still quiet, just for the two of you, as if Earth could hear you from all the way out here.
He let out a breathy laugh in reply, “yeah we really did”.
“I think we worked well together,” you added, then pausing to correct yourself. “We still work really well together”.
You watched as his hand slowly moved closer, till it rested atop of yours. A reminder that you were both there, alive, breathing. The words of Rocky echoed in your head over and over, a broken record, that it was “not enough”. That’s what it felt like, a ticking timer, its numbers growing smaller and smaller. Even if you had accepted it, even if you told yourself you did. This right now, with him, it would never be enough.
“I think I loved you,” he spoke from the silence and you looked up from your hands, meeting his eyes. You searched his face for any sign he was joking, maybe he was messing with you like he always did. But he was there, fully there, looking at you. And you knew, you knew for a while you had loved him too. “And I never got to tell you that”.
“Why didn’t you?” You asked, an uncertainty in your question. A push and pull between wanting to know and peaceful ignorance. He swallowed, and you just watched him, watched him fight for words.
“Do you remember?”
You just shook your head, pleading with your mind to catch up in this moment, to tell you why.
“Do you?” you asked, quiet, waiting for the truth…and he just shook his head.
“I just know I didn’t…I owe you an answer,” he replied, hand gripped tighter on yours. “I love you, I know I love you…I think I have always loved you”.
The words just floated, words you knew you needed to hear, but words you had not expected. You just nodded, unsure of what words you could possibly give back to him. What words were enough at this moment? You wanted to pull him close, wrap your arms around him and tell him you loved him, of course you loved him. You felt it when you saw him the first time, a pull towards him, one only love could possibly create.
“I know,” you whispered, scared to admit it, scared that it would be there, a constant reminder of what you could not have. “I love you”.
This was present, not past, not “loved”, it was there. Because you did. You loved when he would do the stupid dance moves anytime he got something right. You loved how he would make you laugh when you were spiraling. You loved how you bickered and how he looked at you like you were a genius, even when he teased that he was smarter. You loved him, you had seen it in every memory that had come back. You saw it when you left your home to join his research without a second thought. You loved him but life was cruel and time was not on your side, not even a little.
“I love you and I am scared,” he spoke up, pulling you from your thoughts. The tension in your body slightly eased, but the pit in your stomach grew deeper. You tried to meet his eyes but he would not look at you, his gaze cast down, his hand moving down to fidget with your fingers. You weren’t sure if he knew they were yours or thought they were his. The thought made you smile. “Because we are going to die out here and it’s not fair. It’s not fair to you if I tell you this knowing we are just going to die”.
“I would rather die knowing,” you admitted, hand gently reaching out to cup his jaw, pulling his gaze up to yours. His eyes rimmed red, watery. He blinked a few times, shook his head, tried to erase the emotions he could not escape. “I’d rather know we will die and get to love you than pretend and try not to love you at all”.
Silence.
“I can’t keep getting these memories and not pretend you aren’t the most important person in the world to me”.
Silence again, your heart was beating so loud you could barely hear the words you were speaking.
“And if you can pretend, good for you,” you continued, quietly, gently releasing your grip on his face. But he just grabbed your wrists before you moved too far, carefully placing it back where it was.
“I can’t pretend anymore,” he admitted, shaky. “I can’t.”
“Then let’s stop,” you spoke, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Because in space, time ticking lower and lower, it seemed like maybe it was. And there, something snapped, him reaching to cup your jaw. You grew closer and closer, foreheads hovering against the other.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his thumb brushing gently against your jaw.
You just nodded, “Are you?”
“I’ve been sure since I first saw you again,” he replied, leaning into your touch, something you didn’t know you needed so badly. “I’ve known before I even understood why”.
Whatever hesitation left slipped away in that moment as your bodies allowed for it, allowed you to be selfish, the space between you closing. The magnets had finally collided. The kiss was so soft, you committed the feeling to memory. You never wanted to stop feeling it.
He was so careful, like you might shatter right there. And you just might, the feeling so overwhelming. And then it deepened, just slightly, the pent up hunger for something you both had tried so hard to fight. You scooted closer, as close as you could, his hand traveling up your jaw and slightly gripping into your hair. For a moment, one small moment, the ticking clock seemed to stop.
He pulled away with an “I love you” on his lips before you could even speak. You met his eyes, and there was something there. It was bittersweet, knowing there would come a time where you would no longer get to see his eyes right in front of you. The thought made your stomach turn, a familiar burninig in your eyes. You hoped that if there was something after all of this, after life, that it would be a place you could still see his eyes.
“I know I should have said it a long time ago, I should have given us more time-”’
The words knocked you back, it felt like a blow to the stomach as your head pounded, it always seemed to feel heavy but this felt different. It all falls into place, all those missing pieces, the scientists in the bar, the conversation on the deck, the volunteering…the goodbye.
“So what, now you are just going off to die?” he was upset, you hadn’t seen him like this in a while, not since his theory about water had not been received well in college.
“I am saving humanity”.
“Oh wow, yes, real courageous of you,” he retorted, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Fuck you Ryland,” you said, quiet, cold. “You’re the one who brought me here”.
His eyes snapped to yours, the two of you just looking at each other, breathing.
“And it was supposed to be a temporary thing,” he bit back. “Empahsis on the whole temporary part of this all. I mean, just a couple of days ago you were saying how you couldn’t imagine people having to say goodbye like this.”
You stand up, your head pouding as you hold onto it, feeling as if it might explode. You slightly stumble, falling against a wall for support, Ryland is quick to follow. You slide down the wall, slightly caving in on yourself, pulling your knees to your just. There were so many emotions coming to you at one, regret, fear, anger, longing…love.
“Hey, hey, hey," he says gently, reaching down to try and help you. “What’s happening? What…what’s going on?”
You look up and there is a panic in his eyes, one to match your own. You try to speak but you can’t, you can’t find the words.
“I have nothing here for me,” you spoke from the silence.
“You have-” and then he stopped himself and your head once again snapped up to meet his eyes.
“Say it,” you spoke, quietly, pleading for him to say the one thing that could make you stay. “Please Ry, just say it”.
Everything hung there, floating in the air And he couldn’t, his head just slightly shaking in disappointment. The tether snapped right there.
“Okay,” it was so breathy, barely even a word.
“Talk to me,” his voice comes back, his hand stretched out to you, you now sitting back against the wall. Your hands gripped your head, your eyes burned and your body shook. There were so many feelings, too many. You just shoved his hand away, before you could even process that it was there. “Just tell me you are okay”.
“You didn’t say it,” you whispered out, scared to say it, scared to acknowledge that it was real.
“What?” he asked, gently crouching down to your level, gently reaching to brush hair out of your face, you shifted your head away. “What didn’t I say?”
“You didn’t tell me to stay,” and the look on his face was one of unimaginable regret. “You let me get on this ship”.
“You wanted to,” he pushed back and your heart dropped. “I mean…come on, it’s not, it reall-”
“You knew,” the realization hurt more than the memory. He didn’t say anything, he had said he didn’t know why. He had pretended like it was fine but he knew…he knew why you were here.
“I didn’t want to go back to all that,” he tried to reason, and it reminded you of the memory, the samn panic on his face. “I finally have this, I finally have you and it didn’t…I didn’t want to-”
“So you just were never going to tell me?” you looked at him, searched his face for something to understand. “What? You were just gonna hope it never came back to me?”
The same silence as he fought for his words.
“Why didn’t you stop me?” you finally asked, an answer you knew had been weighing on you, a feeling in your stomach you did not understand until this moment. “Please Ryland”.
And it was like dejavu, the same as the memory as he did not say anything. You flet it all over again.
“I stay up at night wondering why I couldn’t have just said it,” his voice was so fragile, you looked up to meet his gaze and this time he was looking at you, focused on you. “And I wonder if maybe we would be living a normal life right now. Maybe we’d be together and you’d be doing your research and I would still be teaching. And maybe you would have come into my class sometimes as a guest teacher and…my kids would have loved you”.
A choked laugh escaped him at the thought as he reached up to run his hand though his hair. You let him talk, let him make up for all the silence as you just waiited to understand.
“And then I think about how I couldn’t have ever stopped you,” he spoke again. “Because you have always loved space more than Earth and then I wonder if I maybe could have but would that have been fair?”
“I just wanted to know,” you finally spoke up, and you shifted slightly, patting the space next to you, inviting him to sit rather than couch infront of you. He accepted, sitting beside you. “I just wanted you to stop being so scared and say it…because I dropped everything to come and help you”.
“And I begged Eva Stratt for days leading up to take off to put me on that ship,” he admitted.
You hadn’t thought about it really, about how he had gotten there.
“Your mission was to find purpose and see Tau Ceti,” he said. “And mine was to tell you that I love you…because I could not stay on Earth without you”.
The words were so loud.
“That was my mission, that is why I am here,” he continued. “And if you are mad at me, I understand why…but I will take those few seconds you were not and know it was worth leaving everything behind just for that”.
The clock seemed to come back, ticking louder and louder in your brain. The heavy realization that this was it, that there would be a day where this was gone and there would no longer be the pain and the wondering and the want. That there would come a time where you would not get to hate or love Ryland Grace anymore. And if you could pick one, you would love him for as long as you could. Even if you were mad, even if you wished it was different, he was still here and he had left the world for you.
“We are going to die out here,” you spoke, bluntly and obviously. “And I won’t do that angry at you, I won’t”.
"Let me fix this," he pleaded, his voice sounding so small. "Let me love you with the time we have".
You just leaned your head on his shoulder in response, his head resting a top of yours, a silent agreement. A silent truce. A page turned because dwelling in the past had become something you learned you could not do anymore. You wondered why people ever had at all? Because life was meant to be lived, because the past could offer you only ways to change and grow, it was not a place to remain in. It was your guide forward into a better future.
“We would have had a good life together,” you spoke from the quiet, honest, no more pretending.
“We will,” he corrected. “I mean it isn’t really how I pictured it, but the views are pretty nice up here”.
You just laughed, laughed at how ridiculous this all was. How he had chased you all the way into the depths of the solar system, all the way into a new one entirely.
“I will take any time I can with you,” he spoke, gently reaching up to wipe a tear that had escaped. “I would take a few seconds”.
“This sucks,” your voice cracking slightly, a small huff of laughter escaping you because what else could you do.
“A little less with you here,” he corrected and you just smiled, a watery smile.
“Grace and (Last Name) not go home, question?” the familiar voice caused your head to snap towards the entrance to the room. The normally loud creature had somehow made himself a fly on the wall…you wondered how long he had been there.
“Hey buddy,” you squeaked out, wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand, sitting uop straight.
“Rocky not understand, why not go back to Earth, question?” he persisted
The question was a hard one to answer, one you wanted to keep avoiding. To speak it into the air was to acknowledge that it would come soon, that it was real.
“This is a one way trip for us,” Ryland spoke, calculated and straightforward, though you could hear the slight shake at the end of his words. “They gave us enough Astrophage to make it to Tau Ceti and then we will send our findings back on probes”
“We have our mission and then we will be done,” you added, Rocky rolling into the room to stand in front of where the two of you sat. You shifted slightly, an appropriate distance, but his hand still lingered on your thigh, your hand atop of his.
“No understand” Rocky just repeated, shifting back and forth in his ball as if he were pacing. You would have laughed if the conversation wasn’t about your inevitable death floating out in space.
“Earth is too far from here for us to get back Rock,” you continued, a shaky breath, a glance at Ryland, anything to ground yourself. You told yourself you were fine with it. But the thought, the thought of a normal life with Ryland, it ached all over your body. “We have enough food to get us through a couple of years-”
“And then what, question?”
“We will die,” Ryland answered, no longer beating around the bush. “We chose this mission knowng we would die out here”.
We chose this mission. Rockys movements only got more exaggerated, him shifting around in a panic. Ryland gave your hand one squeeze before standing up to follow Rocky as he zoomed around the room.
“We, uh, we have made peace with it,” though it sounded like more of a question than a statement. “We know what will happen and we have made peace with it”.
Rocky stopped moving, turning back to Ryland who now stood in front of him, trying to corral him like a dog that had escaped the house.
“How much you need return Earth, question?” he spoke up, rolling back towards you, Ryland trailing behind him, trying to catch up with his quick changes in direction.
“Around two million kilogram,” the words sounded hopeless.
“I can give”.
Your gaze moved quickly to meet Rylands, an astonished look on his face. You tried to breathe, tried to keep yourself grounded, to not let yourself consider the option.
"I have extra. Can give that much from my ship and still have plenty for return to Erid".
"Rocky, you cant do that”.
“That's too much to ask for Buddy," Ryland replied.
“Let Rocky fix,” he insisted, rolling to your side, as if he were sitting next to you. “Rocky crew die, Rocky cannot fix. Rocky friends need help, Rocky fix”.
Ryland had practically slammed himself into you on the ground, him holding you so tightly, a laugh of disbelief escaping him. The chance, the chance for something else for the two of you. Rocky bumped against you.
“Confsued, confused, confused,” as he rammed into your side. “Grace hurt Alien Girl”.
Someone had leaked the nickname. You pulled away to give a pointed look at Ryland, he just shrugged his smile so wide.
“Get in here Rock,” he said, pushing the creature into your embrace, the two of you wrapping your arms around his sphere.
“Confused,” he repeated, insisting.
“It's a hug Rocky,” you replied. “Just go with it”.
The three of you moved with a newly lit passion, a new ease in the way you worked. There was hope, there was a future, a world where you would all make it back. The journey continued on, a new sense of understanding between Ryland and you. It was small glances in the lab, kissing in the hallway whenever you could get a minute away from Rocky…though he would normally somehow find the two of you, it was late night talking about what life would be like when you returned. A hopeful view of a world that could be better.
You worked hard, trying to understand whatever you could about Astrophage, as you got closer and closer to Tau Ceti E. And when the bright green planet comes into view you finally understand why you had picked this system to study. It was beyond what you could imagine, the siwling greens and oranges and reds so vibrant.
“Ladie and Gentleman,” Ryland spoke. “I give you Tau Ceti E”.
You could just nod, no words fully encapsulating everything you felt in that moment as you looked at the planet. Your lifes work, there, in front of you. And when you walked out onto the hull of the ship with Ryland, you felt as though you could not breathe. It was astonishment on a level you never knew was possible. You were really seeing it, a system you had studied your whole life. And it was then you understood what Ryland meant when he said he could have never stopped you…because this was everything you had worked for.
“Is everything okay over there?” a knowing laugh at the end of his words.
“Yeah,” you spoke up, unable to form words. “It’s just…wow”.
“It is wow,” he agreed, coming to float beside you, bumping your shoulder. You looked at him, him already looking at you, as if you were Tau Ceti E itself.
You think you blackout by the time you are back in the ship, so overwhelmed by emotion. You were sure your brain turned off once the Astrophage had surrounded you, the red dots filling your vision. Your brain could not handle it, as you sat back down insid the ship, buzzed with adrenaline. And when the data shows that there is another life form on Tau Ceti E eating the astropage to keep it balanced, you feel your body almost collapse. You laugh, an extremely loud laugh, the only thing your body could do.
“What?” Ryland asked, him and Rocky turning to look at you.
“I was right,” you speak, much quieter than the laugh, hand coming up to wipe your eyes. This was not the time, there was work to do.
“You were right,” Ryland reassures, a nod and a smile, one as if he knew all along that you were. And you could just smile back, giving yourself a moment to feel it all. To feel that accomplishment after years of work, after almost giving up. You know your parents are out there somewhere in the universe smiling because they knew too. They knew you would do it all and it had taken you so long to truly believe that you were capable of it.
You jumped into action once more, because this was what you had prepared for, because this was what you had studied. And you knew. Right then, that you were meant to be up there, Ryland and Rocky and you…all of you with one risky plan. A risky plan you would pull off.
And you would, you would get close. When the alarms start flashing so loud, you start to wonder how it went wrong. The beeping rattles through your body, each flash of red light burning your eyes as you try to copilot Rocky as Ryland attempts to get the sample. It is a flash, a blur, your brain moving too fast for you to even process. And when the ship turns too sharp and you bang your head against the control board, you feel your hearing start to dwindle first. You blink over and over, trying to stop it but your head is pounding and you can barely keep your eyes open. You slump against the board, you call out for help for anything and you hear the panic, muffled voice of Rocky call back. Your name is yelled over and over again until you feel nothing at all.
You felt no regret.
Not when Eva Stratt thanked you for your sacrifice. Not when the doctors came in and prepared the injection that would put you under. Not even when the needle pierced your skin. You only did, just for a second, when you heard your name. When his voice called through the room, faint but desperate. It was muffled, your vision growing thinner and thinner, fading at the edges. The voice just grew quieter and quieter. A hand gripped tightly onto yours, shaking you more and more until you felt nothing at all.
You wake up gasping for air, shooting up from your bed trying to focus your vision, as everything begins to come back to you. Ryland and Rocky and the sample on Tau Ceti E. The panic feels worse the second time around. You move quickly, looking around, when you see Ryland asleep on the bed beside yours. You cautiously move towards him, hand gently running through his hair, your other moving to his chest. He was breathing and you feel a sense of calm wash over you at the fact.
Then you realize that it is quiet, much too quiet and you move quickly out of the room and into the halls. Your head still pounded and the running made you dizzy but you pushed through to get to the main room. Then you see it, the splotches on the ground all leading to a small figure crumbled on the floor. You rush quickly, so quickly, dropping to the floor to meet your alien roommate. You move your hands over him, feeling no sense of movement. Your heart beat won't steady, your breathing is ragged as you move to pick him up. You move him gently, as careful as you can back to the area he had built himself, back in his own atmosphere. And you knew then what he had done, what he had risked to make sure Ryland and you survived. You stand there for a while, watching him…just waiting.
“You gotta pull through, okay buddy?” you speak as if he can hear you, words trembling as they escape you. “You are the smartest part of this team”.
You don’t know how long it is until you feel a hand on your shoulder, your head snapping and your body only calming when you realize it's him. He's alive, he is okay. And you pull your arms around him just as quick, head pressed to his chest listening as his heart beats in a steady rhythm. He does the same, arms wrapped, holding tightly for as long as he could. There was just silence, no words big enough, his head just gently rested atop of yours like it always found its way to. A gentle kiss placed on your forehead, a rhythm of his hand moving up and down your back.
You pull away, you look at each other and just nod. You fall back into that familiar pattern, no words needed as you move around the lab organzing all the samples and getting it ready for Rocky. So close…you were so close and you would all make it. You had to.
A few nights pass, the two of you moving all the samples of Taumoeba into the tanks Rocky had crafted. He would be so excited.
You are sitting at the desk when Ryland comes to join you, sitting beside you. It was like this most nights, most nights the two of you wouldn’t even say a word.
But he spoke this time, he spoke with a hope that had not left him just yet, “what color would we paint our walls?”
You laugh at the simplicity of the question, “you asking me to move in Grace?”
“I thought that was established,” he shrugged, a small smile as laid his head against the desk, you moving to do the same. Heads laid on the table, the two of you just faced the other, smiling. “I mean, we have been living in this space tube for a while already”.
“I gotta think about it, the wall color is a big decision,” you humor him back, let yourself believe that you would still make it home. “We got some time though”.
The silence is normal now, almost more normal than any sound.
“Do you think he is just sleeping?” you speak up, wanting some sort of answer, one you knew you wouldn’t be able to get.
“He sleeps like a rock,” he tries to joke, but it falls back into the silence. He sits up again, running his hand down your back again, you leaning into any comfort you could get. “He is strong, he is gonna pull through”.
Neither of you knew that, but you would choose to believe it cause it made it all easier. None of this was easy.
“I don’t like this,” you let yourself be selfish, be completely truthful and it felt good to not pretend you were alright. “I hate not knowing what is gonna happen next. Not knowing if any of this will even work”.
He just nodded, looking down at you, your head still laid against the table, looking off into the distance.
“I used to think this was gonna be simple” he admitted. “We collect the data, send it home and then we wait for…”
He trailed off, the thought too heavy, to ugly.
“But now it isn’t that simple anymore,” you finished for him and he just nodded. The two of you had a sense of understanding, one where you could say no words at all and completely understand how the other was feeling.
“It’s him,” he added. “It’s…you. I just want it all, I want it all with you and it seems so close”.
Your heart ached at his words. You sat up, running your hands over your face.
“I don’t know if I even have the answers anymore,” he admitted. “I feel like I am lying when I talk, because I don’t know if there even is one”.
The silence wraps itself around the two of you again and you want nothing more than to just be as close as possible to him. You reach for his hand, and he just as quickly grabs it, his hand wrapped tight around yours.
“Do you think about what it will be like after this…if we pull this off?” you spoke up, looking at your two hands intertwined, rested on the table.
“Constantly,” he answered, and you couldn’t hold it in anymore as the emotions bubbled over. Tears fell from your eyes, as your body began to shake. He moved quickly, coming to stand behind your seat, wrapping his arms around you. That’s just how he was, he was your stable force.
“What do you think it will be like?” you asked, quiet through shaky breaths. “If we get back home”.
“It will be everything I have ever wanted,” he said, like it was obvious, like it was so simple. And you just held him tighter, committing the feeling to memory.
“What Rocky miss?”
The words startle you so much you fall out of your chair and Ryland just laughs and you laugh. God you laugh so hard it hurts, so hard you know your stomach will ache for days and you hope it does. Because it would be a reminder of how somehow Ryland and you had survived this all.
“Rocky does not get reaction from friends,” he spoke, his familiar confused tone.
Through laughing you sit up, just moving slightly to reach him and throwing your arms around him. Ryland does the same, the two of you holding the alien in his enclosure, so tight, you didn’t want to let go.
“We are going home Rocky,” you spoke, head still buried into the embrace. “We are going to get you home”.
And everything felt right, right there with a rock and a man you loved. Right there in space, surrounded by the beauty of the stars that you had always yearned for. But you had found a new purpose, a purpose to get a new friend home and return back to yours to save it.
“Rocky see mate again?” he asked, and the question made your heart ache because you could say yes. And Rocky would spin into a chaos of excitement at the answer, immediately asking what work still needed to be done. The craziest part was nothing, you just had to load the Taumoeba on his ship and get the extra astrophage. It waas bittersweet and you were thankful for that.
Much celebration filled the night, the projection room filled with fireworks and loud music. The two of you taught Rocky how to dance even if he found it dumb.. And that next morning when you said goodbye, a piece of you would leave with the alien creature.
In the tunnel, you stood by the glass formation he had built. He was already on his side of the barrier, staring at the two of you. What words could you even say?
You stood there for a while before moving to place your hand against the glass like you had the first time.
“Thank you,” you spoke, two words, the only words that could ever come close to being enough.
“I guess…I guess we should get going?” Ryland spoke, but you felt glued to the ground. Because this was it, that was the last time you would see him, separated by the galaxy.
“You are bravest humans Rocky has ever met,” and the words hit you hard and you smile because Ryland had rubbed off on him. “It’s joke, you are only humans Rocky has met”.
You smile wider, a small laugh escaping you. You could not be sad, not when you had somehow accomplished the impossible.
“You spent too much time with Grace,” you joked back and Rocky only made a sound in protest.
“Not enough,” he said and you pressed your hand once again to the glass, his meeting yours.
“Not enough,” you agreed, Ryland moving to stand behind you, hand resting on your shoulder.
“Don’t forget about us,” he spoke, hiding the shake in his voice with a cough.
“Rocky never forget,” and you just smiled, turning to meet Rylands eyes, them the same as yours, watery and overwhelmed with emotion.
“Goodbye Rocky,” he spoke up, and the alien once again protested.
“In Erid we do not say goodbye,” he corrected. “We do this”
The rocky creature began to rub one arm over the other and the two of you just copied. It was easier, you did not have the words in you to say ‘goodbye’. You moved slowly back towards the door of your ship, sending one final glance back to the creature who just watched the two of you. And just like Ryland did, as the door to the ship closed, through the window you saw him give his version of a thumbs up. You smile, looking at Ryland who looked at you. It was going to be okay.
The two of you moved in a silence through the ship until you reached the dormitory.
“Back to sleep?” you asked, unsure of what was next, four years of a journey ahead.
“I guess so,” he said, a hesitation in his words.
The thought of sleeping again sat heavy in yoru chest, the fear of forgetting it all again. You couldn’t, you could not forget any of this.
“One night?” you asked, and he turned in curiosity to look at you. “Let's sleep on it for a night”.
And he nodded, the two of you making your way to your individual beds. You stood there, pulling back the sheets when you hear his voice saying your name. You looked uo to meet his eyes.
“Stay with me tonight?” he asked, gesturing to his bed. “Please”.
You heard it in his tone, the fear, the want to be close and you knew you wanted it to. You moved across the room, a new sense of intimacy greeting the two of you. The bed was small, but you made it work as you climbed into it, adjusting to fit the two of you comfortably. His arms reached around you, pulling your back to be pressed against his chest and you buried yourself in comfort. There, in the silence, two bodies pressed together. Your breathing fell into a similar rhythm and you could feel his eyes on the back of your head. And then you turned, meeting his face, scanning his. And before you could make the move, he made his, his lips meeting yours in a rhythm of longing and you melted right into it.
It was built up energy, after days upon days on this ship, after years prior of beating around the bush about what the two of you were. And you needed it, your body carved the feeling. You grew closer and closer, the kiss growing deeper as you moved to sit on top of him. His hands reached up to run through your hair, slightly gripping onto it and pulling you any closer he possibly could. You ran your hand up and down his arm before finding a place cup his jaw. There did not need to be words in that moment, the two of you communicating in a new way.
A quiet breathy groan escaped him, one that sent heat all up your body, and you made it your new mission to pull the sound from him again.
“You are so perfect,” he mumbled against your lips. “So, so perfect”.
“I love you,” you got out in between kisses, in the moments where you gasped for air before going back.
He sat up, you still sitting on him as he gently picked you up to move you on your back, him now above you. He held himself up above you, reaching to brush a stray piece of hair from your face. And he just looked at you, in a way no one had ever before, so intently, looking at every part of your face as if you were his favorite painting in a museum.
“I love you so much,” he spoke, for only you, so quiet. God you loved him too and you would say it a million times, as many times as you could…even if that would never be enough.
Then, as if on cue, as if the universe wanted to keep you apart the alarm began blare. He jumped up to attention, the sound triggered a panic that both of you shared. You looked at him, him at you. He quickly leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your forehead and then gave you a nod.
You moved quickly, joining him as he rushed down the hall to the control room. You quickly behind him, watching as he scanned the screens.
You notice it first, the other screen flashing the words FOREIGN PRESENSE DETECTED.
“The lab,” you breathed out, looking at the screen.
“The Taumoeba,” he finished for you, jumping out of the chair just as quickly,.He moved down the hall at the same fast paced, the adrenaline pumping through the two of you. It hit you quickly as you looked at the cylinders on the wall.
“They are leaking,” he observed, turning to look at you and the realization of what that meant hit you like a train.
“Rocky,” you turned to him in a panic and he just gave you back a dazed nod. And it was there, right in that moment that you knew. Ryland and you were always meant for unexpected. That a normal life wasn’t what either of you ever needed, you just needed each other. You needed a good friend who had given you both so much.
“Rocky,” you repeated. And he looked at your, pleading eyes, as he too knew what this meant. “We gotta go back for him”.
And you knew what that meant, that meant no going home, it meant leaving it all forever. What even was home? It was people, the people who carry you through life, lifting you up in celebration in your best moments and holding you together in the bad. And when you look at Ryland, you see it so clearly. Your home was not that dingy apartment, it was not San Francisco, it was anywhere the two of you were together.
He reached for your hand, and you grabbed it back, standing there together looking at the wall of samples.
“You want to do this?” he asked.
“We need to do this,” you replied, the most sure you had ever been.
He just nodded at you, that smile you never wanted to forget. Tomorrow you would wake up and you would be traveling back towards Rocky’s ship. It would take weeks and you would watch the days pass by, filled with Ryland and you arranging the samples to send back to Earth. And it would be overwhelming all over again. But for now, you were with Ryland Grace and you were alive. You were wearing an alien shirt and spending late nights in a lab on a ship beside a man with a beautiful smile and titled glasses. Floating absently among the stars and you felt like you have never felt so at home, because you were finally home.
Summary: Ryland Grace is your both your professor and your doctoral academic advisor. You are his student. Which meant that being anything more than that was soooo unbelievably off limits. …Right?
Word Count: 7k
Warnings: 18+! SMUT! MDNI! P in V sex; inappropriate use of a microscope; also inappropriate use of biology terms (i definitely got something wrong); shameless use of the professor x student trope through reader is a grad student and very much of consenting age; the glasses stay ON during sex!!
GIF from owenhcrper
“Come on, guys. The final exam is next week and I really don’t want to have to fail anyone this time around…again. So let’s show a little more initiative! Yay, cellular anatomy!”
He lightly pumped his fists in the air in an almost convincing cheer. You think it was meant to be encouraging but, looking around at your classmates, they didn’t seem to get the hint. They returned your dorky professor’s enthusiasm with glazed over expressions and the occasional monotonous click of laptop keys signifying they were likely working on another task all together instead of paying attention.
You couldn’t exactly blame them. Dr. Ryland Grace’s courses were among the hardest in the university’s advanced molecular biology track. Rumor has it that his exams have made students literally drop out of the program before. It wasn’t exactly his fault, the subject was enough to melt anyone’s brain on its own, but Dr. Grace made up for it by being an amazing professor.
He was always incredibly engaged, exceptionally witty, and, overall, just seemed to genuinely care for the material. You couldn’t deny that you definitely felt the insurmountable pressure of the high expectations he placed on his students, but something about his passion just…spoke to you. It was like he breathed life back into the subject that you chose to make your career all those years ago.
Admittedly, you had been a fan of Dr. Grace’s work since you were in undergrad, opting to enroll in this university’s program for even the mere, microscopic chance, that you could study under him. As luck would have it, he was accepting new doctorate students the year you were admitted.
Pursuing a PhD in molecular biology was daunting enough, but you learned fast under Dr. Grace’s caring hand. He made it seem like you were the only student he had ever taught, with the way his eyes lit up at your ideas, doing everything his lab’s budget could afford to make them a reality.
Over the past three years of your thesis study, you were shyly keen to admit you and Dr. Grace had grown fairly close to one another. After all, he strangely decided to stop taking students after he signed on to mentor your study, which meant that you always had his undivided attention He was by far the best teacher you had ever had, which is why it made you feel all the more guilty that you also…had not been paying attention to his question.
“Okay.” Dr. Grace let his shoulders slump in a sigh. He looked as exasperated as his students. He ran his fingers through his messy blond strands and readjusted his glasses. “Tell you what. If someone can answer this last question correctly, I’ll let you all out early. I know it’s almost finals and my exam isn’t the only one you all have to worry about, so you guys just do me this one last favor and we can call it a day”.
Your ears, along with the rest of your classmates, perked up instantly. You heard the faint sounds of students adjusting themselves in their seats as they leaned in, eager to earn this rare reprieve from classes. Dr. Grace smirked and clapped his hands together. “Alright, signs of life! So, tell me, what are the three major types of lipids that make up cellular membranes?”
This time, when you looked around, your classmates were deep in thought. Some of them looked like the act of searching for the information needed to answer the question physically pained them to work through. Not you though. This was something that you had already gone over with Dr. Grace for your research proposal write up. He had coached you through cellular membrane structure semesters ago. You raised your hand, albeit, hesitantly.
Dr. Grace had bitten his lip in anticipation looking around at his students in expectation. When his eyes met yours, his gaze softened. He nodded, waiting for your answer patiently.
“Uh, I believe they are phospholipids, glycolipids, and sterols?” You knew it was the correct answer but you still held your breath, and Dr. Grace’s stare for that matter, waiting on his confirmation. Something about the intense blue of his eyes just seemed to make coherent thoughts impossible, even when it came to material that you knew inside and out.
Dr. Grace nodded emphatically and threw up his hands. “We have a winner! Excellent work! That’s exactly right,” he exclaimed. You heard a few small cheers from your classmates in the back, who had already started backing their bags. Dr Grace retreated behind the lecturer’s stand and started to pack up his things as well. “Okay you all, a promise is a promise, you’re free to go.” The few students who had yet to pack up started doing so feverishly, as if they were afraid Dr. Grace would take back his seemingly merciful act of kindness.
Dr. Grace shouted to the back of the room as students shuffled out the door. “I will see you all bright and early next week for the final. Remember that you will need to know ALL of the protein pathways of the cell membrane to be able to answer the extra credit question! Don’t try to name only one and expect me to give you full points…” He smiled and cast his gaze down to his laptop, turning off its connection to the projector that had his meticulously detailed cell diagram thrown up on the lecture hall’s ginormous screen.
You finished shoving your books into your bag and signaled to your classmates that you would catch up to them later. You had to ask your advisor a question about finalizing a date for your dissertation. It was a little over two weeks away and not knowing all the details was driving you insane. Or maybe it was just the thought of having to present all of your research findings to the very man that basically invented the topic you were researching.
You had chosen to take an experimental approach to Dr. Grace’s hypothesis that life didn’t require water to survive. You had found some pretty compelling evidence in his favor among local bacterial life, but the thought of explaining his own research findings to the man himself had your stomach in knots. Or maybe it was just that Dr. Grace seemed to have your stomach in knots all on his own the last couple of months.
You hated to admit it, but you had developed something of a schoolgirl level crush on your professor. Sure it was somewhat embarrassing, but could anybody blame you? He was unbelievably charming, so ridiculously intelligent it was almost intimidating, funny, passionate, sincere, and…yeah.
He was pretty fucking hot too.
Everytime you walked into his lab, with him in one of those stupid science pun t-shirts that seemed to always be unfairly tight on him, leaving none of his muscular build to the imagination, you felt like your knees were going to give out from under you. Plus, he always seemed to stand right on top of you as he examined your findings through the microscope with you, which was not helpful at all. His forearms would often brush your side as he adjusted the lens settings, sending almost painful shockwaves through your body. Although, it was probably the glasses that sent you over the edge. He always seemed to look straight through your collected exterior you worked so hard to put forth when he peered at you over the rims that delicately balanced on the sharp bridge of his nose.
Who are you kidding? It was definitely the glasses that sealed your fate.
But that was inappropriate! Dr. Grace is your professor, your advisor for fuck’s sake. Nothing more!
……Right?
Yes, oh my god! Jesus, yes, of course he was just your professor. What were you even thinking?
You snapped out of your thoughts and realized that you were soon to be the last student standing awkwardly in the lecture hall. With a grunt, you gathered up your bag full of textbooks and lab equipment and shakily headed up to Dr. Grace, who was still inspecting his laptop up at the lecture podium.
He looked up from whatever he was poring over at the sound of your footsteps. He grinned at you and crossed his arms, leaning his hip onto the podium.
“Hey! There’s my favorite future doctor of microbiology. Got a nice ring to it, huh? Excellent job on that question, by the way.” He stared at you expectantly, though you know this was just another clever ruse to relieve the stress he knows he’s been putting you under. You laughed softly and cast your gaze to the floor at his praise, heat moving impossibly fast up your neck and onto your cheeks.
“You ready for the big day?” Dr. Grace asked, inquisitively, referring to your thesis presentation. His question quickly put out the flame that was building in your core and reminded you of the anxiety-inducing task you had ahead of you.
You met his eyes again. “Yeah! Totally…” you cringed, not even believing your own words. “Well, almost. I was just hoping we could talk about the dissertation date? I know you’re super busy and you’re going to have a lot of exams to grade and probably a lot of undergraduate papers too…and that I’ve technically already finished my research, really just need to finish writing the presentation slides, but I just really was..” the words seemed to spill out of you faster and faster by the second. Somewhere, in the back of your brain you willed yourself to stop babbling like an idiot but that thought never seemed to bring itself out of your subconscious and make itself useful. Dr. Grace looked at you back and forth hurriedly, trying his best to follow your words, before putting his hands on your shoulders and chuckling.
“Woah, woah, easy tiger. Slow down.” His grip on your shoulders tightened, causing you to freeze at the sudden contact. God, his hands were firm. You eased up a bit under his touch.
“Don’t get yourself so worked up. You are going to do fantastic. I know you are. That committee won’t even know what hit them,” Dr. Grace said. As he spoke, his thumbs worked their way up and down on your shoulders, almost as if they were trying to etch his words onto your skin so you would believe them. It did the trick though, you exhaled a bit before Dr. Grace continued.
“I know we have a couple of things to wrap up. Tell you what, I have to run to a faculty meeting in a bit but later tonight, how about you meet me in the lab and we can go over your data one last time, okay? Would that make you feel better?” Dr. Grace had sunk down on his knees a bit to be at eye level with you. His words warmly rushed over you, soothing your worried mind. With your thoughts a bit clearer, you hadn’t even noticed how close the two of you were. He was basically holding your body in place with his hands and his face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath as it fanned over your cheeks. He seemed to notice your close proximity as well as he dropped his hands from your shoulders suddenly and cleared his throat.
You almost sighed at the loss of contact but caught yourself at the last second. Instead you said, “That would be amazing Dr. Grace, thank you.” He lightened a bit at your agreement. “Great! I’ll probably be in there at around 8:00? Feel free to drop by then.” You nodded and waved him off as he exited the hall.
You were definitely in for a long night.
--
You found yourself pacing outside of Dr. Grace’s lab at 8 o’clock on the dot, mentally coaching yourself to go in. Why were you so nervous, even? Dr. Grace was your advisor, you had been working with him for months, this is just an ordinary lab meeting like you’ve done with him countless times before. Before you could lose your courage, you swung open the door and immediately stopped in your tracks.
Dr. Grace was positioned at the centermost lab table, carefully holding up a glass beaker to the glow of the moonlight that was being cast in through the lab’s window blinds. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he transferred a clear liquid into the beaker with a pipette dropper. He was in another one of his classic science t-shirts, his arm positioned almost at a perfect 90 degree angle holding up the beaker, which exposed every curve and vein of his bicep for your hungry eyes to devour. Bright, blue, latex gloves were pulled tight over hands that were a stark contrast to his firm arms, instead, skillfully holding the beaker in place to not spill any liquid. His glasses were knocked slightly askew on his face as he wore protective goggles over his eyes, but to you, that just made him all the more endearing.
Your eyes roved over his form, rigid and unwavering with the confidence of a man precisely in his element. Even though there was nobody else in the room except for you two, his presence seemed to demand attention. His fellow faculty members may have never paid much attention to his work outside of mindlessly recommending his lectures to their students, but, god, would you never get tired of marveling at this genius of a man. Both because he was a leading mind in your field and also because he was insanely attractive while he worked.
Dr. Grace looked up from whatever he was studying as he heard the door close softly behind you. He greeted you with a smile. “There you are, right on time as always. I would’ve expected nothing less. I’m just about wrapped up with this. Why don’t you grab your slides from the back and get set up while I put this away and then we can get started. Okay, sweetheart?”
Your heart felt like it dropped into your shoes. Dr. Grace had turned his back to you as he busied himself with something near the sink which gave you some time to process what you had just heard.
Sweetheart? That was definitely a first. I mean sure, you’ve had teachers call you that before, usually just in an endearing, almost parental way when you were younger. But something about the way he said it left you reeling. It felt…charged. Almost like he was dangling the term of endearment over both of your heads, knowing that there was nothing either of you could do to act on it. You replayed his voice saying it over and over again in your head to convince yourself you didn’t imagine it, when Dr. Grace spoke again.
“You alright over there?” He had now taken the goggles off and was wiping his regular glasses on the bottom of his t-shirt. He placed them back on carefully and put his hands on his hips, his t-shirt tightly coating his broad chest like a second skin. He raised his eyebrows at you pointedly, waiting on your answer. It was then that you finally noticed you hadn’t moved an inch.
You choked out a laugh. “Yeah! Yeah, of course.” His eyebrows drew together in questioning. You smiled weakly and hurried to grab your slides.
--
The next two hours were full of calculations and write-ups that made your brain feel like it was leaking out of your ears. You and Dr. Grace worked silently and diligently, double and triple checking your work to make sure you were prepared for your dissertation. It was honestly impressive, the way the two of you moved in tandem, re-examining slides under the microscope and writing up the conclusions on the large whiteboard at the center of the room. You two seemed to glide in and out of your respective areas with ease, Dr. Grace stopping every so often to check in and make sure that you didn’t need help with anything. Busying yourself with your work did seem to help quiet the distracting thoughts you kept having about your professor. Instead of Dr. Grace making you dizzy, it was the goddamn microscope whose viewfinder just didn’t seem to want to work with you that had your vision spinning.
You groaned in frustration and threw your arms up onto the lab counter, dramatically flopping your head onto them with a huff. Dr. Grace spun around from his designated place at the whiteboard. Your eyes were so weak with exhaustion you could barely keep them open anymore but you were able to make out that he somehow had three different dry erase markers in his possession, one tucked into the top of his ear, one in his hand that he was currently writing with, and one clenched between his teeth. He looked downright sinful as he plucked the marker from his mouth, a few drops of saliva following his fingers from where the marker met his lips. Between the microscope, your report writing, and Dr. Grace’s incessant need to unknowingly drive you crazy with want, you were certain you wouldn’t even make it to your presentation day in one piece.
“Aw, what’s wrong?” He chuckled softly. “Lens settings giving you trouble again?”
“I don’t even know why they make the knobs this sensitive. It’s like the big science companies actually want to cause me anguish and despair every waking moment of my academic career,” you whined sarcastically. Dr. Grace walked over to you, tilting his head with a small smile at your frustrated state. “Do you want me to show you a trick I learned in grad school? It saved my life a couple of times when I was back in your shoes.”
You bobbed your head up and down excitedly. Anything to make your life easier right now was welcomed with open arms. Speaking of arms, your excitement almost died in your throat as you felt Dr. Grace’s hand on the small of your back, guiding you up and back to the microscope ever so gently. He positioned you in front of the microscope with his body directly behind you. There seemed to be only an inch of space between the two of you. One wrong move and your back would be flush with his chest as he caged you in.
You felt like all of the air just got punched out of your lungs.This was too much. It was one thing for you to admire Dr. Grace from afar, knowing that there wasn’t a chance in hell of anything happening between the two of you. It was another when he had you literally locked in place, his rock solid figure giving you no chance of escape.
This was real. This was painstakingly, agonizingly, undeniably real.
It felt like your world was crashing down, your thoughts empty except for your goddamn professor's frustratingly lean body behind you that almost had you wiping your salivating mouth with your shirt sleeve. I mean seriously. A microbiology professor has no business being that toned. Your breath hitched in your throat and you cast your view down to the microscope, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand.
Except, Dr. Grace wasn’t letting you off that easily.
Dr. Grace delicately grabbed your right wrist and placed your hand on the fine adjustment knob. Except he didn’t stop there. His hand remained on yours, his fingers were ghosting your own, guiding them into exactly the right position. You felt a slight pressure in the pads of your fingers as he pressed down, swiveling the knob ever so slightly. He nudged your shoulder with his own, prompting you to take a look into the microscope.
You moved your face down into the viewfinder, placing the bridge of your nose underneath the ocular lens. Dr. Grace followed suit, leaning his head down closer to you so that it was just next to yours. This caused the very top of his chest to connect with your shoulderblades and you tensed. This could not be happening right now.
His words, a deep whisper that was very unlike his typical teacher voice, almost startled you as they were uttered so close to your ear.
“You see, the key is to take two fingers,” Dr. Grace said intensely, “and slowly–”
He lifted your pointer and middle finger along with his own, placing your middle finger on the coarse adjustment knob in addition, and slid his fingers over yours so the knob rolled heavily under the both of you.
“--work both the knobs at the same time,” Dr. Grace finished. He leaned his head back and watched you carefully, making sure you understood his instructions.
You could feel his gaze, hard and unrelenting, so you refused to look up from your slide and meet his eyes. You were almost panting with need now. The lab was usually sterile and cold, but from where you were standing it felt like you were in an inferno. You had never been this physically close to Dr. Grace before and it was setting your insides on fire. Part of you wanted to snap out of his grasp and run into the hall before you did anything you’d seriously regret. The other half of you was dying to find out what would happen if you didn’t. Pushed the boundaries a little bit. Fought fire with fire.
You couldn’t.
Could you?
You scolded your mind for wandering so far away from the task at hand and returned your thoughts to the microscope.Oh, would you look at that, Dr. Grace got the image of your slide looking pristine through the viewfinder on his very first try.
You internally scowled. It also wasn’t helpful that his academic prowess was a major turn on.
You clenched your legs together to relieve some of the pressure that had settled there, all the while, Dr. Grace still kept you in between his arms. His hands were now flat against the table, no longer guiding you. By all intents and purposes, he had absolutely no reason to still be standing so close to you but there he was, trapping you against him.
“See it now?” Dr. Grace questioned. He was referring to the absolutely gorgeous cell that was now blown up in scale through the viewfinder thanks to his help. You had to admit, you never got tired of that feeling. The feeling of staring at actual life, smaller than the tip of your pinky finger, teeming with blues and pinks and purples of the various organelles inside of it.
“I do. It’s beautiful, Dr. Grace,” you admitted. You turned your head around on your shoulder and met his eyes. He really was close to you. Truly, you could step a quarter of a foot forward and your foreheads would be pressed together in a forbidden meeting. Something to never be seen by another’s eyes. Yet, standing here, almost fully enveloped by Dr. Grace, it didn’t feel as wrong as you thought it would.
His gaze dropped down to your lips briefly. It was quick, but you noticed. He met your eyes again and you could have sworn you saw his pupils dilate in real time. The moonlight coming in through the windows earlier was now mixed with the soft glow of the campus lamplights that lined the walkways below the lab floor. The yellow lights mixed with Dr. Grace’s blue eyes, swirled a supernova of color around in his irises.
And him? He looked transfixed on you, as if you had hung the stars in the sky.
Could you do this? No. You were sleep-deprived and not thinking straight. Except your body had other ideas.You leaned in slowly, your eyes trained on Dr. Grace’s soft lips. Your hands had a mind of their own, coming up to almost cup his cheeks, like they knew you wanted this, knew you wanted to cross this boundary from which there was no coming back from.
They were never able to reach their destination.
Dr. Grace jerked back from you suddenly and retreated into the corner of the lab, pacing, his hands thrown up in defeat, folded together to support the back of his neck as he let out a wavering breath.
“Oh my god I-,” He started to spiral. “I wasn’t, I didn’t-”
He caught your eyes and immediately looked away, as if the simple act of looking at you was a punishable offense. You retreated into yourself, horrified that you would even think to act on your feelings. It was a dumb move, so ridiculously stupid, that you were afraid you just cost yourself your advisor, hell, your entire academic career.
But Dr. Grace wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was running his hands through his hair feverishly. “I’m so sorry, god, I don’t know what I was doing I-”
He whispered to himself in a tone barely audible enough for you to hear. “She’s your student, Ryland, what are you thinking?”
You realized this wasn’t about you. This was about him. He was trying to keep himself in check. Not do something he would regret. The thought that he might be having the same ideas you were having, filled you with a confidence you had no business having.
You slowly walked over to him and he flinched when he realized how close you had gotten.
“Dr. Grace?” you whispered.
Dr. Grace stilled as if your voice snapped some invisible thread that was holding him together.
“Your hands are shaking–here let me help you,” you picked up his hands with your own, interlocking your fingers, half expecting him to recoil from your touch, but he didn’t. “I, I don’t know what to say,” Dr. Grace strained. “I’m so sorry, you’re my best student, I have no idea what came over me.” He sounded wrecked. Like you had stolen all of the air from his lungs. It was in that moment that you made a decision. One that was going to seal your fate either for better or for the worst. You took a deep inhale.
In one deadly move, you surged forward and captured his lips into your own. You felt Dr. Grace tense up immediately but melt into your touch as you tangled your hands into his blond strands. His hands fell onto your hips like they were always made to be there. It was a searing kiss, with both of you putting your entire body weight into the other, as if this was the last chance that you were going to get to make this mistake. He pulled you closer to him, pressing his hands into you so hard you were sure he was going to leave a mark.
You broke apart, breathless. Dr. Grace squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his forehead onto yours. He shook his head. “I am your professor,” Dr. Grace choked out. “I’m responsible for you, I could lose my job, my title, my reputation,” It sounded like he was trying to make a list of all of the reasons this was a bad idea but you didn’t care. The only person he was trying to convince at this point was himself. He cupped your face in his hands and scanned your expression.
“I need you to tell me to stop.”
Silence.
“God, I am in so much trouble.”
He drew you into another kiss and you happily reciprocated. It felt like fireworks were being lit off in your chest. Whatever you had imagined, this was a million times better. He was somehow both gentle and rough at the same time, trying to devour you like you were his last meal. He ducked his head down into your neck and took your skin between his teeth, nipping at the soft flesh.
“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me” he breathed out. He was working his way up your neck, kissing the exposed flesh as he went.
“Every time,” Kiss. “You talk,” Kiss. “All I can think about,” Kiss. “Is your mouth on mine.”
He walked you backwards, his mouth never leaving yours. Eventually your back hit the lab counter. It stung a bit but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was getting that t-shirt off of his frame and onto the floor. You were dying to see what was under those stupid science pun prints.
You moaned into his mouth and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, signalling to him what you wanted. He leaned back a bit, arms still encircling your waist, and smirked. “Yeah? You want this off?” he questioned knowingly. You nodded.
“Come on, use your words. You want my shirt off?” he asked.
Oh, he was going to kill you. “Yes, Dr. Grace,” you answered, obediently. Dr. Grace’s eyes almost rolled into the back of his head. He groaned. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” you asked. “That thing with your voice,” Dr. Grace said. “Calling me doctor all sweet like you do, you know you can call me Ryland.” You tugged on the hem of his shirt once more. “Okay, Ryland. Shirt. Off. Now,” you demanded.
“Yes, ma’am,” he snickered. He made quick work of grabbing the bottom of his shirt and ripping it over his head. He made to pull you back into another kiss but you stopped him just short of contact. You pushed him back slightly, leaning back and drinking him in. You couldn’t even believe what you were seeing. Ryland was fucking ripped.
The evening light highlighted his abs just right, where you could take in every curve and detail, as his muscles seemed to strain against absolutely nothing. You ran your hands down his stomach and he shivered. His stomach intricately curved down into a sharp V that was so defined, you had to do a double take to convince yourself it was real. “Who knew microbiology was such a grueling subject?” you joked.
Dr. Grace laughed. “Hey, I personally think that understanding cellular adaptation and atrophy is more difficult than any workout.” You shook your head and smiled. Even when he was hot and heavy, he still took every opportunity to make a science joke. You wouldn’t have it any other way.
This time it was you who pulled him back into a kiss. He stole your move and tugged on the bottom of your blouse. You untangled your hands from his hair and began to undo the top buttons. Ryland followed your hands with his mouth as you worked your way down the shirt. With each inch of skin that was exposed to him, Ryland placed an open-mouth kiss there, leaving wet patches along your chest. As you reached the last button, Ryland’s mouth stayed on your navel but his arms snaked up to help you abandon the offending fabric..
He looked up at you from where he was perched on his knees, his chin on your stomach, those sweet blue eyes still in awe of you. That this was happening. That you weren’t something out of his wildest dreams. His right index finger toyed with the button on your pants. “Can I take these off, sweetheart?” Your eyes widened. Ryland grinned. “I’m going to take that as a yes with your eyes, now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.”
“Yes”, you rasped. He wasted no time pulling both your pants and your underwear down in one fell swoop, nearly knocking you off balance, but, of course, Ryland was there to catch you as you fell. He steadied you by digging both his palms into the back of your thighs, palming your flesh. He stood up, hands not leaving you for a second, meeting your lips again.
“Jump,” he stated simply. Without a second thought you hoisted yourself up by digging your hands into his shoulders and felt his strong hands grab the underside of your thighs, lifting you onto the lab table. The coldness of the counter was a stark contrast to the heat that was coursing through your body; it almost made you wince. You made to return Ryland’s favor and undo his jeans, but he caught your hands in his.
“Not yet, I want to make you feel good first,” he said, lips now working their way up the side of your face and under your earlobe.. “Is that alright?” he asked. You shuddered as the breath of his words met your skin. His hands had left their spots on your thighs and fluttered over your torso, tracing the outline of your ribs on your skin.
“O-okay,” you stuttered. It felt like your entire body was numb, but also so sensitive to every touch that Ryland gave you, all at once. Ryland leaned back and took your naked form in again. “Thatta girl,” the words seemed to drip off his tongue. He tapped your knees in encouragement and dropped to his knees again, parting your legs gently. He met your eyes quickly, a silent ask for permission which you readily granted.
With that, he kissed the insides of your thighs, working his way inwards from the inside of your knees. As he got closer to the spot where you needed him most, you felt the sharp edges of his glasses rims knock into your inner thighs. Ryland leaned back on his calves. “Sorry, sweetheart. Let me get these out of our way,” he plucked his glasses off of his face and made to place them on the counter before you interjected.
“No!” you startled yourself by how quickly you responded. Ryland looked up at you, puzzled. However, he paused where he was at, glasses still in hand. You sheepishly smiled. “Keep them on. Please.” You internally grimaced, embarrassed by your begging. However, after three years of pining after your professor, you were not passing up the thought of looking down to his glasses-framed face as he fucking ate you out.
Ryland smiled smugly. “Got a thing for the glasses, huh?” He placed them delicately back on his face. “Tell me,” he said, “Is it the daring Clark Kent vibe that gets you going or the wizened academic look that you like more?” He gestured to his face, mostly jokingly, but you could sense there was a genuine question somewhere in there. You leaned down and pushed the glasses further up his nose. “What can I say, I’ve got a thing for hot, nerdy, men,” you replied.
He laughed. “I’ll take it.”
It felt natural, the progression. His kisses felt earned, given with adoration, and he made sure that not an inch of you went untouched. After what felt like a million light years of him paying attention to everywhere except where you wanted, he licked a long, wet, downright disrespectful stripe up your folds. You moaned instantly and threw your head back. You didn’t even have any time to recover before he dove in again, his tongue swirling around your clit and sucking gently.
He didn’t know all of the spots to make you squirm right off the bat, but god was he a quick study. Whenever his tongue brushed a spot that tore a sound out of you, he made sure to hit that spot again. Over and over again. He seemed determined to get as many sounds out of you as he could, and you happily obliged. Not like you had much of a choice in the matter.
Fuck, he was good, you thought.
“Yeah?” Ryland asked from between your thighs. “You think so?”
You hadn’t realized you said that part outloud. You were too overwhelmed with bliss to even care. “Fuck yes, Ryland. You feel so fucking good, oh my-”
A finger being pushed into your folds cuts you off instantly. After that, there truly was no hope for you. He set a punishing pace, pumping his fingers in and out while using his tongue to get to all of the spots that his fingers couldn’t reach while preoccupied. You clenched around his fingers and you felt him tense as he jut his hips forward involuntarily. “Ryland,” you gasped. “I’m gonna-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Ryland picked up his pace further, if that was even possible.
“Come on, sweetheart. You can do it, let go,” you heard Ryland say, even though his voice sounded muffled and far away. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking hard, and the coil in your lower stomach finally broke. A loud moan tore out of you and you bit the back of your hand to silence yourself. You were still in the campus lab after all. Euphoria washed over you, from head to toe, and your legs shook with the impact. Ryland’s hand came up to steady you as he slowed slightly and worked you through it.
“There you go, just like that. I got you,” he coaxed gently. You moved the palm that you were biting down your face as the waves subsided. You couldn’t help it, you collapsed back on the table. Ryland resumed his ritual of kissing up your navel, to the center of your sternum, in between your collarbones, and finally, standing up, to your lips. You returned his kiss, although rather weakly.
“You okay?” he asked. You nodded. He paused for a moment, seemingly pondering if he should speak again. He decided on another question.
“You want more?” he asked, his voice deeper this time, lower.
“Fuck yes,” you cursed.
His words invigorated you with a second wind. You sat up quickly, hands rushing to undo the button and zipper on his jeans as he leaned into your hair and placed kisses to your head. As you fumbled with his belt loops, you could feel his arousal underneath your palm. Just to test the waters, you palmed him slightly, earning a whimper from Ryland into your hair. You hopped down from the counter as you finished unzipping his jeans. Ryland took over from there, sliding his jeans and underwear down in one go. Your eyes immediately cast downward and you bit your lip.
His cock sprang forward, rock hard and already leaking pre-cum. You would have never guessed in your wildest dreams that he would be this big. It made your mouth water. You slowly began to sink to your knees to show him as good of a time as he just gave you, but he stopped you with a hand to your chest.
“Please I- I can’t wait any longer,” Ryland searched your eyes. “I need to be inside you.”
Oh.
His words almost made you falter. As if you hadn’t had enough life-altering experiences tonight, here was Dr. Ryland Grace, published scientist, respected research and professor, begging to fuck you.
Ryland seemed to take your silence as a yes, as he grabbed your hips and gave you one last kiss before spinning you to face the lab counter. From your perspective, you could see out the lab’s large windows. The lab was on the second floor of the science building, so all you could see out the window was the tops of the trees on the grounds. Still, all that was running through your mind at this moment was the fact that students could be walking down below, without a clue about all of the filthy things you and your professor were doing in his lab.
Ryland places a hand on the small of your back and pushed you forward, effectively bending you over the lab counter. Your palms hit the counter, leaving an imprint on the black tops. Ryland kissed your back and you felt words muttered onto your skin. “Is this okay?”
“Yes, Ryland, please just-” He didn’t even let you finish. As soon as the word ‘yes’ left your mouth, he was pushing inside you. His cock stretching you out slow and depraved, making you gasp. Ryland cursed behind you, his hands flying to your hips and digging his short nails into your sides. He pushed slowly inside, inch by glorious inch until he was buried completely inside you. You turned your head slightly to see Ryland’s perfect face. He had his head thrown back, eyes closed, as if the act of being inside you was something that deserved a moment of silent reverence.
“Ryland?”
“Hm?” he hummed without opening his eyes.
“Move,” you demanded.
Well, you did ask for it. He pumped in and out of you like a piston, building up a rhythm that had you sobbing. Ryland’s hands never left your hips, you think he needed to hold on to them for his own sanity at this point. “Fuck you feel, you’re-” you sputtered. “You’re so fucking tight.”
His pace quickened as tears squeaked their way out of your eyes and onto the lab counter. You were sure that you had never felt this good in your entire life. You could feel that low simmer in your stomach that you felt earlier. You were close. “Just like that Ryland, I’m gonna cum again”, you croaked. Your voice was gone, all of the air absent from your lungs.
Ryland seemed to sense it too as his once steady rhythm faltered and failed at points. He was losing steam, and fast. “Oh my, oh my fucking god,” he growled. “Come on, cum with me, that’s my girl.”
The praise sent you over the edge. As your second wave rocked your body, you felt Ryland following suit. His hips stuttered as he spilled inside of you with a broken moan. His head fell forward onto your back as you felt his last few strokes, slow and intimate, pushing everything he gave you back inside, not letting a drop of the evidence of both of your choices drip onto the lab floor.
You could barely breathe. It was the best feeling in the world. Ryland stroked your hair and slowly pulled out from you, with you whining at the loss of contact. You rolled slightly on to your side, looking at your professor, a sheen of sweat gracing his gorgeous body, glasses askew on his nose. Ryland leaned back onto the lab table and brushed his fingers through his hair, a deep sigh leaving his cheeks. He turned over to you.
“So professor,” you teased in a sultry tone. You batted your eyelashes innocently. “Does this mean I get extra credit?”
summary: you wake up late on the hail mary, and grace doesn't seem to remember anything about you—or, your relationship. you don't know how to break the news to him. (a continuation of love hypotheticals, but can be read as a standalone!)
pairing: ryland grace x reader
word count: 4.7k
tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, temporary amnesia, avoidance, close proximity, awkward flirting, avoidance, tending to injuries, ryland grace doesn't know how to be nonchalant — and neither does reader
cross-posted to ao3
The force with which you slam open the door to Stratt’s office echoes down the hall—loud enough to trigger a couple of security detail officers to rush in behind you. They concede only as Stratt raises her hand up and nods for them to shut the door. Her relentless calm against your impatience only urges intensity. “Send me up. I want you to send me up,” you demand, nails digging into your plans. It’s your first time, after all this time working for Stratt, that you’ve ever been upset at her. It’s a foreign feeling, being so incensed with someone so excessively authoritative.
“Sit,” Stratt tells you. Her eyes are wide despite her well-kept composure; she would’ve expected this from anyone but you—her calm-and-cool documentation specialist. Begrudgingly, chest rising and falling rapidly, you sit. It feels a step down from your initial entrance. A part of you wants to. drag all of her files with thrown-out arms onto the floor—but you know that’ll only make her more bewildered with you.
Instead, you repeat: “Send me up with him.” It was clear to everyone but Grace what was going to happen to him after the accident. When DuBois and Shapiro passed, you had wept to him in his bunk—head rested on his chest as he thumbed the muscle of your shoulder. And, he simply hadn’t known that you were crying for him, too. You loved Grace, even though you’d only just gotten to know him. You’d just gotten to know him, and it was going well.
Stratt is quick to reject your request, you can tell, by the way her lips pucker in dissatisfaction. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
“I know what I’m asking and I want you to do it,” you affirm. “You can say that Grace and Yao and Ilyukhina don’t know two cents about documentation,” It’s a good excuse, and you know it is because you’ve spent the past few hours thinking it up. All Stratt needs to do is feed it to the committee. “DuBois would’ve done that job, bless his soul. I can do it in his place. Same job up there as I do down here, and I’m good—you know that. I can be useful.” Utilitarian, first. You know Stratt well enough to cover all your bases.
Decent justifications. You can see Stratt crack just slightly. She shakes her head disapprovingly, “We would have to recalculate for launch to account for your rations and your belongings. It would take an extra week to account for the extra weight. And you’d have to get fitted for a suit.” With an authority as uninhibited as hers, all Stratt needs to do is say yes. All the logistics are not as much of a barrier as she’s making it out to be.
So, you have to be more point-blank: “He might hate you for sending me up, and for a while, he might hate me even more for making you do it.” That part frightens you more than the act of doing it: Grace’s disappointment seeing you on the same suicide mission that he’s been relinquished to. It’s strange, though, that you haven’t felt more sure about something in your whole life. You want to be with Grace. “He has to go up. We all know it, even if he thinks he’s not fit for it.” You glance down at your lap, and back up at Stratt, “You care for him, don’t you?”
She’s quiet. You push harder, “I know you do, or you wouldn’t go through all the effort to take care of him. I’m asking you to do this for him. Let me do this. He needs me.”
“You’ve only just met,” Stratt counters. For a moment, she sounds like your mother—scolding you for running away, in some juvenile act of defiance. It’s possible that Stratt cares about you even more than she does Grace. You’ve known her for double the time that he has, and worked with her just as closely. Your most generous assumption of her feelings towards you is that of a caring mentorship.
“And it will have been worth it in the end. You have to believe that.” The last thing you’re sure about is that Stratt has seen you and Grace together from the beginning. How you had liked Grace and Grace had liked you. How you’d kept each other company all of those months. How you’d spend all those dull morning meetings passing notes to each other. How, after one of those wistful karaoke nights, you’d been holding hands at the bar seats—Rylan’s cardigan draped over your shoulders.
It’s a set plan. You’ll be missing on the day that Stratt asks him to go up—some excuse about Yao and Ilyukhina needing your informational support after DuBois’ passing. And, inevitably, when she forces him to go up, you’ll be packing your go-box to be loaded onto the Hail Mary. Grace will run out to the field to evade the anesthetic, and you will be nowhere. In the end, he’d have fought harder if he knew you were planning on going up there with him.
—
When you wake up from the coma, you’re quick to shed yourself of the plastic wrapping, the intubation, and the rest of the IV and tubing with sweaty, frightened palms. It takes you a minute to orient yourself—dead, black air outside the portholes, the bleak whiteness of the ship’s hull. You’re in a bedding unit on the ground floor, accompanied by the automated whirring of a robotic arm. “What is the capital of California?” the computer repeats, “What is the capital of California?” When you look up, the rest of the pods shut, you know clearly what you have to do.
“Consciousness detected. User 4,” the computer rattles on as you clamber up the ladder, bare in the stark-white underwear they sent you up in. You remember—Stratt, “not enough time to code your information into the ship’s computer”—as glance down the robotic arm spinning on the floor below. When you climb up to slide each of the coma pods open, with no avail—there’s absolutely no one home—you realize that you must’ve woken up a little late. You have to find him. They must be around somewhere, but it’s all eerily quiet.
The hull of the ship is… not exactly what you remember it to be. You’d done only one walkdown with the rest of the crew, and it never once had anything like this. There are these strange crystallized structures mounted up on the walls, lined with dark geometrical frames. “What the hell,” you mutter. You come up to one of the larger structures in the containment room, and tap your hand on the crystalline surface of it. It’s anything but normal, and still, no crew in sight. You feel like you might be sick from the implication.
It’s not before long that you hear a repeated thunking along the floor just outside in the room over. Before long, there’s a smaller version of the structure hurdling in. You feel your stomach drop at the sight. Inside, there’s some kind of spidery thing making its way towards you, appendages rapping closely against the glass shell to wheel along. It feels like something straight out of Alien, and you’re very sure that you need to start running.
“Oh, no. Nope.” You shoot your arms out, looking for anything to throw. If a bunch of these beings have taken over the Hail Mary, and possibly captured the rest of your missing crew of three… it's awfully neat. There’s nothing on the ground, no signs of struggle, and absolutely nothing to throw.
“Grace. Grace. Grace,” an automated voice buzzes out. What? Your jaw goes slack. This thing knows your boyfriend’s—no, you’re not even sure you’d gotten that far—Grace’s name.
There’s a raspy voice echoing down the hall that’s all too familiar: “Rocky, I said I need an extra hand. You’re not still mad at me about the eating thing, are you?” You can already feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You remember clearly how you let Stratt stick you with the syringe. You’d done it for him, and he’s here—and you’re both here. Everything according to plan. Except the alien, of course. Still, he rolls back and forth, back and forth in front of you.
“Grace, friend awake. Grace, come now,” it buzzes again, pressing up flush against the containment of the glass, as if trying to examine you. “Come, come, come, come…” All things considered, it doesn’t appear that this thing wants to eat you.
You have to cough a few good times, massaging at your throat, before yelling out a crackly: “Grace!” There’s a clatter—the sound of something metal dropping onto the floor, glass breaking. Then, rushed steps. He stands in the doorway, hands locked behind his head, eyes wide with his glasses hanging off the edge of his face. You run straight into him, arms shooting around his waist.
“You’re awake,” Grace says. You can feel his arms wrap slowly around you as you press your ear to his chest. Though, for you, it only feels like a long nap since you’ve last seen Grace, you can’t be sure how long it’s been for him.
Rocky, you remember Grace calling him, rolls toward the two of you: “This is hug, question?”
Grace nods, chin coming up against the top of your head. “Yes, Rock—this is a hug,” he looks down at you, astounded, “And… uh, morning. I didn’t think you’d wake up. System advised against taking you out myself, and—”
You can’t be bothered to peel yourself off of him. “Just be quiet a second, Grace. I’m just trying to soak in the fact that you’re okay.” Before they put you under, you’d considered plenty of scenarios about how he’d react to your being on the Hail Mary when you both woke up. His confusion, a possible hint of anger. Now, he’s… rather pacified. You reach up to run your hands through his scruffy blonde hair, nails dragging it on his scalp. He’s watching you check over his face with intent.
“Oh. This is… nice,” he hums, eyebrows knitted together. You must look strange, inspecting him like this—but for you, on that last day you hadn’t been sure that either of you would get up to space safely. Grace is just as handsome as he was when you left him, and the yellow NASA jumpsuit on him reminds you only of his old raincoat.
You have to tilt your head up to kiss him, and as soon as you get remotely close, he seems to straighten up and away from you. “I’m sorry, I can’t—I’m married.” You retract from Grace stiffly. Was he married? No, that doesn’t make sense; he couldn’t have been married, he lived alone—one ex. He had an ex before. And then, he had you. Grace tells you, “I don’t know why I know that, but I’m very certain about it. In here.” He taps his index finger against his right temple. You have to think it over again.
“Right. Sorry,” you say deliberately. It’s a perfect chance to solve it then and there—Are you? or No, you’re not.—but there’s an obstruction, you remember now, Stratt’s words: He won’t remember a single thing about himself. Echoes, if anything. “I’m just… super happy to see that everything’s doing well,” you tell him, “Just got ahead of myself.” Maybe it’s the easy way out, avoiding the truth of your circumstances and his. It’s too immediate, too real. You can see Grace squeeze his hands together in an anxious kind of manner, how you’d seen him do when he had a time crunch on the project and didn’t want Stratt to be pissed with him.
—
Per your lack of actual belongings, Grace lets you borrow a pair of boxers and a t-shirt of his. In the reflection of the windows, black space and your own silhouette, you have to wonder what just the three of you are going to do. No Yao, no Ilyukhina. News of their passing gives you a bout of nausea, to which Grace resolves with a bottled water and an assurance that their burials were nothing but peaceful. Though there’s a lingering sense of urgency for you to be around Grace, you can’t exactly push it. Married? Grace seems flighty around you within the first couple of hours of your waking up from the coma, like he’s frightened to be caught in the same room as you. When you give him your name, he doesn’t seem to react to it in any way. It’s like some odd fever dream.
You figure it all has to be taken in little by little. The two of you agree to have a bit of alone time—if that’s even possible—in the projection room. Together, the two of you settle on a beach ambience, all fog and homely. For a moment, with the digitalized sound bouncing around the enclosed sphere, you can pretend that the two of you are there, sitting on the sand together with your knees pulled up to your chests. Grace starts. “So, your name isn’t on Mary’s manifest. Are you some kind of stowaway?” There’s a commitment to his words, a seriousness just beneath the joke that makes you pull back an immediate answer.
You can’t even comprehend what Grace might think when you tell him—if he’ll be heartbroken that you’re there, if he’ll be made that you martyred yourself for him. So, you keep it vague: “I thought it best fit for the project to be sent up with the three of you. I’m still shocked that I swung it, but I did.”
“They just let you come up?” His skepticism makes you nervous. Maybe, Stratt was right. You aren’t supposed to be on the Hail Mary, and you never were; you were only meant to document and archive and keep track of the information.
You run your tongue over your teeth. “No, I mean, I really had to sell the idea.”
“Of you joining the suicide mission.” Him and his stupid logical inquiry. You can only give him a sickly sort of nod, and trust that he won’t dig any further into it. After all, if it was as easy as it was for Yao, Ilyukhina, and DuBois to give themselves up for the cause, it’s not out of the realm of possibility for there to be someone else like them. Grace seems to accept this easily. “And, you and I…?”
Would’ve been great together, given time. And now there is time. Instead, you admit a measly: “We knew each other, yeah.”
“And you know about me. Who I am,” he affirms. Grace isn’t quite sure how to ask you how you know him, what you were to each other—friends, coworkers, or otherwise.
You shoot for as-vague-as-possible: “I mean, as much as you do. We only knew each other for a very short amount of time.” He looks unsatisfied by your answer, but doesn’t seem to prod any further. To him, you appear just as clueless an agent as he is. Guiltily, you hope that he’ll stay that way until you can figure out how to tell him anything different.
—
You decide to put on a puppet show, laying supine in the little pod with little figurines in your hand. Rocky’s doing: he’s made one little miniature of you and one little miniature of Grace. In front of your face, you dance them along with one another, two geometrical forms moving in unison but unable to join together. You can hear Rocky rolling into the room far before he even enters the room, the bulkiness of his xenonite shell knocking across the ground of the hall. When you tilt your head to look out at him, he’s already well jutting into your sleeping pods.
He asks, “Why hide while Grace working, question?” Right about now, Grace should be doing a couple of extra checks on the Taumoeba, and making sure that the Hail Mary’s trajectory towards Rocky’s ship is still on-point. Which means he’s busy. And you can escape for a generous forty-five minutes before he needs a spare hand.
You have to lock the miniatures away in your closed palm, and slide them just beneath the pillow. You scoff: “I’m not hiding. Where’d you get that from?” You click a button off the side of the pod, letting it extend the bed outwards; as you get up, legs dangling off the side, you can see Rocky roll back slightly.
He insists: “In bed. Make little noise in corner of ship.” It’s all very matter-of-fact.
“I just needed to take a breather,” you correct. In truth, you are very patently hiding from Grace. It’s a terrible habit now that you know that Grace is a pin drop away from recalling who you are.
Rocky pushes again, “Need meaning of word.”
“Breather, like… there’s a lot happening, and I need to rest for a second and think.” It’s the most clean-cut definition you can think up for Rocky. Though, it omits the obvious: you’re terrified to tell Grace and are perpetually delaying the inevitable.
“Think what, question?” As flatly as his programmed voice seems to ring out, Rocky shows a genuine sort of care that you’d find rare among most humans. You can’t exactly reject his attempts. They’re nothing but good-willed.
It takes you another minute or so of silent deliberation before you can figure out how to seek Rocky’s help without giving away too much. Finally, you offer up a decent, analogous-enough hypothetical: “If your mate—if Adrien had come up with you, left Erid, would you be angry with them?”
Disjointed and with much urgency, he responds: “Not angry. Sad. Very sad. Adrien stay on Erid. Stay home. Journey is too high risk.” His response can only send you into a further state of despondency. Rocky and Grace are more alike than either of them would like to admit. Rocky only affirms what you already expect of his response, and by extension, of Grace’s. He must be able to gauge your panicked reaction in the laborious sound of your breathing and the well-engrained frown adorning your face. “Are you sad, question? Thinking of mate.”
“Something like that.” You smile faintly. The thought of calling Grace that—given your absolute lack of time together—amuses you. Still, it’s an endearing thought. You wonder if he’d be as entertained by it as you are.
“Not familiar with Earth mating traditions,” Rocky reminds you. “If talk with Grace, maybe feel better, question?” Rocky has absolutely no clue.
—
Out of the three of you, you happen to have the least painful injuries after Tau Ceti-E—a couple of tender bruises on your back, and a sprained ankle. As you’re still very much in love with Grace, it feels absolutely excruciating to act casually around him. Him flinging himself out of the ship for the bacteria collector was enough to send you into a panic. And, now that everyone’s safe enough—injuries aside—you fall back into an easy enough routine.
And, it’s not as if he’s a blank slate. He’s still plenty identical to how he was when you first met—intelligent, sometimes klutzy, and prone to curiosity. You flock to him like you did then, on the carrier ship. There’s some instances, you think, that Grace must feel it, too—despite how much he strays away from you.
Like now, as you insist on cleaning his wounds up. Though it’s an easy enough job for the robotic aide, both you and Grace have unanimously agreed to let the system cool down after the obvious intensities of your near crash. So, you’re in the lab, Grace is seated on one of the tall stools, whining as you peel off the old patch off his cheek. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”
“This isn’t going to go any faster with you squirming like that,” you say, discarding the papery adhesive on the counter. The gash on Grace doesn’t look terrible, just scabby around the edges. You take up supplies from the open medical kit on the counter beside you both. Your hand grips his chin as you drag an antiseptic-saturated cotton swab across his cheek. His scruff is rough against your fingertips. “Just stay still and let me disinfect it. You’re worse than a kid.”
“You know, I don’t think you’re wrong,” he responds with gritted teeth. You can tell he’s trying, out of embarrassment, to hold in any further disgruntled noises. “Have you been icing your ankle?”
“As much as I can,” you mumble. You can tell that he’s trying to distract himself, hands gripping the seat of the stool.
Grace hums, “Well, if you need to be off your feet for the next couple of days, I’m pretty sure Mary isn’t going to get any worse.”
You lift the swab off his cheek a moment. “Are you asking me to take a break, or are you telling me to?”
“Whatever you’ll agree to more easily?” Grace grins softly. His insistence is so familiar that you almost forget that the half of him that knows you is missing.
You return the swab back against his wound, and he flinches less intensely than before. Softly, you tell Grace, “I’ll think about being off my feet. Don’t want Rocky waking up to a dumpster fire of a ship—you know how he hates messes.”
It isn’t until the new bandage is on his cheekbone that the two of you, at once, recognize the sort of position you’re in. Grace with his hands grasped tightly around either side of your waist, and you wedged in between his parted legs. You must have failed to notice, and clearly he hadn’t either. You swallow soft, face hot. You can see Grace’s eyes flash down to your lips and back up.
“Thanks,” he coughs out, red-faced, “I better go check on Rock now.” As soon as his glasses are shoved back onto his face, Grace dismisses himself with a beeline towards Rocky. You make sure to step aside, making sure to toss the used supplies into the nearest waste bin, before closing up the kit and tossing it back into its usual drawer. Now, the ship feels exceptionally tiny. You can see Grace press his face closer to the xenonite glass of Rocky’s container. His glasses are fogging up, and you can see through the glass that he’s trying his best not to glance up at your direction.
—
While Grace is occupied with taking care of Rocky, you’ve dedicated yourself to restoring the Hail Mary to her prior state. The cleaning is a decent distraction, and gives you a good chance to survey the ship’s inventory. The cockpit has the worst of it, manuals scattered and screens cracked from the interior pressure. You try your best to order everything back into place.
There's a whiteboard discarded in the flight deck lodged behind the chairs, bent in the middle but still largely recoverable. You pick it up gently, as if recovering some kind of ancient artifact. There’s a couple of phrases at a time scribbled neatly in columns: San Francisco? Good with cilantro. I’m a teacher. You can’t imagine what it must be like to be him—bits and pieces of who he was before the launch, trying to sew themselves into something meaningful. Another column: Notebooks? Sweet coffee, no exceptions. Gorgeous.
There are a couple more identifiable things that sell the understanding that it’s all you. Hometown. The names of cafes and restaurants you liked to go to before the project started. That sells it: this side of the board is all about you—detailing in fragments all the time that you’d spent being together all that time on Project Hail Mary before the launch. How you’d like each other from the start over breakfasts in the carrier ship’s cafeteria. How you’d pass notes across the table during those five o’ clock committee meetings.
Open windows. How you’d kissed for that first time before dinner with the team, in your crammed bunk room. You’d had the windows propped open that night to let the open air and sea mist in; he remembered that. He remembered sentiments about you—but he still can’t quite place your name or your face. It’s you who’s clouding Grace’s brain, and he doesn’t even know it. He thinks you’re married. It’s an educated guess that he’s reiterated enough times to think it’s real.
—
It takes quite a bit of thinking over when you decide to confess. While Rocky shows Grace his ship, you’ve decided to stay back and make sure the Hail Mary is in top shape to get refueled. You come up with the courage while he’s gone, and it’s all plotted out thoroughly in your head:
Grace, I haven’t been honest with you. I need to tell you that I knew you more than I said that I did, before this. I need you to forgive me for what I’ve done, and know that it was the best possible choice I could’ve made—even if you might not agree. And anyway, we’re here now and we won’t be going back, so there’s nothing to be done but be together.
When Grace makes it back in, suit shedded, he doesn’t think twice to collapse onto the ground of the main hull. You find him like that, knees pulled up to his chest, heavy-lidded eyes swollen from crying. He must know now, somehow, how he got there. And, he must have a sneaking suspicion about how you got there, too. The need for your drawn-out confession has evaded the both of you.
There’s the chirps and ticks of the ship’s machinations, the low hum of the Hail Mary cutting through space, and there’s the sound of his muffled sniffling. Oh, Grace. You’re quite aware of the fact that he can see the soles of your shoes right next to his. Your voice falls lower than a whisper: “Are you upset with me?”
“It’s you. Of course not,” Grace grumbles. You let out a little bit of a sigh—seating yourself onto the ground beside him. He hangs his head, “We’re so not married.”
“In your head, I guess we were.”
“That’s so embarrassing,” Grace groans, palm coming up to cover his face. You have to nudge his shoulder with your own. Not that embarrassing, you want to say—but all too shy to do it aloud. He murmurs, “Why did you do it?”
“It was this or slow death. Living with the fact that I wouldn’t ever see you again.” This is a confession in and of itself—admitting to Grace that you cared about him crazily enough for you to leave the planet. “I convinced Stratt before she sent you up, made sure you wouldn’t find out about it. I knew you wouldn’t want me to do it, and I knew you didn’t have a choice.”
“You knew she was going to send me, and you volunteered yourself up to keep me company,” he repeats back to you. He nods with a sturdy, rasped out “huh.” It’s clear that he’s still trying to settle with the fact that he’s known you this whole time—more than known. Grace rubs his fingers gingerly against his forehead.
“Sure you’re not mad?”
To that, he eagerly shakes his head. “I should be. Selfishly, I’m kind of stoked. I mean, I get you all to myself. That’s, like, the dream. I win.” Grace throws a weak, celebratory fist into the air. You have to stifle a giggle. Yes, this is the Grace you knew. “Obviously,” he says, “you get the short end of the stick.”
“Don’t,” you tell him, index finger pointed. “I’m one-hundred percent where I want to be. It’s you and me, Dr. Grace.”
“You and me,” he repeats. He makes a quick swipe at your hand, lips brushing over your knuckles in a quick kiss. Grace makes sure to hold your hand hostage in his own, and the two of you sit there a while, your head leaning on his shoulder. There isn’t a single bit of assurance that the two of you will be making it back to Earth in due time, and still, you don’t feel much of a need to rush.
Summary: You and Ryland are both given the amnesia serum so the primary crew has scientists on the Hail Mary. When you wake up 12 light years from Earth, neither of you remembers anything except for an unsettling dislike for the other person. An interaction with alien life has Ryland infected with a disease neither of you have seen before. What are you going to do?
Word Count: 11.8K
Warnings: NSFW content (18+ ONLY PLEASE), a little bit of male masturbation, p in v, unprotected sex (DON'T DO THIS. WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT.), sex pollen/fuck or die, swearing, primal urges/slight predator prey vibes, breeding kink, praise kink, a little overstimulation, slight voyeurism(I mean they're on a ship with an alien so...), virgin!Reader, amnesia, enemies to lovers, mutual pining, forced proximity, SPOILERS FOR THE BOOK(this covers a wide span of time, so I would say if you haven't read to basically the end, be cautious!), let me know if I missed anything!
A/N: Please only interact if you are 18+! Blank/empty blogs and blogs with no ages will be blocked! Just because I wrote this does not mean I will write more smut, this is just an itch my brain needed to write!
A/N: Hello again my darlings! Here is the FINAL fic for the [mini] Big Bang event with my bestie @bluebellhairpin! This one has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS and this was the perfect time to bring it out of hiding... Uh, so please enjoy? I have never written anything like this and probably won't again LOL - Birch<3
Love Confessions Event Masterlist
Please proceed with caution!!! NSFW AND SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT!!!
You had never wanted to be a part of the crew.
You were a scientist. That was it. A scientist with a strong foundation in molecular biology and genetic engineering. That was your contribution to Project Hail Mary.
Ryland had never wanted to be a part of the crew.
He was a teacher. That was it. A teacher, formerly a scientist, with a strong foundation in molecular biology and astrophysics. That was his contribution to Project Hail Mary.
Neither of you had wanted to be a part of the crew. But you were.
You both had woken up 12 light years from Earth with no recollection of who you were, where you were, or what you were supposed to be doing. Ryland had woken up first - a mere 20 minutes before you.
Immediately, you had disliked him. Something about his presence just... didn't sit right with you. Maybe it was because he had the same realizations you did. An overlap in interests when it was pretty obvious the crew was specifically picked for everyone's greatest strengths.
And for some reason, you shared strengths with Ryland. Were you not good enough to send alone? They had to send a second scientist with? Who, by the way, got his memories back a lot fast than you did.
He was always one step ahead. One game level above you. All the time. It was really freaking annoying.
So as time slips by and the two of you gain back the essential memories for the mission, gain an alien friend, and set out for the planet Adrian, you are left with a strong dislike for the blonde-haired scientist.
- - -
And rightfully so. Adrian went to shit.
Rocky almost died.
Ryland almost died.
You almost died.
Yes, the three of you got the sampler back up and into the ship - but at what cost?
"I don't think you should be the one to open the sampler," you argue as you follow as closely as you can on Ryland's heels. In the accident, you had gotten slightly crushed by loose material in the dormitory and had suffered a leg injury. Nothing that the robot arms couldn't wrap up.
To you, Ryland's arm injury was the worse of the two wounds, and, because it was on his arm, he shouldn't be the one lifting and opening the sample from Adrian's atmosphere.
Ryland ignores you as he shuffles across the lab. "I told you, I will open it," he says a little gruffly as he sets the sampler down. A moment later, he gathers the contraption Rocky had made so that either of you could get a sample onto a microscope slide.
Rocky is still recovering, and he hovers above the two of you in one of his tunnels. His carapace is lowered, and his legs are folded underneath him to support his weight. The ship is only at 0.5Gs. It's less strenuous on everyone that way.
Tension fills the air. All three of you know it.
Not only is there the spat between you and the other scientist - the savior for both Earth and Erid could lie in Ryland's hands.
Everyone wants to know if there is a predator for Astrophage in that sample. Everyone is scared that there might not be. Then what? Then what happens?
No one wants to think about it, no one wants to say anything about it. So tensions rise, and the air of the ship seems to grow warmer as you and Ryland bicker back and forth over it.
"I've got it," he snaps back, setting the sampler down on the lab table in front of the two of you. You go to open your mouth to retort, but Rocky's voice chimes in quietly, unsure. "Why fight, question? Open sampler. Save Earth, save Erid. No need fight. Work together."
Your (colored) gaze snaps up to look at Rocky's tense form. Ryland stares down at the sampler on the lab table. Neither of you says anything. Rocky was right. There was no need to fight. Now, more than ever, you needed to be on the same team.
Swallowing your pride, you take a wobbly step back and spin on your heel. There's a round stool mounted to the floor a few paces away, and you quietly make your way over there with slightly jolted movements.
You sit and watch Ryland work. It's silent in the lab, other than the noises of the tools and gases releasing in the contraptions Ryland works with. After a few quiet minutes, you look away and over to another part of the lab, lost in thought.
It's when you unknowingly look away that Ryland messes up. It's not on purpose or anything drastic. His hands are decorated with blue latex gloves, like always. But, as he reaches to get the sample slide, his bare wrist accidentally touches part of the sampler.
Unknowingly, his skin comes into contact with the life forms from Adrian. Nothing immediately happens, there's no burn, or anything like that. It happens and the moment passes. He's waiting for you to say something about his technique being off, but it doesn't come.
Because when Ryland glances over at you, you aren't even paying attention to him anymore. You're lost deep in thought, and Ryland doesn't feel like engaging in conversation when he's got important things to look at.
Like seeing if there's life on this slide.
Ryland moves over to one of the several microscopes fastened to the lab's tables. With a deep breath, he mumbles, "Here we go," and looks down through the optics. He's quiet for a while as he focuses the scope, using the fine adjustment wheels to find the correct depth of field.
It's then his heart stops and his breathing stills.
Rocky senses the change and asks, "Grace, question?" Your attention is immediately grabbed, then, and your eyes snap over to look at Ryland's frozen form.
"There's life!"
That single exclamation leads to a wild next couple of hours.
You and Ryland both start designing experiments to figure out how best to isolate the Taumoeba. For once, the two of you work together quite well making and brainstorming protocols and equipment needed. Rocky, of course, is a huge help.
But you're starting to slow down, and Rocky knows it. "L/n, how long since last sleep, question?" He asks with a tilt of his carapace. Ryland is full steam ahead like he's gotten a second wind. You can't blame him. The prospect of actually saving billions of life forms both back on Earth and on Erid makes you want to push through, too.
Your injury has slowed you down, though. Walking on a wounded leg has made you expend more energy than you'd like to admit, and exhaustion weighs on you now. You want to stay up and help. You tell Rocky as such.
"I'm good, Rocky," you say quietly, wiping at your face and pushing some hair out of your eyes. "I can go for a little while longer." The Eridian isn't sure, and he lifts a leg to tap his claw on the xenonite wall. Ryland's gaze snaps up at the sound, and Rocky points over at you.
"How long since L/n last sleep, question?" He asks Ryland. The blonde-haired scientist bites back a smirk. An alien induced bed time. He glances over at you, who gives him a serious, I'm fine kind of a look. Ryland's gaze flashes back up to Rocky and he replies, "31 hours."
Rocky raises and lowers his carapace in what you've come to learn is mild frustration. "You need sleep. Human brain stupid with no sleep." You raise an eyebrow and huff, "Yeah, maybe Grace is. I'm fine, Rocky. Let's work on this next breeder set up."
The blonde-haired scientist's jaw clenches a little at the barb. Yeah, he kind of set himself up for that one. Still, he knows Rocky is right. You did need to rest. You needed to sleep so that by the time he was exhausted, you could take over. There was no time to slack off, but you both needed to be firing on all cylinders. And that means sleeping when needed.
"Rocky's right, Y/n," Ryland says a little softer than normal, and he uses your first name. "You need to sleep. You're more useful when your brain is working. You've slowed down tenfold over the last 30 minutes." He juts his chin toward the dormitory as his hands fiddle with another breeder tank. "Go, me or Rocky will wake you up for the shift change."
You can hear an unusual amount of sincerity in Ryland's voice, and as you glance between him and Rocky, you realize you've been out numbered. Your head lolls down a little toward your chest in defeat and you sigh reluctantly.
You point at both at both of them and grumble, "6 hours. No more than that, okay?" Rocky just releases a quiet trill and Ryland glances over you before giving a silent nod. His fingers twitch over the breeder box he's working on, and he tightens his grip on it to keep them still.
A moment later and you're crawling down the hatch to the dormitory, the motions slow and clumsy due to your leg. The blonde-haired scientist has to force his attention back to work, his leg bouncing slightly on the chair below him.
It's quiet for a few minutes as both Rocky and Ryland work. But Rocky can just tell something is different. Something is bothering Ryland. So he quietly asks, "What is wrong, question? You shake. Everything is fine, question?"
Ryland doesn't lift his gaze from the tank he's working on, but he answers a little quickly, "Yeah, yeah, buddy, I'm fine. I'm just a little anxious to get these tests started. Our savior is right in front of us, you know?"
The Eridian can't argue with that.
Ryland doesn't stop fidgeting, though. He can't. He clears his throat and wipes at his face, pushing his glasses up into his hair for a moment. "You know, what? I- I think I need a moment alone to think about this. I'm going to go up to the cockpit and brainstorm a little more, buddy. You keep working."
Rocky tilts his carapace in slight confusion but he doesn't question Ryland. Human thing, he muses. Instead, the Eridian thrums, "I will work at my bench. Faster. More done down there." Ryland is already pushing off the lab chair when Rocky speaks, and he gives him a thumbs up to acknowledge him.
As Rocky disappears down one of his tunnels and into the dormitory to join you, Ryland makes his way up the ladder and into the cockpit.
He's not really sure what's going on. He feels hot. Way too warm to be considered normal. Maybe it was from all of the effort of running around and making the breeder tanks, but that just doesn't sit right in his brain.
Plus, his jumpsuit feels too tight. It's not even one of Yao's or Ilyukhina's, or even yours. It's his, but it's fitting a little too snug. He feels hot and his cheeks burn with a heat he's not used to. Is he sick? How could he be sick?
On top of that, there's... an ache. An ache that he tries to will away. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten a random hard-on before. Seriously, he was once a teenage boy. He figured it was one of those weird times where the body is so ramped up on emotions - likely the high from finding Earth's and Erid's saviors - that his touch-starved body got a little excited. It's really only a natural reaction and he knows that.
So, he tries to implement his normal methods of making them go away. How he knows they are normal methods? Well... he just knows he had to use them on Earth for some reason. He's not sure why, who, or what would cause his cock to grow hard, but come on. He's a man.
His mind starts on the science experiments he needs to conduct. The engineering of the breeder tanks, controlling the gases going in and out, how to save the different strains he'll breed up.
Before he can stop it, he sees you helping him in his mind. A pain in his ass, sure, but also his only human company. He pictures the few times he's gotten you to smile. Even Rocky had managed to get you to laugh, even if you just rolled your eyes at Ryland's dumb jokes.
His mind drifts from the curve of your smile. He thinks about the lines of your collarbones. He'd seen them once when he accidentally floated in on you changing in 0G. That, naturally, leads him down to the swell of your breasts. The perfect curve and size. He can only imagine how soft and pliable they would be to touch...
Ryland! Dude, what the hell?! His brain screams at him, Knock it off, man! As he lifts a hand from his lap in the pilot's seat to brush some golden curls out of his eyes, it brushes his crotch. It's then he realizes his hard-on has pitched into a full on tent.
A soft whine curls up his throat as he tries to push you out of his mind. But it's odd. It's almost as if a mental block has formed in his brain. The more he tries to not think about you, the more he does. It's like all of his deep, primal instincts and desires written in his DNA latch onto you.
Ryland tries to fight off the thoughts about you with everything he's got. You hate him. He doesn't like you. The two of you are in this awful Adam and Eve situation 12 light years from Earth. He knows he's touch-starved. He knows he hasn't had a good lay in who knows how long.
But the more he fights his brain, the harder it gets to push his imagined image of your bare form out of his head.
Then, Ryland guiltily gives in. Just this once to get this... problem dealt with. It'll be once and done, and I'll just go straight down to the bathroom and clean up after. Y/n should be asleep, so I can handle it. I can do this. He lets his mind fully settle on his fantasy of your naked body.
He pictures your skin sliding against his. How soft you would be underneath him. He wonders what your skin tastes like, how you might sound when he nudges his cock between your thighs. More shyly, he pictures folding you in half underneath him, pulling your legs over his shoulders and putting you into a deep mating press.
That makes him snap out of the haze of his mind for a moment. Hold on, he seems to think. That's not me. I- I would never do that. That's pretty darn involved, and that's not really my style.
Thinking about you underneath him like that only makes his hard-on throb, and it becomes too much to bear. Bashfully, Ryland palms at the tent of his jumpsuit. He groans at the first touch of the material against his sensitive tip, but he quickly clamps his mouth closed.
Rocky can probably see you! And hear you! And come up any moment!
Ryland bites down on his tongue and leans back into the pilot's seat. Then, he works the zipper of his jump suit down with pink cheeks and shame in his movements. His cock is standing at attention and springs free once the zipper is low enough. He chokes down a whimper and gently palms at his length.
He works his hand from base to tip in long, fluid pumps. Pleasure spikes at him in sharp, prickly explosions. It almost hurts. He's never experienced anything like this before, but he doesn't think he likes it. But he knows he wants the ache to go away, so he keeps at it.
Maybe I'm just super sensitive, he thinks as he tries rolling his hips into his hand in search of some kind of release. But no matter what he does, nothing changes.
The blonde-haired scientist's pleasure remains stagnant. It doesn't grow. It doesn't shrink. It remains as a constant, burning ache.
It's then, Ryland realizes. This isn't a normal boner. This isn't a normal reaction to being touch-starved or anything like that. If anything, he should have unraveled faster than he'd care to admit.
No, his brain whispers in defeat. There's only one way to fix this. And you're not going to like it.
You.
He hates it.
There's no way he can look you in the eye right now, let alone form a half-coherent sentence. It feels as if every nerve in his body is tingling, burning with desire. It's not unbearable yet - but it's not going away.
Plus, you're supposed to be sleeping. The last thing Ryland wants to do is wake you up because his boner won't go away. Especially when you don't like him... at all!
But... Ryland's resolve crumbles faster than he wants to admit. All it takes is thinking about you, your smile when he sees it, that darn sparkle in your eyes when things are going right and the science is working.
It makes his cock twitch in his lap. The thick length throbs with want as it threatens to slap up against his abdomen. He grunts and knows that in that moment, something is not right with him.
Something is wrong.
As gently as he can, Ryland grabs his cock in his hand again, an untamed whimper falling from his mouth as he tucks it back into his jumpsuit. The simple touch has his hips rutting up without his control, a small bead of precum leaking from his cock's flushed tip.
Another wave of shame runs through his body as the want to cry wells up in the blonde-haired scientist's throat. Fuck, this is bad. He had once been a horny teenager. That was nothing in comparison to how he feels right now.
Ryland does his best to get his head together with the facts of what he knows despite the haze of desire looming over him. He needs to present you and Rocky with the facts of what was likely going to happen.
So, he carefully wipes his right hand on one of the pant legs of his jumpsuit, the sweat and precum mixing together to stain the material. It makes him cringe internally, and he hopes you don't notice it before he has a chance to explain.
Then, Ryland takes a deep breath and climbs out of the pilot's seat. Immediately, the fabric of the jumpsuit rubs against his sensitive cock, and his hips roll forward to try to relieve the tension in his body. He moans softly but then clamps his jaw shut in frustration.
With an aggravated exhale, Ryland forces himself upright and grits his teeth together. He can do this. It's not going to be pretty, but he will tell it to you and Rocky straight.
He's pretty sure it was his carelessness that got him into this position. It's now his responsibility to try to find a way out of this.
With his goal at the front of his mind, Ryland begins making his way down the rungs of the ladder to the laboratory. It's slow moving at first. Each movement from his legs has the jumpsuit pulling taught and slack against his still-hard cock.
He's still holding it together - just barely.
When Ryland's feet land firmly on the floor of the lab, he takes a shaky, deep breath. His heart is racing faster than before. He's sweating, everywhere. His face, neck, hands, arms, chest, armpits, leg crevices, hell, he could be sweating from his crotch. Everywhere is sweaty.
Ryland knows he's burning up - he doesn't need a mercury thermometer to tell him he's got a fever. He can just tell. On top of that, the skin he can see is flushed pink, verging red in some areas.
Not a good sign.
If that's not enough, his vision is growing a little blurry. His glasses are still on, but his actual eyes are losing the ability to focus properly. Somewhere in him gauging his surroundings, the blonde-haired scientist sees movement.
It's Rocky in one of his tunnels, on the way up from the dormitory. "Grace, question?" Rocky asks tentatively, the musical notes blending together as Ryland tries to quickly decipher them.
"Y-yeah, b-buddy," he stutters out as he almost limps across the laboratory. He has to catch himself on one of the tables as he gets a little lightheaded. A sudden burning sensation crawls up his spine, licking at the back of his neck and threatening to flood his head.
"You are not well," Rocky states - it's not a question this time. "You are leaking, but not from your head. What is wrong, question?" The simple question brings a half-hearted smile to Ryland's face as he manages to croak out, "Y-yeah, I am, buddy. I- I need you to get Y/n. Then I will explain."
Rocky doesn't say anything. He's confused, but he knows he can't help. So, he lowers his carapace slightly and scuttles back down to the dormitory to retrieve you. The moment alone gives Ryland the chance to focus his attention on his breathing, trying to will a deep breath of air into his lungs and out of his mouth to calm his reactive body down.
He shuffles so that both of his palms lie flush against the lab bench, and he leans over it, bracing himself. The cool metal is pleasant to the touch, and a sigh of content floods from his lips. Unfortunately, it's only momentary relief, but it seems better than nothing.
As quickly as the cooling relief came, the burning hot desire in his core increases. A needy whine tears its way out of Ryland's throat, his head lolling forward as tears threaten to burn at the edge of his vision. He snaps his eyes shut in an attempt to help his focus, forcing his brain to think about the cool metal beneath his hands.
Then, he can hear you clambering up the ladder quickly - Rocky must have made it sound pretty important. Shit, shit, shit. Ryland takes a quick breath, trying to slow his racing heart, but it's no use. Especially when he hears your voice just a moment later.
"Grace? What's the deal? I was trying to sleep like you guys told me to but Rocky was saying you aren't doing well- Oh," you cut your grumpy rant off when you set your gaze on your flushed, sweaty crewmate. Immediately, despite your best judgment and slightly disgruntled disposition, you take a few rapid, worried steps toward him.
"Stop!" Ryland cries out when he hears you coming closer. The sound of your voice awakens something deep inside of him. Before he can tell his brain No!, his hips snap forward uncontrollably, and his fingers try to dig into the hard metal under his touch.
You halt at his command, your sleepy, grumpy expression molding into more of a puzzled look as you watch him struggle to still his body. With sleep picking at your brain, it takes you a moment before an embarrassed realization settles over you. The movement.
You bite your tongue as you wait for Ryland to speak again, because you're about to duck away with flushed cheeks of your own.
A ragged gasp escapes Ryland's throat, and his face and neck have flushed red. Sweat dots his skin and mats his blonde curls hanging over his forehead. The sound of his gasp makes your ears perk up instantly, the rough noise unconsciously replaying in the back of your mind.
"S- so," he stutters out to start, keeping his eyes closed as he shuffles to stand more upright. Ryland remains facing the lab bench in an attempt to hide his hard-on. It works for the moment and so he focuses on trying to get his next words out. "The- the Taumoeba or other s-species from the s- sampler have had this effect on me."
Rocky scuttles around one of his tunnels above Ryland as you cock your head to the side in confusion. Ryland continues when neither of you says anything. "I- I was the only, only one who was in direct contact with them or- or the sampler."
"But you had gloves on," you say softly, as if to not make things worse. "I watched you work, you didn't mess anything up." The low timbre of your words instantly makes Ryland whine, the noise out of his control. One of his hands clenches down into a fist and he smacks as gently as he can at the lab table in frustration.
"I did," he manages to growl out, the noise rough and unusual coming from the usually soft-spoken blonde. The admission would have sucked to say either way, and Ryland knows it. Shame hits him. He fucked up and now he's uncontrollably horny because of his mistake.
However, his response just makes your eyes widen. That's not good. I didn't see him mess anything up. It was all textbook technique. Ryland pants, grunts, and then mumbles before all of his control seeps away, "I think, I think I got hit with an aromatic compound or I- I accidentally brushed the sampler on my arm. It's caused... this, this condition."
Before you can stop yourself, your eyes flit over his whole body to analyze his condition.
You can see the sweat dampening his skin and the jumpsuit, the bright yellow color deepening all over his frame in odd patches. The usually comfortable but loose fit is roughly the same, except for one area.
Ryland's hunched-over form makes it harder to tell, but it's undeniable when your gaze lands on it. His cock is hard and standing at attention underneath his jumpsuit. The now obvious tent brings an even fiercer heat to your cheeks. You can't help it. You hadn't been with anyone... you'd been too busy focused on your career and then saving the world.
"It, it won't go away," he sobs out, his head falling forward a few more degrees so his forehead rests against the cool metal of the lab table. His whole form is tense and on edge, and seeing him like this tugs on your heartstrings. But something about this just doesn't make sense.
Confusion draws your brows taut together, and you carefully step closer to Ryland as you mull over his words. Rocky, who has been silent this whole time, is beyond confused, begins scuttling back and forth in his tunnel, trying to make sense of two alien species biology. Humans and whatever species caused this reaction in Ryland.
"Your... condition won't go away?" you ask slowly, your presence now much closer to the blonde-haired scientist. He bites down hard on his tongue as he squeezes his eyes shut. Your body was closer, your voice was closer. He could almost reach out, grab your hips- No! He quickly stops himself.
He needs to finish explaining.
The next sentence he grunts out is hard to understand, but you eventually piece it together. "No, it won't. I- tried. It won't go away. It's... it's not normal. It won't stop unless one of two things happens." You silently look up at Rocky, who has stopped above the two of you, his legs slowly raising and lowering his carapace in thought. The Eridian doesn't say anything.
"One," he hisses through gritted teeth, "It'll end when I cum, but not by my hand." The dirty words falling from Ryland's mouth has your heart fluttering in your chest, your mouth running dry at seeing him so... untamed. He swallows thickly and then grunts out, "Or two, it'll end when the chemicals are fully metabolized by my bloodstream."
Ryland lifts his head and then quickly brings it down on the lab table in a quick smack, a snarl of sexual frustration falling from his lips. A fresh bead of sweat curls down his neck, and you watch it disappear into the crevice of his jumpsuit.
"H-how long until it'll be fully processed?" you ask a little nervously, shuffling on your feet to give your injured leg some reprieve. It takes every ounce of control Ryland has not to open his eyes and look at you - he knows it'll only make it worse. He coughs once and then mumbles darkly, "I- I think its metabolism will take longer than I want it to. I'll die from overheating because of this fever before my body can process it all."
His tone sends warning bells off in your mind, and suddenly the severity of the situation sets in. Rocky finally speaks up, chiming in with an urgent and thoughtful question. "Can we cool Grace, question?" Ryland shakes his head left and right as he groans out, "No, buddy. It's not like your radiator organ. The cooler things are I touch, the more I burn up inside. This isn't a normal fever."
Ryland's words are finalized with a whimper when he flattens his fisted palm against the cool lab table. You rush toward him at the sound of what you think is pain, but you stop a few feet away as you try to assess where to help.
"Ryland," you breathe out his first name as you look at him. Panic threatens to flood over you while you take in his overly turned-on state. What do you do? Another sob pulls from his throat at the sound of your voice being even closer, and you watch his body tense up yet again.
"I- I'm afraid of hurting you," he whimpers out brokenly, "I can barely control myself, Y/n." His voice breaks at the end of his sentence, but then he's heaving in a deep breath. "I've thought of two options," he rushes out, the words slurring together. "Either you lock me in the airlock until this all ends, or-"
Ryland cuts himself off as the other thought swirls in his brain. It makes his aching cock throb - the sensation now painful. The other option sends images of you into his head. He pictures the way your cunt would stretch around his cock as he sinks into you. He can see the way your back would arch in pleasure, your hands reaching for him. He can see the way your breasts would bounce with every thrust from his hips slamming into yours.
Those thoughts prompt more precum to leak from his tip, making the wet patch on the front of his jumpsuit grow bigger. You've grown quiet at his words. The implication of his silence not lost on you.
Either he dies in the airlock of his organs being cooked, or you let him fuck you to give his brain the endorphin release to combat the chemicals being metabolized in his blood.
Your logical mind comes to an obvious conclusion: you're both going to die out here anyway. Be that a microscopic alien induced sex craze, starving to death, Ilyukhina's heroin stash, Yao's gun, or the Nitrogen tanks left by DuBois. It was inevitable.
Your rapidly beating heart comes to another. Help him.
Your train of thought is broken by his needy voice cutting through the quiet air of the ship. "I- I can't force you to do anything," he manages to croak out. "I- I get it if you'd rather put me in the air lock. I- I'd never want to f-force myself onto y-" "It's... okay," you soothe, your tone gentle and sweet as you watch his body almost writhe in pain.
"N-no," he cries, "I c-can't coerce you into, into this. I still could hurt you. I don't - I don't know if I'll be able to control myself if we-" Ryland stops himself as his hips try to roll again. Tears run down his cheeks now, splashing onto the lab table under his head.
"I trust you," is the only thing you can think of to say. Your heart is beating the fastest it ever has, adrenaline shooting through your veins and making your fingers shake with anticipation. You quickly tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and mumble, "I- I've never done this before but..."
As your voice trails off, Ryland swears his grip on reality slides. You'd never had sex? And this would be your first if you let him? Fuck! He lifts his head from the table, his cheeks still wet with tears but with his eyes still clamped closed. "I can't- I can't ask you to do that."
"You don't have to ask," you reply, your left hand reaching out to rest on his right shoulder. At the touch, Ryland lurches closer to you, his body swinging around to face you, his eyes ripping themselves open to stare down at you.
His body works against his brain, making him lean into your personal space. He sets his gaze deep into yours and swallows thickly. He feels like a predator, stalking his prey right before they lunge for the kill. It takes him a second to lean back, a scowl of pain etched on his features as he seethes through gritted teeth, "S-sorry."
He means it for more than just closing the distance - he means it for everything that was potentially about to happen.
"Once I start," he whispers lowly, his blue eyes boring into yours, "I don't think I'll be able to stop. You may-" his voice catches and then he finishes, "Yao's gun-" "It's okay, Ry," you match his soft tone. The tears make his blue eyes glitter, and you can see all sorts of inner turmoil burning in his gaze.
You tilt your head to find Rocky's figure cowering in his tunnel directly above you and Ryland. "What is happening, question?" Rocky asks, the notes an octave lower than normal. He's scared. You offer him a smile and state nervously, "Rocky? We will explain all of this later. For now, try to avoid me and Ryland. Stay up here in the lab or go up to the cockpit. Things may get scary, things... could break, we could both yell or make a lot of noise. No matter what - just stay on your side of the xenonite, okay?"
Rocky dips his carapace in understanding and then asks, "Where will you be, question?" You glance back at Ryland, whose skin is only a few inches from you, the heat pulsing off him in waves. You swallow thickly as you catch his gaze, the intensity of it making a shiver crawl up your spine.
"We'll be in the dormitory," you reply slowly, holding Ryland's gaze level. His hands clench by his sides, and he warns in a low huff, "The second you move away, I- my body is going to chase you. I-I don't think I can stop it."
You offer him an encouraging smile and reply, "I'll just have to run faster than you, then." It makes the darkness in his eyes lighten ever so slightly, and it gives you faith that the Ryland you know is in there.
Then, you move. You retract your arm from his shoulder as you launch backwards as best as you can on your leg, away from the lab table and from Ryland. Just as you move, you see Ryland's eyes grow cold and narrow, and then he lunges. The crystal clear feeling of fear shoots through your nervous system as you wobbly dart toward the ladder, and using it like a fireman's pole, you slide down it to give yourself a small lead.
Ryland is only a few seconds behind you as you make your way toward the mattress on the floor of the ship that you had been sleeping on mere minutes ago. It was detached from the wall so that Rocky would have more room for his workshop. Now, it serves as a soft landing pad as Ryland's hands grab onto your waist from behind you.
His fingers dig into your waist kind of roughly, finding your last rib on each side and pulling you flush against his chest. "I'm so sorry," he croaks out as his hips start rutting against your backside, the wetness on the front of his jumpsuit smearing against the back of yours.
"I said it already," you pant out as the air leaves your lungs, "It's o-kay." Your last word comes out with a hitch as one of Ryland's hands quickly slides from your waist up the front of your abdomen to grab at your left breast. He palms at it, his fingers digging into and toying with the soft flesh as his hips roll against yours, shoving you forward a small step.
A small gasp tears from your throat at the feeling of his cock nestling against your ass and his hand so openly playing with your chest. You mind is spinning. It's trying to process, trying not to blush and shy, trying to plan for what to do next.
Unsure of what to do and to think because he's touching you like this, your hands carefully navigate around his groping at you. Your fingers reach for the top of your jumpsuit, hastily tugging down the zipper with uncalculated yanks as you maneuver around his arm. In doing so, you're trying to give him more access to your skin and body.
You also have to admit, despite being quite nervous and anxious for whatever was about to happen... it was kind of hot seeing your usually reserved and quiet crewmate indulge in his body's desires.
The second you free the front of your torso from the material of your jumpsuit, Ryland's hand dips under the zipper to slide over your skin. The warmth and softness of your body elicits a guttural moan from his lips. At the same time, it brings a an odd heat to your core, swirling in a way you hadn't experienced.
That sound? Was hot. His fingers gravitate to finding your right breast now, wanting to give it the same attention as the other. A pleased whimper escapes him as he praises, "So soft for me." You can't help but softly gasp in response to his touch and his praise. His feverish warm hand sends electricity crackling through your veins and anticipation brewing in your stomach.
He does his best to slow his movements down - his control is dwindling as more and more of your skin is revealed. He needs to prep you. He'll hurt you otherwise. He can't do that. If anything, he at least needs you turned on a little bit.
"I k-know you don't like me," Ryland grunts as he swirls his pointer and middle fingers over your right nipple, both consciously and unconsciously loving the feeling of it rising and pebbling under his ministrations. His touch has your back arching slightly, and you can't deny his touch feels nice. It makes it a bit hard to focus on his words, but you do listen.
"B-but I need to- I need you wet." Ryland groans out the dirty words as his cock catches on the curve of your ass and his hips try to snap. "I need to minimize my chances of hurting y-" "Just keep going," you cut him off with a soft mewl, working slowly to shake your arms out of the sleeves of your jumpsuit.
Ryland doesn't say anymore, but he does force himself to let go of you when he realizes what you're trying to do. The gap between your bodies is just big enough that he can help you peel your arms out of the sleeves, but then he's on you again.
Now, his hands land on the exposed skin of your waist. Seeing and touching your bare skin drives this desire in his mind absolutely wild. The fire coursing through his body has his vision edging with red, with one goal at the front of his mind: breed.
It was never anything he thought he was into before, but he just... wants to now. His subconscious notes the gentle slope of your spine, a mole on your right shoulder blade, and the way your hair rests around your neck. Seeing you like this only heightens that desire.
In an instant, his hands twist you around to face him, and he takes a step forward, one of his thighs parting your legs.
In two swift strides, your feet hit the base of the mattress on the floor. With the pressure of Ryland pushing on you, you gently flop backwards onto it, Ryland tumbling down on top of you. Now free from the confines of the jumpsuit, your bare chest bounces at the force of your back hitting the bed.
And, for the first time, Ryland gets an eyeful of your breasts.
"You're so beautiful," he moans appreciatively as he leans forward, his hips slowing their constant but fruitless thrusting as his mouth latches onto one of your mounds without warning.
His warm lips suckling at your breast and the blonde scruff from his jaw tickling your sensitive skin has you arching up into him, the foreign but pleasant feeling eliciting a sharp gasp from you. Beautiful? Must be the microbe's biochemicals talking. Unsure of what to do with your hands, they eventually find purchase threading through his fluffy blonde locks.
Ryland switches from suckling on the mound to place hot, wet kisses there instead. Slowly, as slow as he can manage with the desire coursing through him, he works his way from one breast through your valley of cleavage to the other. There, he gives your second breast the same treatment as the first. He quickly transitions to swirling his tongue and flicking it over your nipple until it grows under his touch and he can suck on it again with renewed vigor.
Unconsciously, your clothed hips roll up to meet his, and Ryland moans appreciatively against your skin as he grinds his hips downwards. With him on top of you like this, you finally can feel how his body is feverishly warm. It's then you know he needs to be stripped out of his jumpsuit.
"R-Ryland," you manage to pant out, one of your hands moving from the back of his head to softly cup his cheek. He doesn't move for a moment, lost in tasting your skin and soaking up the feeling of your softness underneath him. You don't relent, though, and it takes some effort to pull him up to see look him in the eyes. His blue gaze is almost black with the way his pupils have dilated. It's a wild, frenzied look in his eye, and it makes something deep inside you quiver.
"Your jumpsuit," you probe gently, releasing his face to pointedly tug at the material clinging to the front of his chest. The zipper was already part way down his chest to begin with, but the blonde-haired scientist quickly releases one hand from your waist to tug the soft material down even further.
Then, before you can even process it, he's reaching into the bottom part of his jumpsuit with a broken, rich moan. Your eyes are wide and nervous as you watch him hurriedly pull out his hard, throbbing cock. It slaps up to his abdomen, tall and standing at attention. A wave of panic shoots through you. It's... big.
His cock is swollen to the limit of what his body can handle. The first thing you notice about his cock is that it's long. You don't even want to guess how many inches. A lot. The next thing you notice is the girth of it. The shaft is thick down at the base but gets slightly narrower as it approaches the tip.
There's even an angry vein curling up the right side, and you're sure you could feel his pulse if you touched it. His whole cock curves to the right slightly, the tip a pretty, rosy red that matches the flush on Ryland's cheeks. The tip leaks precum since Ryland had been turned on for so long without a release. Being trapped in his jumpsuit has smeared that precum all over the tip of his cock, casting it in a milky white shadow.
You... can't deny it. His cock is pretty. And it turns you on.
Your throat goes dry as you stare at it while Ryland sighs in relief when it's free from the confines of his jumpsuit. "Ry-Ryland," you stutter out, his eyes snapping open at the sound of your voice. You swallow thickly and cough once as his hips continue their efforts to roll against you, his now exposed cock spreading his precum over the expanse of your bare stomach.
Once you've got his attention, you quietly ask, "Sh-should we fully strip?" The question is laced with an understandable sheepishness, but Ryland doesn't seem to pick up on it. If he was in his right mind, he certainly would, but instead, he just nods and leans forward, his mouth returning to pressing wet kisses along your skin. This time, his lips work higher up, nipping and leaving marks over your collarbones and toward the crevice of your neck.
You can smell his sweat now, and the combination of his mouth teasing your sensitive body and his natural scent flooding your nose has got you turned on. You hardly notice the way his fingers work your jumpsuit down over your hips - you're too busy figuring out how to roll them in time with his.
But then Ryland is grunting an order against your skin. "Kick it off." Before he gives you time to think about it, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder. He bites down fairly hard, and it makes your back arch off the mattress and your legs shiver with a moan falling from your lips. That little bit of delicious pain is just enough motivation to finish kicking the jumpsuit off, the material landing somewhere on the ground to the side of the mattress.
Now, for the first time in your life, you are stripped bare before a man. Ryland covers you with his larger frame and the skin-on-skin contact of your chests pressed together keeps him from fully viewing your body.
The blonde-haired scientist growls in frustration as his cock catches on the zipper to his jumpsuit, and he sits back from rolling his hips against you. There, you can see almost all of him, and he can see all of you.
As Ryland tugs his arms out of his sleeves, a whine curls up his throat when he sees his precum spread across your bare stomach. Not only that, he sees you.
Your (colored) hair fanned out under your head, bruises and dark marks now lining your neck and chest. Your breasts shift as your chest rises and falls rapidly, your (colored) gaze set on him in nervous anticipation. Then, your stomach is covered in him, leading right down to the mound of hair that hides your cunt.
And Ryland groans at the sight of you spread bare underneath him. His cock seems to agree, twitching against his bare abdomen as he finishes freeing himself from his jumpsuit. He kicks his off just as you did to yours, and then he's hovering over top of you again.
Suddenly, you realize your crewmate is a lot leaner than you gave him credit. His biceps bulge on either side of your head, his pecs are sharply defined, and his torso is laced with some of the finest abdominal muscles you have ever seen.
It makes your cunt clench.
"So, so good for me," he grunts as he slips one thigh between yours, parting your legs. The action has his hips rolling forward as his brain realizes it's about to get the hit of dopamine it wants.
Ryland angles his hips down and catches his cock on your slit. He absolutely growls over the feeling of your arousal gathering in your folds, and he pumps his cocks a few times through them to gather what wetness he can. He's starting to lose control of his movements, though. His body has one goal in mind and it's taking everything in him to fight it off to make sure he doesn't hurt you.
Satisfied that his cock is lubricated, Ryland nudges the tip of it right to the entrance of your cunt. Your hands reach up from where they have been clutching at the sheets underneath you to slide around his neck. You cling to him and find his gaze with a shaky exhale and butterflies brewing in your stomach.
He's already watching you, and you can see remorse and something else dancing in his eyes. Then, as slowly as he can manage, he begins to sink his cock into you an inch at a time. He does it with shallow, manageable thrusts until he's fully seated himself inside of your cunt.
Whimpers and whines and gasps of all sorts fall from your mouth as your body reacts to being stretched out in a way you've never experienced. Your eyes snap closed and your jaw drops wide open in a breathy, soft moan. There's only a slight burn and pinch, which you're distracted from by the sound of Ryland's voice.
"I'm sorry," Ryland whimpers as he tucks his head into the crook in your shoulder, hiding his face from you. He's taking that look on your face to mean you're in pain. He doesn't like that.
You return his whimper with a shake of your head, and as you try to find your ability to speak, you pause. Ryland is shaking above you, and for a moment, you think he's crying again. A moment passes but then you realize - he's trying to hold himself back.
And failing.
His left hand slips from next to your head to hold onto your hip, and once there, his grip is tight. You somehow manage to know it's not as tight as it could be because of his wrapped up injury, but it's still a firm hold. A moment later, you hear him hiss into your shoulder, "Breathe, please."
You do as he says, relaxing your body and easing the burn in your lungs you didn't realize was there. Your thighs simply part wide for him. It's like your brain just knows what to do. Thousands of years of evolution written into your DNA at work. Thankfully, your injured leg rests off to the side and neither of you touches or moves it.
Ryland's cock reminds his brain of its one goal: breed.
As you regain your air after processing the feeling of being stuffed full of Ryland's cock, you manage to gasp out, "I- I thought you'd fuck me like you hate me." You force a deep breath into your lungs and tear your eyes open to look at Ryland in an attempt to gauge his reaction. It's then Ryland's hips start to slide in and out of your cunt on their own accord.
Soft, pleasured noises begin to disperse from your lips as your brain tries to catch up with all of the new feelings it's experiencing. Somehow, in all of the bliss and pleasure and nervousness and excitement, it deciphers what Ryland says next.
"But, but I don't," Ryland grunts into your ear as his cock slides into your cunt with a slow roll of his hips. At that, he effectively loses control of his mind and body.
You don't get the chance to respond to what he says. His hips begin really rolling, slowly gaining speed and accuracy as he thrusts into your cunt.
This feeling is foreign and new and somehow amidst the anxiety, nice? The feeling of Ryland's hand on your hip keeps you still as his hips snap to meet yours. There's a firmness to it that tells you that you won't be released until he's done with you. Right now? You aren't really upset about your position.
It's unexpected, sure, but not... entirely unwelcome.
With each thrust from Ryland, he brings a new spark of pleasure to your body. Noises like you've never made are produced due to his movements and the sounds he's making. Ryland can't even try to hold them back. Grunts, groans, growls. They are deep, untamed, primal sounds that tell you his body is happy with this course of action.
"Ry- oh, Ryland," you breathe out as he picks up speed in your cunt. The sound of skin slapping on skin begins to fill the air, combining with the sounds pulled from deep in both you and Ryland's chests. He groans lowly into the skin of your shoulder. He doesn't dare pick his head up, fearful that looking at you will only make him come more unrestrained.
In holding himself hostage like this, his glasses are fogging up, but it's not like he can tell. His eyes are screwed shut as tightly as he can manage. Your cunt feels incredible to his sensitive, throbbing cock. The soft, velvety feeling of your walls, the welcoming warmth of your core, and the way your cunt seems to take him so perfectly with each thrust.
It's driving him wild.
Ryland's hips only grow rougher and faster as he finds and settles into a hard, brutal pace. This is not what he would want to do for your first time, but he can't stop his body. It wants him to fuck you with everything he's got, and he is helpless to stop it.
Meanwhile, all you can do is slip one hand up and into his blonde curls and hold on with that grip. Your other hand removes itself from his neck to wrap around his back, raking down his skin in time with his thrusts and the moans filling the air.
At some point, your eyes force themselves closed despite wanting to watch what you can. Your jaw has fallen slack, lost in this immense pleasure and the jolts spreading throughout your body. It's furthered when Ryland grunts into your shoulder, "That's it, that's it." The small bit of praise makes your cunt clamp down and a moan of, "Ryyyyyy," slip past your lips.
That noise alone makes Ryland snarl, and his hips slam up harder into yours. "So warm, so wet," he grunts, "You're so tight on my cock, Y/n. You feel so good, gosh, I'm- not gonna-"
You think you might know what he means.
His movements have caused your pleasure to condense deep in your core. It's built with every thrust and every noise Ryland has made. Now, that pleasure is forming into a coil that's steadily growing with each passing second.
"M-me, t-too," you manage to whimper out, your back arching up off the mattress and shoving your chest flush against Ryland's. His hand on your hip slides under your back to hold you against him as his hips continue to work.
There's a slight angle change, and in that, the tip of his cock finds that one spongey spot in your walls that has you seeing stars. "Ryland!" you moan louder yet, your whole body quivering from the strength of his thrusts. The force of his hips makes your breasts bounce, but in being held against him like this, you're left with the delicious friction of your pebbled nipples rubbing against the soft, smooth skin of his chest.
"Fuck," he groans out. "You... You feel so good. So good for me. Sh-shit, Y/n!" You're right there with him, whimpering and mewling out the pleasure he's bringing you. The coil deep in your core builds and builds and builds until you cry out, "'m- 'm- Ryland!"
You cum hard and fast on his cock, writhing underneath him as pleasure explodes throughout your body. Your eyes, snapped closed with bliss, see shooting stars behind your eyelids and you stop breathing.
Your cunt clamps down hard on his cock, and Ryland's hips stutter at the shoot of pleasure that travels up the length of his cock. He forces himself to resume the pace, fucking you through your orgasm both to prolong it for your sake, but also because his isn't that far behind.
Ryland speeds up his hips one more time, pistoning in and out of your sensitive cunt. This new speed sends him barreling toward his own orgasm as he grunts out hoarsely, "Cummin', cummin'!"
Ryland releases a long, strangled groan as he cums deep in your cunt. His cock twitches out thick ropes of seed that paint the walls of your cunt white. It takes no effort for his body to rock you both through his orgasm. His brain is completely gone and his body is running on autopilot determined by the biochemicals floating through his blood.
There's a major sense of relief that floods the blonde-haired scientist. The release he gets from climaxing is not just physical. There's a weight lifted off of him, like in a weird way, it feels like he gets a breath of fresh, spring time air after being stuck in space for 12 light years.
That barrier in his mind that focused on breeding has been satiated.
Rapid, fast pants fall from Ryland's mouth as he sucks in air like he's coming up out of water. His arm holding his body over yours gives in and he crashes down into your chest. It knocks the wind out of you, but at the same time, only adds to the pleasure radiating throughout your body as his hips come to a stop deep in your cunt.
Yet in the haze of Ryland's blissed out mind, he is upset.
He's distraught. He feels like an asshole. His brain is telling him that you only did this to save his life when you should have put him in the airlock. He feels like he disrespected you and went against his core beliefs of treating women right.
On top of that, as he feels his cock twitch and that painful ache in his body dissipate, he realizes he didn't use a condom.
Yeah. He's cursing himself up and down on the inside.
Meanwhile, you're in complete and utter bliss. Ryland's cock is still buried deep inside of you, and honestly? You'd be content if he stayed right there as you come down from your high.
Your brain is working overtime to try to process and understand everything that just happened within the last... however long. That's when something Ryland said in the middle of all of this floats to the front of your mind.
Tentatively, with your voice quiet and unsure, you break the silence. "What... what did you mean by... you don't, uhm, hate me?" You loosen your grip on Ryland's hair, instead gently smoothing over the mussed up golden curls as you wait for his response.
Ryland doesn't even know what to say. How does he explain what's going on in his mind right now? He's getting hit with a wave of exhaustion now, likely an effect from the chemicals emitted from the alien life form, and he's beyond embarrassed and flushed. He simultaneously really wants to stay right where he is, connected to you in this way, but also... he really wants to put clothes on and try to hide himself from you.
Because what if...
He feels your hand smooth over his head and he releases a small puff of air from his lungs. Your second hand slowly slides up Ryland's back, over his shoulder, and to his jaw. Your own heart is picking up speed again with your sudden braveness, but you want to know.
As kindly as you can, you draw Ryland up from your shoulder so that he comes face to face with you. He's expecting to see a look of judgment, a look of anger, a look of disgust.
He finds none of that.
Instead, he only sees an open, willing expression. Maybe even... hopeful?
Ryland's throat grows dry at that look. His heart is beating faster and his breathing grows even more unsteady. He swallows and wets his lips, his eyes darting back and forth between your own.
His mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to backpedal, to cover it up, to say something to hide his mistake. But he can't. And that look from you has his splintered mind giving in and admitting slowly, "I... don't."
Surprise slowly spreads across your face like a can of molasses spilled on a table during winter. Ryland glances down from your eyes and stares straight at your collarbones. He sucks in a breath, shuts his eyes, and sighs, "I... I don't hate you, Y/n. I never have."
You are frozen underneath him. You don't dare speak. You don't dare move. All you can do is listen.
When you don't do anything, Ryland takes it as a sign to keep talking, even though that's literally the last thing he wants to do. "When I woke up from the coma," he murmurs, "All I knew was that I didn't like you. Something about you... just..."
He tears his eyes open and glances around, trying to find the right words. You swipe your thumb over his cheek and that draws his attention back to your face. His brows furrow and he whispers, "You just aggravated me."
You smile a little at that and softly chime in with a huff of, "You aggravated me, too." Ryland mirrors your small smile for a moment before his expression grows serious again. "I didn't... I didn't understand why. There was no reason for me to dislike you like that," he eventually says.
He shuffles onto one of his forearms so he can hold himself above you with less strain on his injury. Ryland's eyes dance over your face as he continues, "You were smart, witty, and a damn good scientist. But you just annoyed me." Somehow the words he says come across in a positive light, and you find them warming your chest and your cheeks.
Ryland settles his gaze on your mouth for a moment as his brows draw together. "After a while," he says, pauses, and then tilts his head and raises a brow, "A long while, after Rocky came on board, I... had a memory come back."
Your eyes grow wider at that. A memory? The two of you had this unspoken agreement where if one of you had a memory, you shared it. Neither of you knew what was happening when you woke up, and one by one, you each got memories. Those memories were missing puzzle pieces to solve and defeat Astrophage. Sharing those memories you individually gained back was a part of that.
Ryland sighs a little sheepishly and nods his head once in your hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I know I should I have told you. But... I didn't think you would believe me or... uhm... like? the memory?"
If he didn't have your interest piqued before, he certainly does now. You raise a brow in question, but again, you don't say anything. Ryland takes another deep breath and admits, "It was... you and me. Back on Earth. Stratt's vat, the original lab she set up for when we first got Astrophage, all of it."
"But," he mumbles, "It wasn't... just you and me. We... weren't like how we are here on the Hail Mary. We... joked...and laughed. You, uhm," he chuckles once and shrugs a shoulder, "You'd punch me in the shoulder if I made a really bad joke or if I quoted The Beatles too many times."
Your mouth curls up into a small, one sided smile as your mind begins to race. You part your lips to interrupt, but Ryland keeps going.
His expression is shy and open, and you can tell he's laying it all out for you. "When we were at Baikonur, your trailer was next to mine, and we'd walk to the lab together every morning," he says softly, "There were mornings where I wanted to reach over and grab your hand. I wanted to know what your skin felt like when it was always hidden under a latex glove."
Ryland's eyes flash up to yours. "I wanted to eat dinner with you in my trailer, or in my quarters on the ship when we were out at sea. I wanted to make you laugh every chance I could get just so I could see you smile when everything in the world was falling apart."
If you thought your heart was beating fast before, it's practically fluttering in your throat now. Your breathing is growing faster and shallower too, and you swallow to try to get your voice to work.
Ryland gives you an unsure smile as he confesses, "I... really, really liked you back on Earth. I mean, I had the world's biggest crush on you. I never did anything about it because we were trying to work on this project and I wasn't ever sure if you liked me back. And, oh, I don't know what the coma did to my brain, but it somehow twisted all of those unrequited feelings into a dislike that I've taken out on you for the last however many months."
"I mean, you had and have every reason to dislike me," he mumbles, his smile dissipating. "Both then and now with what I just put you through." Ryland bashfully shrugs one shoulder and admits, "Even now... I... I still like you."
Your eyes are wide with shock and disbelief at Ryland's confession. You don't even know what to say. All of that? On Earth? Now?
You are speechless.
There's only one thing you can think of to do to clearly communicate what you're feeling.
Using both hands to cup Ryland's face, you lean up off the mattress and capture his mouth in a soft, slow kiss. At first, he tries to pull back and panic over it, but then you slip a hand to the back of his head to keep him close, and Ryland sighs, melting into the kiss.
A soft, pleased hum resonates from Ryland, and he brings his hand not holding him up to cradle the back of your head. Once you feel him soften into the kiss, you allow yourself to enjoy it. The feeling of his lips slotting gently against yours, the tickle of his scruff on your face. Even the taste of his mouth is addicting and you find yourself wanting more.
But your lungs are still trying to get back to equilibrium, and you both pull away from the kiss slowly and at the same time. Ryland is the speechless one now, and you hold his face gently and glance over his features in the same way he had for you.
He's all sorts of confused. His hair is sticking up and out in a million different directions, his brows are taut, and you can practically see the questions forming on his mouth.
"It was never unrequited, Ryland," you whisper softly, "I never hated you. I think whatever happened to you in the coma also happened to me, because I also had the world's biggest crush on you."
Your cheeks burn with a shy warmth as you try to come up with your own words to say. Ryland is a step ahead of you, though, as he always is, and he asks, "But... how? When did you...? You've acted like you've hated me since you woke up!"
Now it's your turn to shrug. "Well, I... had a memory a few nights ago when I was getting ready to sleep and I guess it all made sense to me then."
The two of you stare at each other in disbelief for a few moments in silence. Then, at the same time, you both snort and burst into giggles. The tension in the room releases and you can't help but snicker as you come to terms with what information Ryland's provided you.
He sighs and shakes his head with a dumb, amazed grin. "Wow. To think this whole time we've been at each other throats all because the trip here messed with our brains. Unbelievable." You nod along and chuckle, "Well, I mean, at least we got it figured out? Even if under these conditions?"
Ryland winces a little and remorse fills his face. "I'm really sorry," he rushes, "I was so rough on you but I couldn't stop myself and I didn't want to hurt you-" "Ryland, Ryland," you soothe, again slipping your fingers over the scruff on his cheeks. "It's okay. I don't hurt anywhere. I'm okay."
"Actually," you giggle a little sheepishly, "I, uhm... kind of liked it rough like that?" That makes Ryland's cheeks flush a pretty rosy color. His mouth rapidly opens and closes as he tries to come up with something to say, but he doesn't. You end up giggling again, leaning up to rest your forehead against his.
His fingers gently slip into your (colored) locks and he sighs in happy, embarrassed defeat. He holds you close as you mumble, "And maybe, sometime in the future? We can try this all again when we're both healed up and 100%."
Ryland's brows shoot up in surprise as he echoes, "Try this again?" You blink in surprise but then grow bashful as you try to back track, "Well, well- we're the only two humans for 12 light years, and you know, we just did the deed. And well, if we both like each other, then I thought it wasn't a bad idea? Unless I'm totally reading this wrong-" "No!" He yelps out, tightening his grip on your hair slightly.
"No, no, no, that's not what I meant, I'm sorry," Ryland rushes out. "I just... can't believe all of this. This was never how our first time was supposed to go but here we are, and I... I just want to take care of you the way you deserve."
Your expression softens and you lean into his touch. You nuzzle your nose against his and nod faintly. "No, I know what you mean, Ry. I can't believe it either, and you just blew my mind," you say quietly. "You're... something, Dr. Grace."
Ryland smiles and softens into you again. It takes him a moment to get the courage, but then he whispers against your lips, "I love you, Y/n." Hearing those words makes you smile brighter than the stars surrounding the ship and you whisper back, "I love you, Ryland."
Without hesitating this time, Ryland closes the distance between the two of you and captures your lips for himself.
in which Dr. Grace uses the wrong vocabulary, and the Hail Mary gets a lot hotter
part one - part two
word count: 2,9k
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The vast, endless expanse of interstellar space was, frankly, a little monotonous.
When you first boarded the Hail Mary, the sheer, existential terror of the mission had been enough to keep your adrenaline spiking every hour of the day since you woke up. You were on a one-way trip to Tau Ceti, carrying the weight of the entire human race on your shoulders, surrounded by technology that was experimental at best and completely suicidal at worst. For the first few months, every creak of the hull, every fluctuation in the life support systems, and every minor error code on the monitors had felt like a harbinger of imminent death.
But the human brain is remarkably adaptable. After millions of miles, the terrifying isolation of the cosmos had slowly morphed into a strange, domestic routine. You knew the exact, comforting hum of the centrifuge spin drive. You recognized the faint, metallic scent of the air scrubbers working overtime. And, perhaps most dangerously, you had memorized the exact way Dr. Ryland Grace’s brow furrowed when he was lost in a complex mathematical equation.
Living in a tin can hurtling through the dark abyss of space meant that personal boundaries were a luxury you had both abandoned long ago. You had learned to navigate around each other in the cramped, utilitarian quarters of the ship, sharing unappetizing nutrient paste rations, recalibrating the atmospheric controls shoulder-to-shoulder, and existing in a constant, comfortable proximity that would have felt suffocating back on Earth.
But out here, with only each other - and an incredibly intelligent, five-legged alien space spider - for company, that proximity was the only thing keeping you sane. Ryland was brilliant, relentlessly optimistic, and possessed a deeply ingrained, nerdy charm that made the crushing weight of the mission feel survivable. He was a good man.
Lately, however, that comfortable proximity had started to feel a lot heavier. The accidental brushes of his arm against yours in the laboratory, the way he looked at you when you managed to decipher a new string of Eridanian vocabulary, the warmth of his presence when you were both exhausted and staring out at the uncaring void - it was all beginning to build a quiet, simmering tension in the pit of your stomach.
Currently, that tension was being tested as you sat strapped securely into the pilot’s seat in the main control room, running manual astrogation drills.
The ship’s automated systems were robust, but Eva Stratt’s paranoia had dictated that every single crew member know how to fly the Hail Mary in the event of a catastrophic computer failure. Well, except the two of you. You were scientists, not pilots. The dizzying arrays of vectors, velocities, and orbital mechanics were entirely outside your wheelhouse. But Ryland, ever the patient educator, had taken it upon himself to teach you - in theory, that was. You liked to consider the both of you as clueless as any other human down on Earth.
"Okay, let's run through the parameters one more time," Ryland said.
He was hovering just over your left shoulder, anchored to the hard plastic back of your pilot's chair in the zero-gravity environment of the control cabin. Because there was no 'up' or 'down' without the centrifuge spinning, he was floating at a slight angle, perfectly relaxed in the weightlessness.
"If I want to adjust our attitude to point exactly at that specific star cluster in the Tau Ceti system," you murmured, keeping your eyes locked strictly on the glowing telemetry screen in front of you. You raised your hands, hovering them over the manual thruster controls. "I can't just fire the port thruster like I'm turning a steering wheel."
"Right. Why?" Ryland prompted. His voice was close. Close enough that you could feel the ambient heat radiating off his standard-issue jumpsuit, a stark contrast to the slightly chilly, sterile air of the cabin.
"Because of Newton's First Law," you replied, reciting the lessons he had been drilling into your head for the past three weeks. "An object in motion stays in motion. In the vacuum of space, there is zero atmospheric friction to slow down the spin. If I fire the port thruster, the ship will just keep spinning along that axis forever, or until we make ourselves incredibly dizzy."
"Exactly," Ryland beamed. The pride in his voice was palpable, vibrating right near your ear. "You are your own friction. You have to be your own brakes."
You swallowed hard, forcing your focus away from the warmth of his arm, which was currently hovering a mere millimeter away from the shoulder of your flight suit, and forced your brain back to the math. "So, I fire the port thruster to initiate the turn, let the momentum carry our mass, and then I have to counter-fire the starboard thruster at the exact right millisecond to arrest the momentum and lock us into the new trajectory."
"That's the theory. Now let's see the application," Ryland encouraged softly. He was watching your hands over the console, entirely focused on your progress.
You let out a slow, steadying breath. You disabled the autopilot interlocks, the console flashing a brief yellow warning before yielding full manual control to your joysticks.
"Alright. Manual control engaged. Firing port attitude thruster for zero-point-two seconds... now."
You tapped the left control stick. The ship didn't shudder - the attitude thrusters were too small to feel inside the massive hull - but the starfield out the reinforced viewport slowly, lazily began to drift to the right. It was a dizzying sensation, watching the universe spin around you while you sat perfectly still.
You glued your eyes to the digital degree marker on the main astrogation display. It ticked up with agonizing slowness. Ten degrees. Fifteen degrees. Twenty degrees.
"Wait for it," Ryland coaxed.
He leaned in a fraction closer to check the monitor over your shoulder. You could faintly smell the sterile, unscented ship soap they provided in the washroom, mixed with the distinct, warm scent that was just fundamentally him. It was intoxicating in a way it had absolutely no right to be. His presence was a massive, grounding anchor in the middle of nowhere.
"Twenty-eight... thirty-two..." you counted aloud, your fingers tensing over the starboard control stick. Your heart was thumping a rapid rhythm against your ribs. If you overshot the counter-burn, you'd have to waste precious fuel correcting the wobble.
You tapped the starboard control with as much precision as you could muster.
Out the viewport, the spinning starfield instantly stopped drifting. The sudden halt was almost jarring to the eyes. The nose of the Hail Mary locked into absolute stillness. You checked the telemetry screen. The digital crosshairs were sitting exactly on top of the coordinates you had calculated. Dead center. Zero drift. Zero wobble.
"Yes!" Ryland cheered.
In a completely natural, unfiltered burst of scientific triumph and pride, he shifted his grip.
His large hand moved from the hard plastic back of the pilot's chair to rest warmly and firmly on the curve of your shoulder. His thumb pressed right into the dip of your collarbone through the fabric of your jumpsuit, an anchoring, heavy weight in the zero gravity. He leaned down, his face dipping into your peripheral vision, his cheek almost brushing yours as he grinned at the perfect alignment on the screen.
"Perfect pitch and yaw," he praised.
The sheer, relieved approval stripped away his usual nervous, rapid-fire energy. His voice dropped an octave, settling into a low, breathless rumble that vibrated right through the shell of your ear.
"Textbook execution. Good girl."
The ambient, ever-present hum of the ship’s life support systems seemed to vanish entirely from your awareness.
The praise had slipped out of him on pure, unadulterated instinct. It was a leftover relic from his previous life, from his days of leaning over lab tables, grading middle school science fair projects, and offering gentle, authoritative encouragement to students who finally figured out how to balance a chemical equation.
But floating in a tiny cabin in the dark abyss of space, millions of miles away from any school or civilization... it didn't sound like a teacher.
Delivered with the heavy, possessive weight of his hand on your collarbone, the close proximity of his body, and the low, rough timbre of his voice, it sounded like something else entirely.
It sent a searing, electric jolt straight down your spine, pooling hot and heavy in your stomach. Your breath hitched audibly in the dead quiet of the cabin. Your hands froze over the manual controls, your fingers curling inward. Every single nerve ending in your shoulder seemed to hyper-focus on the exact shape and heat of his hand gripping you.
It took Ryland Grace exactly one and a half seconds to hear the echo of his own words replay in his brilliant, analytical brain.
"Oh, my gosh," he gasped.
He yanked his hand off your shoulder as if your flight suit had just been doused in liquid nitrogen. In his sudden, blind, overwhelming panic, the man completely forgot the very laws of physics he had just spent half an hour teaching you.
He pushed back away from you with entirely too much force. Without any gravity to anchor him, the violent push launched him backward across the control room. He flailed wildly, his arms windmilling in the air as he sailed across the cabin, completely out of control, until his back slammed into the main science console with a loud, painful thump.
You spun around in your chair, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, entirely unsure if you should be concerned for his safety or absolutely entirely amused by his panic.
The brilliant, world-saving biologist - the man who had figured out how to harness alien microbes for interstellar travel - was currently tangled in his own zero-G socks, gripping the edge of the metal console for dear life. A furious, agonizing, painfully bright red blush was crawling so fast up his neck that his ears practically looked radioactive.
"I- I didn't mean-" Ryland stammered.
His eyes were wide, round, and completely horrified behind the lenses of his glasses. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air in front of him, fingers twitching, as if he didn't know what to do with his own limbs anymore.
"My brain just- it cross-wired!" he blurted out, his voice cracking horribly. "I was looking at the telemetry and I was just so proud of the math, and my brain just reverted to grading eighth-grade science fairs! I swear on my life, I swear to gosh, I do not think of you as a seventh grader! That was incredibly inappropriate, I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean it like- I didn't mean to sound-"
He was rambling at the speed of light, his chest heaving under his jumpsuit as he hyperventilated.
But despite his absolute mortification, despite his frantic attempts to rationalize the slip of the tongue as a simple, harmless pedagogical error... the tension in the room had irreversibly shifted.
It was thick. It was electric. You could practically cut it with a scalpel.
He was panicking precisely because he was suddenly, acutely, and overwhelmingly aware of the fact that you were definitely not one of his students. The realization was hitting him like a freight train, crashing through the comfortable, platonic barriers he had built around himself for the duration of this mission. As he stared at you from across the room, his eyes darted nervously from your gaze, down to your slightly parted lips, down to the curve of your throat, and quickly back up to the ceiling ceiling panels, swallowing hard enough that you could see the apple of his throat bob from across the room.
You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying desperately to suppress the smile that was threatening to break across your face. Your own cheeks were burning hot, a flush that you knew matched his completely. You could still feel the physical ghost of his thumb pressing into your collarbone.
"Ryland, breathe," you managed to say. You tried to sound reassuring, but your voice came out a little softer, a little huskier than usual, betraying the fact that the slip-up had affected you just as much as it had horrified him. "It's fine. Really. I know what you meant-"
Thump.
A soft, hollow impact echoed in the cabin, cutting off your reassurance.
A large, perfectly clear, pressurized sphere of xenonite drifted lazily through the open doorway of the control room, gently bumping against the upper doorframe before floating into the space between you and Ryland.
Rocky was inside his custom-built bubble. The Eridanian engineer had likely been in his workshop, heard the loud crash of Ryland slamming into the science console, and pushed himself down the zero-gravity corridor to investigate the commotion.
"Observation. Human female face is red. Internal temperature elevated."
The deadpan, entirely emotionless robotic monotone of Ryland’s custom translation program filled the room instantly. Because the software was completely hardwired to intercept Rocky’s frequencies and translate them in real-time, there were no musical chords to soften the blow - just the immediate, blunt observation echoing from the laptop speakers strapped to the console.
Ryland groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated suffering. He let go of the console and pressed both hands over his flaming face, hiding behind his fingers.
"Oh, heck," Ryland muffled into his palms. "Please. Kill me now. Just vent the airlock and put me out of my misery."
Inside the floating sphere, Rocky shifted. His carapace scraped slightly against the xenonite, his five little articulated legs tapping a rapid, curious rhythm against the clear wall of his bubble. He was a scientist at heart, and a new, unexplained biological phenomenon was entirely too fascinating to ignore.
The laptop speakers instantly spoke again, delivering the translation with zero tact.
"Query. Grace also turning red. Heart rates for both humans are currently fast. Biometric sensors indicate endocrine systems are actively producing large amounts of adrenaline, cortisol, and oxytocin."
Rocky’s bubble slowly rotated in the zero gravity, his eyeless carapace seemingly tracking between the two of you.
"Are humans in physical danger, question? Or is this typical Earth mating behavior, question? Please explain."
"It's not mating behavior!" Ryland yelped, dropping his hands from his face.
His voice was an octave higher than normal, bordering on hysterical. He pointed an accusatory finger at the floating glass ball, looking like a man who was fighting for his life against his own ship's computer.
"It was a linguistic error! A vocabulary slip! I used a colloquial phrase in the wrong context and triggered an inappropriate psychological response! Rocky, I swear to gosh, turn off the biological monitors right now! Stop looking at our oxytocin levels!"
Inside the sphere, Rocky tapped a few more times.
"Linguistic error causes mating response, question?" the robotic voice stated deadpan. The xenonite ball slowly bounced off a wall panel, lazily drifting back toward the center of the room. "Earth biology remains highly confusing. I will take notes for future reference."
You finally let out a shaky laugh. You couldn't hold it in anymore. The sheer absurdity of the situation - arguing about mating responses and oxytocin levels with a highly intelligent, incredibly blunt alien space spider who was rolling around in a hamster ball - was exactly what you needed to break the suffocating, heavy sexual tension that had gripped the room.
You unbuckled your complex pilot's harness, the straps floating away from your shoulders. With a gentle, practiced push against the footrests, you floated up and out of the pilot's seat, letting the zero gravity carry your momentum smoothly across the small room.
Ryland watched you approach. He looked entirely paralyzed, his back pressed flat against the science console. His eyes tracked your every movement, the dark rings around his pupils blown wide, the furious blush on his face stubbornly refusing to fade.
You reached out and caught the edge of the science console, arresting your momentum and stopping just a few inches away from where Ryland was currently trying to merge his molecular structure with the bulkhead. Up this close, you could see the rapid pulse beating at the base of his throat. You could feel the heat radiating off him again.
He looked up at you, his breath catching audibly in his chest for a second time.
"I'm going to go to the galley and get a drink of water," you said softly, holding his panicked, entirely captivated gaze.
You let a slow, deliberate, teasing smirk tug at the corner of your mouth. You didn't back down from the proximity. Instead, you let the silence stretch for just a second longer than necessary, letting him sweat it out.
"But you know..." you added, leaning in just a fraction of an inch closer, dropping your voice. "My astrogation is getting pretty good."
Ryland swallowed, his eyes darting to your lips. "It... it is. Yes."
"So," you whispered, pushing off the console to slowly float backward toward the open doorway, "I expect you to keep up the positive reinforcement, Dr. Grace."
Ryland made a sound that was half-choke, half-squeak. His hands gripped the metal edge of the console so tightly his knuckles turned completely white.
Satisfied, you turned in the air and floated gracefully out of the control room, heading down the corridor toward the galley. You left the brilliant, awkward microbiologist completely flustered, entirely speechless, and very, very red as Rocky’s clear glass bubble lazily drifted past his head, the laptop speakers chiming one last time.
"Observation. Human female has retreated. Mating ritual concluded?"
New Discoveries ‧₊˚ੈ Ryland Grace x Fem!Scientist!Reader. proximity crushes / ryland and reader are lowk avoidant but it works / not proofread / yes there will be a part 2 being within the next few days. (nsfw..)
word count: 4.8k
Sixteen days.
It had been sixteen days since a woman named Eva Stratt approached you after one of your astrophysics classes and whisked you away to work for her and use your knowledge to study the Petrova Line halfway across the world. - On a boat. In the middle of the ocean. Called Stratt’s Vat.
Three men dressed in black suits drove you back to your house the moment a small agreement left your mouth. They gave you twenty minutes to gather your things into a suitcase and get back into the car.
They didn’t make conversation either. “So do you guys wear the same outfit everyday? Like a cartoon character?” You asked after an hour of silence. A black divider between the front and back seats rolled up, and the man sat next to you pushed his glasses up further on his nose and looked out the window. “Great. Great. Good to know.”
At least you didn’t have to talk once in the jet. The strange pills wiped you out straight away - which you were grateful for after finding out how long the flight took.
It was windy outside the jet, given you were on an extremely large research vessel in the ocean. You looked around, there was a lot of people and machines and vehicles on the boat. There was a lot of machines on the boat.
A sigh of relief left your lips once you recognised a face, Eva Stratt, walking right towards you.
“Hi.” Your voice waivers a bit, but she brushed off your nerves and gestured for you to follow her.
She’s drinking coffee, you note that immediately. You want some. “How was your flight.” She asks, making eye contact as you walk. “It was fine. Never been on a plane that fast, so can’t complain.” She nods, leading you down a strip of walkway as you approach the building part of the boat.
“You didn’t get sick.”
“I didn’t.” You nod.
“That’s a good sign.”
“A good sign? A good sign of what?”
She opens a door for you, bringing you down a narrow hallway that looks like something from a movie where everyone is going to die, but that’s not far off from what’s happening.
“Integrity. Strength. Determination. You are a good sign in general. Or perhaps you just have a strong stomach.” Your thoughts mute in your head for a moment, you glance at her and she’s already looking at you. She’s enjoying your confusion. “Wha-”
“Afternoon.” She interrupts you as you round a corner, where two men stand guarding a door, which they open. Stratt stands behind you, you glance back. “Your room.” The two men stand to the side, allowing you space to walk through. Your steps are slow, brows furrowed while you stare at one of the men. He doesn’t look away. Interesting.
The room has a lot of people. Too many people. This is not your room. You back up, and Stratt’s behind you again, shaking her head to match yours. “No. No. What’re you do-” “Yes. You are doing this. Come.” You turn back around and it seems like there’s people more this time.
There’s a U-shaped table in the centre of the room, and every seat is filled with people looking at you, there’s more people standing behind them too - also looking at you.
Your heart plummets in your chest at the sight of it. Teaching college students everyday is an easy thing to do when everyone is younger than you and they technically pay for you to talk to them. Standing here in front of adults who are either the same age or older than you is a very different experience.
“This is Doctor Y/n L/n. She is a Professor in astrophysics, and will aid us in our research.” Stratt stands a slight bit in front of you, giving you a chance to look around the room better.
The table has an extremely diverse group of people sat at it, men and women varying in ages with different country flags sat on the desk before them. All with the same type of aura as Stratt about them. They each have a thick book, something similar you’d seen Stratt carry before.
“Dr. Y/n L/n, I hereby grant you top-secret clearance to all information pertaining to Project Hail Mary.”
You pause, and an abrupt silence fills the room. Your mouth opens as if to say something, you close it again to swallow sharply. “I’m sorry, Project what?”
-
The smell of coffee filled your senses - your second cup today after eating breakfast and having a quick briefing with some French government officials. They were quick learners, something you were grateful for after the meeting came to an end earlier than expected. Leaving you a spare twenty minutes to have another trip to the canteen and grab the drink in hand.
You were excited today, an uncommon feeling now that you were aware you and three other people would be sent on a suicide mission to space in order to save the world.
Ryland Grace - a name that filled your ears more and more as each day passed, would finally be brought to the ship and you would get to meet the man face to face. He was intriguing, as you’d been told. A man who was confident in his beliefs and somehow managed to breed astrophage. A top secret piece of information you could not tell anyone until he arrived.
Yes, you were excited to meet him.
The meeting room was filled the same way it was when you were first brought to the mission, the U-shaped table, the serious faces of each representative, however this time it was a small bit busier after some of the younger engineers and scientists arrived. Like you.
You stood near the back against the wall, talking to one of the Australian scientists who filled you in on how Grace had once written a paper about the existence of life without water that cost him his job. It seemed some of the other representatives were just an unaware as you were in this fact, and turned around to talk to you both about it.
Everyone fell silent quickly, and a blond man walked in cluelessly, before realising just how many people were waiting for him and turned back around like you had. He seemed to be talking exasperatedly to Stratt, and looked quite disheveled.
He was gorgeous though.
No. You could not think of him like that. No matter how friendly the other colleagues had gotten with each other.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Dr. Ryland Grace from the United States. He figured out how to breed astrophage.” Stratt announced and the representatives did not sound happy. A German man got to his feet harshly. “Are you serious? Stratt was haben sie-?” “Englisch.” She cut him off sharply. A small smile graced your face.
Ryland still seemed very perplexed, and looked around the room bewildered by the situation.
“Doctor, have a seat and lay it out for us.” Stratt asked softly, pulling a chair out for him. He paused, holding his hand up to brace himself. “Hold on.” He began. “Who are these people? Why am I on a Chinese aircraft carrier? And have you ever heard of Skype?”
A huffed laugh left your lips in the noiseless environment. His gaze met yours for a moment, and he seemed almost relieved to see your face. He smiled softly at you, before Stratt interrupted again.
Okay, maybe you could think of him like that.
-
“Did you know the stegosaurus had a brain the size of a walnut despite being as big as a bus?”
“I’m not sure that’s a biology fact.”
“Still a fun one though. And it technically is a biology fact if you think about it.”
Ryland places a spoon on your tray, smiling at you while you look at him with furrowed brows. You reach slowly for a bottle of orange juice, handing it to him while he chuckles at you. A small part of a routine the two of you have been building over the past few weeks.
“Didn’t know I was getting a history lesson too. I must be lucky.” You follow behind him to a table in a hidden corner, a spot you sit in everyday.
“Oh yes, you’re very lucky actually. It’s not everyday I use my knowledge for other people’s benefit.”
“Wow, I wasn’t aware I was so special to you.”
“Very special. There’s a reason it’s you and not Yao I sit with every morning.”
You place a hand to your chest, looking away with a sarcastic bashful expression on your face. “That is not a compliment.” Yao appears from behind Ryland, making you burst out laughing at his timing.
“Ruining my flow here but I’ll allow it.” Ryland mutters and Yao ruffles his hair, a large grin playing his face. Yao smiles fondly at you both, watching as you try and suppress your laughter and Grace drag a hand tirelessly down his face. "Ah, young love."
His words were quiet and mumbled as he walked away, but Ryland heard. Of course he heard, and of course you didn't. You were still laughing away as he tried to stop the heat rising to his face, the tips of his ears were red, but the sheepish smile he had on his mouth distracted you. "What did he say?" You finally asked, taking the first bite of your oatmeal with the spoon Ryland had given you.
He shakes his head and makes use of opening his bottle of orange juice to give him something to do with his hands. "Oh I don't know. Didn't hear." He lied, and he felt his heart stop when you shot him a questioning look at his response.
It took a second before you spoke, swallowing slowly as you watch him look down at his plate feebly. A small habit he had when nervous. A cute habit.
"Are you coming to tonights party?"
Your question was much more easier to answer than he anticipated, even though he still couldn't find the right words for that one. "Jeez I'm not really sure... you know how I get around those guys. I- I mean, it's just not my thing." He trails a hand to the back of his neck, looking at your narrowed eyes.
"Come on. You seriously can't get a drink with me for one night?"
"No, it’s just..." He sighs, making eye contact with you for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. Gosh you really were pretty. "Please? Just this once?" You drag out, almost halfway through your meal whereas Ryland has barely had two mouthfuls.
"Fine."
He gives in, and he starts to think maybe he should've said yes sooner with the size of the smile that erupted on your face.
Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and your face practically lights up at his response. DuBois and Ilyukhina have been edging him on each day they see him to join in on the fun, and they won't be surprised it was you who finally got him to crack.
"Really? Oh you won't be disappointed. First drink on me!"
"Well good, I'd certainly hope so after all that begging." He snorts, laughing as you roll your eyes. Shovelling the last mouthful of your breakfast in your mouth, you push your chair out to stand.
"I better get going. Don't want Stratt finding me on the opposite side of the ship as to where I should be again." Ryland nods, holding out an apple he took from his tray.
"Eat more. It's gonna be like four hours before she lets you have a break."
"I’ll be fine, you watched me have one of those on the way here."
"Still."
A shy smile grows on your face once you take the piece of fruit from him and stand up. "Thank you. I'll see you later Ryland."
He waves when you turn your head to him once last time before leaving, and you wave back after he mouthes a silent "Bye." He watches you go through the lenses of his glasses, and he huffs at the now stagnant air around him compared to before when you were still sat with him.
He was hopeless.
On the way to your first meeting of the morning, you trailed mindlessly behind two women from the engineering team. You’d talked to one of them before, Jesse you think her name was, and you couldn’t place the other one. They were talking about tonight’s mixer. You tried not to listen in - but they were like eight feet away from you. How could you not?
You heard some names being mentioned here and there, like “Leclerc” and “Ilyukhina” followed by “Vodka.” Nothing uncommon to hear alongside their names. But then another name caught your attention, an you found yourself picking up your pace slightly to hear better.
“I am so gonna try my luck with Grace tonight. I think he’d have a good head game.” Jesse stated, and your mouth actually opened in shock at her words. The other girl laughed, nudging her slightly. “That’s even if he’s there and you can get him away from that scientist he’s always with.”
You. They’re talking about you. Fantastic.
“Well I’ll just have to snag him away and show him a good time.” She answered, and the two of them started giggling loudly. They suddenly turned a corner, the opposite way you were heading.
Your steps lulled a tad, and your gaze stuck to the floor incase they glanced back at the last second. They didn’t. But you didn’t bother lifting your head.
It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. Ryland was more than welcome to go around and have all the fun he wants with other women. But how could you be so naive? You wouldn’t always have Ryland to yourself, and you hadn’t even realised you thought of him like… that. until now.
That’s a lie. You have thought of him like that once or twice. Jesse wasn’t the only to think Grace has good head game.
A door opened infront of you. The door to the room you were meant to be in actually, and you were ripped from your thoughts. Stratt’s face stood before you, a polite smile on her face.
Gross. Gross. Ew. Don’t ever do that again.
-
The communal area was busier that normal tonight, and people were already pretty rowdy. You sat with Ilyukhina and some of her engineering crew, who were drinking a bottle of something strong that you couldn't name while you awaited your little scientist friends arrival.
Ryland said he would be there for 20:00, and it was 19:58 right now. Ryland wasn't the type to flake out - in fact he had never done it before, but christ were your nerves on fire.
You peeled your eyes away from the doorway, and instead watched as Chekhov downed an entire bottle of Smirnoff under his twenty second timer. He was impressive, and you all cheered when he completed it with three seconds to spare. He wrapped his arm around your head and swayed you back and forth as the others chanted his name, the two of you cackling loudly.
Ilyukhina placed her hand around her neck, pulling your body into her side instead of Chekhov’s. All of you cheering as one of the others got up to get a round of shots. Standing in the middle of the doorway, your eyes find a familiar head of unruly hair. Ryland had arrived, right on time too. His eyes skimmed the room before his framed gaze landed on you, and his face lit up as you waved and beckoned for him to come over.
He was barely three steps into the room when a hand caught his arm, and he turned to find a woman he had never seen before. She greeted him with a very loud “Hi.” He grimaced at the sound in his ear, but he sent her a polite smile and greeted her with a quiet “Hello” nonetheless.
Your smile faltered a bit and you turned around immediately, fighting the urge to bite your fist and roll your eyes at her voice halfway across the room.
You tilt your head to Ilyukhina. She was a good talker. She could distract you. If Ryland wasn’t going to come over and stay, then you needed someone else to humour you for the rest of the night. Someone good too.
“You’re Dr. Grace right?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” He nodded, noticing the way her grip hasn’t loosened on his bicep since he said hello. She watched his eyes flick down to her hand on his arm, and a cheeky smile grew on her lips.
“Are you nervous?” She asked lowly, and Ryland furrowed his brows with utmost confusion on his face. “Nervous? No? What? Why - What’s your name again? I don’t think I heard it.”
She grins, and her hand finally lets go of his arm before it’s stuck out infront of him. “Jesse Wallace. Part of the engineering team.” He takes her hand curtly, shaking it quickly before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Must be why I haven’t seen you then.” His tone is dismissive, and he’s looking around the room in an awkward manner, wondering why the hell you haven't come and swept him away yet.
“Maybe you haven’t looked hard enough.” Her voice is sultry, and not in a good way as he raises his brows and avoids eye contact. “Maybe.” He mutters, looking over to the crowd you’re sat in, staring straight at the back of your head.
Jesse follow his gaze, eyes zeroing in on you as she realises what he keeps looking at. “You two aren’t hooking up? Are you?” Grace’s wide eyes gape open to look at her, choking on his words and scoffing at the same time. “No! No… we’re not.” He stutters out, voice muffled as he looks down to his feet, shifting back and forth on them uncomfortably. “I wish.”
He mumbled the last bit too quickly, but his eyes flick over to you, then to Jesse, then to you again, and then back to her as if you had heard them from across the loud room.
"She seems like one of the only people you talk to. Her and Stratt."
Ryland nearly sneers at her words. "I talk to people. I talk to a lot of people actually, like Yao and Dimitri and Carl and Steve- I doubt you even know Carl and Steve." She giggles at that, a bit too loudly for his liking. "You don't talk to me?" Her question makes him glance at her for a moment, and he purses his lips at the sight of her fake hurt expression.
"This is the first time I've met you." He responds blatantly.
"Well then we should get to know each other better. Maybe we could head to my room?”
He inhales sharply, his hands balled into fists in his pockets begin to grow sweaty. He could’ve screamed at the thought of it. “Well uh I actually told Y/n I’d buy her a drink tonight. So… no. Sorry.”
She looks agitated at his reaction, yet Grace couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. Not when you hadn’t turned around once during their conversation. “I’ll just - um. I’ll see you later.” He winces at the awkwardness, but breathes a breath of relief he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding once he walks away, and internally smiles at the sight of your group coming closer.
“Hey.” He beams, placing a hand on your shoulder, standing behind you and Ilyukhina. “Hi.” You grin up at him.
You can’t tell if you’re feeling butterflies inside your stomach at the fact he chose to come over to you and not Jesse, or if your screaming inside at the fact he took so long to come over in the first place. But he looks really good in that shirt and those enticing little teacher glasses.
“I believe I owe you a drink.” You say in a teasing tone, standing to lead him over to the bar. He follows behind happily, trying not to look at your ass in those jeans, he averts his gaze to the duo doing karaoke - another thing he hasn’t seen until now.
The two of you lean against the bar table, waiting to be served. He gets to look at your face now, a better view than the back of your hair. You have a slight bit more makeup on, a teeny change only he would’ve noticed for how much he stares at you.
“How’s Jesse?”
“Who?”
“Jesse. The woman you were talking to.”
“Oh um. Strange.” He tuts, chuckling at the not so distant memory of her asking to go back to her room.
“Strange? What on earth did she say to freak you out?” A light laugh leaves your mouth as you speak, and he smiles at the sound of it.
Ryland shakes his head dismissively, jutting his lip out while pondering whether to say. “She just -” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck unsure of how to go about it. “She asked me to go back to her room with her and I said no. Then she got all weird and stuff so I walked away.”
Your heart lurches in your chest, feeling your blood rush to your head at the idea of it. “Why didn’t you go to her room? I’m sure she would’ve had a lot of fun with you.” You say in a joking voice, nudging him slightly. Even if the humour was fake.
“Because… I- I like somebody else.”
Your stomach jumps into your throat, and you have to act like you were expecting that. You look around for a bartender, someone to give you both a distraction so your knees don’t buckle on you.
“Oh really? Like who?” You still don’t turn back to him, only gripping the wood of the bar harder.
“Phsh. I don’t know. Maybe someone who actually bothers to talk to me. Someone who eats breakfast and lunch with me everyday.”
You nearly break your neck at how fast you turn to look at him. He looks back at you, then swallows thickly to disguise his burst of boldness. “Someone who makes me go for drinks when I don’t want to. Someone who’s standing right in front of me and hopefully maybe feels the same way.”
The two of you are awfully close now, yet neither of you seem to move. You take a deep breath in through your nose, parting your lips slightly to whisper to him.
I kovw your writing!! I'd love to see a smutty pt2 to good girl
good girl II - Ryland Grace
ryland grace x reader
part one - part two
warnings: smut
i love my men whimpering and needy with a little bit of worshipping on the side
word count: 6,1k
requests are open!
The ship had transitioned into its designated night cycle, plunging the corridors of the Hail Mary into a deep, moody blue. The ambient, heavy thrum of the centrifuge spin drive vibrated up through the floorboards, pulling a steady, comforting artificial gravity down on everything inside the hull.
You were in the laboratory, sitting at one of the workstations, idly reviewing some atmospheric data on your monitor. Or, at least, pretending to. In reality, you were just waiting.
You knew him well enough by now to know that Dr. Ryland Grace could not leave an anomaly unexamined. He also couldn't let a social faux pas go un-agonized over. It was only a matter of time before he tried to 'fix' it.
Right on cue, the soft hiss of the lab doors sliding open broke the quiet.
You didn't turn around immediately, letting the rustle of his jumpsuit and the soft, hesitant thud of his sneakers against the metal floor grating announce his arrival. He walked into the lab, stopping a safe, meticulously calculated four feet away from your chair.
"Hey," he said. His voice was a little too loud for the dim lighting, tightly wound with nervous energy.
You pushed your chair back slightly and turned to face him, keeping your feet planted on the floor. "Hey, Ryland."
He was clutching a digital tablet to his chest like a ballistic shield. His hair was slightly ruffled, and that betraying flush was still lingering high on his cheekbones.
"So. I've been doing some thinking," he started, launching immediately into his rehearsed speech before his courage could fail him. His words came out in a rapid-fire, heavily academic clip. "And some reading. I reviewed the ship's psychological medical files regarding long-term, deep-space isolation, and I think it's really important that we contextualize what happened in the control room."
You raised an eyebrow, staying perfectly still. "Contextualize it."
"Yes!" He tapped the tablet, not looking at you, his eyes locked desperately on the screen. "You see, in an environment devoid of external stimuli, the human endocrine system begins to aggressively seek out serotonin and dopamine. Furthermore, forced proximity combined with high-stress situations can cause an artificial spike in oxytocin, leading the brain to misinterpret standard platonic attachment as a... as a romantic imperative."
He finally looked up from the tablet, offering a tight, panic-laced smile. "So, the slip-up earlier, the vocabulary choice... it was just a neurochemical misfire. Entirely clinical. We can just log it as a symptom of space madness and completely forget it ever happened. Right?"
Instead of answering, you stood up.
The gravity felt heavy and grounding as you closed the four feet of empty space separating you with slow, deliberate steps. He took a sudden, panicked step backward until his shoulders hit the cool metal of the bulkhead with a soft thud.
You didn't stop. You stepped completely into his personal space, so close that the toes of your shoes bumped gently against his sneakers. Because of the height difference, you had to tilt your head back to look at him. The proximity forced him to look down, his posture stiffening as he tried to press himself as flat against the wall as physically possible.
"Clinical," you repeated, keeping your voice low and soft.
"Y-yes," he stammered. His eyes were wide, darting nervously across your face before dropping to your lips and quickly snapping back up to the ceiling. He swallowed so hard you saw the apple of his throat bob. "Very clinical. Textbook."
You let a small, teasing smile touch your lips. You reached up, lightly resting your palm flat against the center of his chest.
Ryland made a sound that was half-whimper, half-squeak. Beneath the thin fabric of his jumpsuit, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your palm. His fingers went completely slack. The digital tablet slipped from his grasp, hitting the metal floor grating with a sharp, loud clack.
"So, the isolation made you do it," you murmured, lightly tracing the zipper line of his jumpsuit with your fingertips. "The oxytocin made you call me a good girl in that exact tone of voice."
"Please don't say it back to me," he whispered miserably. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head thump back against the bulkhead. "I'm going to die. My heart is going to give out before we even reach Tau Ceti."
"I don't know, Dr. Grace," you murmured, stepping just a fraction of an inch closer. Your voice was barely a whisper now. "Your heart feels pretty strong right now. It's practically beating out of your chest. Is that the oxytocin, too?"
"It's the... the adrenaline," he choked out, opening his eyes. He was trying so desperately to keep his composure, but his gaze immediately dropped to your mouth again. "Flight or... or fight response."
"And which one are you doing?" you teased gently. "Because you're backed against a wall, Ryland, and you're definitely not fighting me."
"I..." His voice cracked completely. "I'm trying very hard to be professional."
You waited for a moment, letting your hand rest against his chest, giving him the chance to drop the act. But he just stood there, frozen in place, his breathing shallow and his eyes wide behind his glasses, completely paralyzed by his own over-analytical brain.
You let out a soft, slightly resigned sigh. You let your hand drop from his chest, taking a slow step backward.
"Okay," you said quietly. The teasing edge completely left your voice, leaving behind something far more gentle and a little sad. "I can give you space to be professional, if that's what you really want. Goodnight, Ryland."
You turned away from him, your sneakers scuffing softly against the floor grating as you started to walk back toward the lab doors.
You only made it two steps.
"Wait."
His voice wasn't a stammer this time; it was slightly raspy, sudden, and urgent.
Before you could fully turn around, his hand caught yours. His long fingers wrapped around your hand, halting your momentum instantly. The grip wasn't painful, but it was incredibly firm - the grounding, desperate hold of someone who had just realized exactly what they were about to lose.
You paused, looking back over your shoulder.
Ryland wasn't pressed against the wall anymore. He had taken a sudden step forward, closing the distance you had just tried to put between you. The panic was still there in his eyes, but the hesitation was gone, overridden by the sheer terror of watching you walk away.
"Don't," he breathed. He tugged gently on your hand, pulling you back around to face him. "Please don't go."
"Ryland..."
"I'm not trying to be professional," he confessed, the words tumbling out of him in a rushed, breathless whisper. He stepped closer, using his grip on your hand to gently pull you back into his space. "I'm just... I'm terrified. I don't know what I'm doing, and you're so incredible, and my brain is just short-circuiting because I can't believe this is actually happening."
He lifted your hand, pressing the back of your knuckles softly against his chest, right over his racing heart.
"The data is flawed," he murmured, a shaky, self-deprecating smile finally touching his lips as he looked down at you. "It's not oxytocin."
He didn't give his brain another second to overthink it. He let go of your hand, only so his arms could encircle you. He bowed his head, his shoulders hunching slightly to accommodate the height difference, and finally pressed his mouth to yours.
The kiss wasn't perfectly smooth or practiced, but it was overwhelmingly sweet, dizzyingly eager, and completely unguarded. He kissed you like a man who had been starving for years and had suddenly been handed a feast. You felt his rigid posture give way entirely as he let out a soft, shuddering sigh against your lips. His arms wrapped securely around your back, holding you close, his warmth chasing away the chill of the lab. You slid your hands up to his shoulders, tangling your fingers gently in the hair at the nape of his neck.
When you finally broke apart to breathe, he didn't pull away. Instead, he just let his forehead drop to rest heavily on your shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His chest heaved against yours as he tried to catch his breath, and you could feel the furious heat radiating off his cheeks.
"So," you whispered into his ruffled hair, a tiny smile playing on your lips as you rubbed soothing circles into his back. "Still think it was just a neurochemical misfire?"
Ryland let out a breathless, muffled groan against your shoulder. He held you a little tighter, completely abandoning any remaining pretense of being 'just colleagues'.
"Okay," he mumbled into your collarbone, refusing to lift his head and face his own mortification just yet. "Okay, fine. I admit it. My hypothesis was completely wrong."
You let out a soft laugh, resting your cheek against the top of his head. The tension that had been suffocating the ship for hours finally broke, replaced by a warm, comfortable domesticity.
"I'm glad to hear it," you murmured.
He stayed hidden in the crook of your neck for a long moment, just breathing you in, letting his nervous system finally catch up to the reality that you weren't going to reject him. When he finally lifted his head, the furious blush had faded to a soft, warm pink across his cheekbones. His glasses were slightly askew, and his hair was an absolute mess. He looked incredibly handsome.
He didn't pull away. Instead, his hands slid from your waist around to the small of your back, resting there as he looked down at you. The panic in his eyes was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, overwhelming affection that made your breath hitch.
"You're going to get a crick in your neck," he murmured softly, his thumb gently stroking the fabric of your jumpsuit at your spine.
Before you could ask what he meant, he took a half-step forward. With a surprising, quiet strength, he gripped your waist, lifted you effortlessly, and set you down on the edge of the metal lab counter behind you.
The change in elevation brought you perfectly eye-to-eye.
Ryland let out a small, satisfied sigh at the new arrangement. He stepped between your knees, stepping completely flush against the counter. He reached up, his hands gently framing your face. His thumbs lightly brushed across your cheekbones, tracing the line of your jaw with a reverence that made your heart ache.
"Much better," he whispered.
This time, when he kissed you, there was no hesitation. The desperate, frantic energy of his first kiss smoothed out into something slow, deliberate, and dizzyingly intimate. He tasted like the bitter ship's coffee and the minty toothpaste from the washroom, a bizarrely comforting combination. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.
He let out a low, rough sound in the back of his throat, his hands sliding down from your face to trace the line of your neck, his fingers lightly brushing against your collarbone - a deliberate, lingering echo of the touch that had started this entire cascade. His lips trailed softly to the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw, pressing open-mouthed, heated kisses against your skin that sent a searing jolt straight down your spine. He wasn't dominant or aggressive; he was thorough, attentive, and incredibly observant, learning exactly what made you gasp and immediately repeating it.
The cool, sterile air of the laboratory seemed to evaporate, replaced by a heavy, suffocating heat. You tilted your head back, letting your eyes fall shut as his lips moved to the sensitive skin just below your ear.
"Ryland..." you breathed out, your voice slightly wrecked.
He paused, resting his forehead against your temple, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing. "Am I doing okay?" he whispered, his voice incredibly rough, still carrying that adorkable need for positive reinforcement.
"You're doing amazing," you managed to say, pulling him back in.
He smiled against your lips, a bright, genuine thing, and leaned in to kiss you again-
Beep.
The sharp, electronic chime of the PA system echoed through the quiet lab, instantly shattering the heavy silence.
"Observation. Human biological monitors are registering unprecedented spikes."
The deadpan, robotic monotone of the translation software blared from the ceiling speakers. Ryland froze instantly, his lips hovering a millimeter above yours.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Ryland groaned, his forehead dropping heavily onto your shoulder.
"Heart rates are highly elevated," Rocky's voice continued mercilessly. "Body temperatures have increased by zero-point-eight degrees Celsius. Respiratory rates indicate lack of oxygen. Are you experiencing a medical emergency, question? Or is this the continuation of the mating ritual, question?"
You pressed your face into Ryland's shoulder, your shoulders shaking with silent, uncontrollable laughter. Ryland let out a long, long sigh, resting his weight against you for a moment before reluctantly pulling back.
"I forgot about him," he muttered, adjusting his glasses. "I completely forgot about the very smart, very nosy alien spider who has complete access to our biometric data."
You hopped down from the counter, smoothing out your jumpsuit while still biting your lip to suppress a grin. "We have to answer him, Ryland, or he's going to roll in here to administer first aid."
Ryland dragged a hand down his face, looking up at the nearest security camera. He hit the comms button on the lab console.
"We are not having a medical emergency, Rocky," Ryland said, trying to inject as much calm, teacher-like authority into his voice as possible. "We are... we are fine."
"Understood," the robotic voice replied. "Then it is the mating ritual. Does Earth biology require privacy for mating, question?"
Ryland's entire face burned a spectacular shade of crimson. He looked at you, utterly mortified, but you just nodded encouragingly, gesturing for him to continue.
"Yes," Ryland said, his voice cracking slightly. "Yes, Rocky. Human... human bonding requires a high degree of privacy. It is a very strict cultural imperative."
"Fascinating. Eridanians sleep in large piles to maintain temperature and security. Isolation is illogical. But I will respect Earth customs."
A series of musical chords filtered through the speakers, the raw audio of Rocky humming to himself, before the translator kicked back in.
"I have disabled the biometric alerts and audio-visual feeds for the human sleeping quarters. I will remain in the engineering bay. Have a good mating ritual. Words of encouragement.”
The comms clicked off, plunging the lab back into the low hum of the centrifuge drive.
You stared at the speaker for a moment, letting the sheer absurdity of the conversation wash over you, before you finally let out a loud, genuine laugh.
Ryland buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. "I am a respected scientist," he mumbled into his palms. "I have published papers. And I just asked an alien for permission to have privacy with my crewmate."
You walked over, gently prying his hands away from his face. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, a sheepish, hopelessly fond smile breaking through his embarrassment.
"Well," you said softly, linking your fingers through his. "He did turn off the cameras in the sleeping quarters."
Ryland looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The nervous energy was entirely gone now, replaced by a quiet, deep anticipation. He looked back up at you, the dark intensity returning to his eyes.
"He did," Ryland agreed, his voice dropping back down into that low, quiet register. He gave your hand a gentle tug, pulling you toward the lab doors. "We should probably go verify that his modifications to the security system are fully functional."
"Very clinical of you, Dr. Grace."
"Extremely," he murmured, a completely smitten smile on his face as he led you out into the blue-lit corridor.
The walk down the corridor was a study in sensory overload.
After months of navigating the Hail Mary with careful, professional distance, the simple act of holding his hand felt completely grounding. His palm was warm and slightly calloused, his long fingers interwoven tightly with yours. The ship’s night cycle bathed the narrow hallway in a deep, sapphire glow, and the only sound was the steady, heavy thrum of the centrifuge and the quiet scuff of your shoes against the floor grating.
When you reached the door to your quarters, the keypad glowed a soft green. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and you stepped inside, the door automatically sealing shut behind you.
The sleeping quarters were not designed for romance. They were small, utilitarian, and dominated by the narrow bunk built securely into the bulkhead. The air in here always felt a little cooler, stripped of the residual heat from the laboratory equipment.
But as the door clicked into its lock, isolating the two of you completely from the rest of the ship - and from the universe at large - the sterile room suddenly felt incredibly small, and incredibly charged.
Ryland let go of your hand, only to reach up and gently cup your face again. In the dim light of the cabin, without his glasses slipping or his scientific brain frantically trying to categorize his emotions, he looked incredibly soft. The adorkable, frantic microbiologist was still there, but beneath it was a man who was looking at you with a reverence that stole the breath right out of your lungs.
"I can't believe we're actually doing this," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. It wasn't a question of hesitation, but a statement of pure, unadulterated awe. "I've spent the last months terrified that if I looked at you for too long, you'd figure it out."
"Figure what out?" you asked softly, leaning into his touch.
"That you are the absolute center of my gravity right now," he breathed, his voice rough and incredibly earnest. "And we are currently in a one-g spin."
You let out a shaky, quiet laugh, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. "That was a terrible physics pun, Dr. Grace."
"I'm a desperate man," he murmured, a smile curving against your lips just before he kissed you.
The gentle, tentative exploration from the lab vanished, replaced by a deep, aching certainty. He stepped fully into your space, backing you slowly until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. His hands slid down from your face, moving with a careful, deliberate focus to the heavy, industrial zipper at the collar of your standard-issue jumpsuit.
His fingers worked the zipper down, the metal teeth separating with a soft, rhythmic rasp. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the small cabin, punctuated only by the low thrum of the centrifuge and the quick, shallow rhythm of his breathing.
You could feel him trembling - just slightly - as he pushed the jumpsuit off your shoulders, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The cool air of the cabin raised goosebumps along your arms, but the heat radiating off his body, pressed so close to yours, quickly chased the chill away.
"You're shaking," you whispered, your hands coming up to rest on his bare forearms.
"I know." He didn't deny it. His eyes met yours, dark and earnest in the dim blue light, his glasses slightly askew. "I know I'm not- I haven't- It's been a very long time, and I want this to be good for you. I want you."
You pulled him closer, your fingers working at the zipper of his own jumpsuit now. "So stop trying to hypothesize and just ask me what I like."
A shaky exhale escaped him. "What do you like?"
"This," you said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "And this." Another kiss, softer, to his jaw. "And when you're confident. When you stop second-guessing and just take what you want."
His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, tracing the line of your throat, the curve of your breasts beneath the thin tank top you wore underneath your jumpsuit.
He reached for the hem of your tank top, his knuckles brushing against your stomach as he bunched the fabric in his hands. You lifted your arms, and he pulled it over your head, discarding it somewhere on the floor. His breath caught audibly as his eyes traveled over you - your bare skin, the way your chest rose and fell with quickening breaths, the flush spreading across your collarbone.
"God," he breathed, the word barely audible. "You're so beautiful. I've imagined this - l've tried not to imagine this, because it felt invasive, but-" He swallowed hard, his hands hovering just above your hips, not quite touching. "Can I-"
"Yes," you said, pulling him closer. "Ryland, yes."
His hands finally made contact, sliding around your waist, spanning the curve of your hips. His palms were warm, slightly rough, and they left trails of fire in their wake as they traveled upward, tracing the sides of your ribs, the underside of your breasts. He was looking at you like you were the answer to every question he'd ever asked.
You reached up, your fingers gently removing his glasses and folding them carefully, setting them on the small shelf beside the bunk before tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling his mouth down to yours.
The kiss was deeper now, hungrier. His tongue slid against yours, and you tasted the desperation there, the months of suppressed longing finally unleashed. His hands grew bolder, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch, and he made a low, rough sound in response.
"Bed," he managed, his voice wrecked.
"We should - the bed is right there-"
You nodded, letting him guide you backward until your knees hit the edge of the narrow bunk. You sat down on the thin mattress, looking up at him as he stood over you, chest heaving, his pupils blown wide.
"You're wearing too many clothes," you observed.
A shaky laugh escaped him. "Working on it."
He reached for the zipper or his jumpsuit, pulling it down with a steady hand that belied his nervousness. The fabric parted, and he shrugged it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath, he wore a black t-shirt-and across the front, in block letters, it read:
I had potential.
You burst out laughing. "You wore that. Under your uniform. On a mission to save humanity."
His cheeks flushed crimson, but he was grinning. "It was a gift from my students. It's lucky."
"It's terrible."
"And yet," he said, tugging the hem of the shirt, "you're smiling."
He pulled the t-shirt over his head, and the laughter died in your throat.
Because beneath the nerdy exterior, Ryland Grace was jacked.
There was no other word for it. His chest was broad and sculpted, pectorals so defined they looked carved from stone. His shoulders were massive, capped with muscle. His arms were thick, biceps straining against nothing, veins tracing along his forearms.
His abdominal muscles were a ridged, symmetrical washboard, the kind you saw on fitness magazines, not on microbiologists. And trailing down from his navel was a dark line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers, drawing your gaze exactly where he clearly wanted it to go.
You stared. You couldn't help it.
He caught you looking and his flush deepened, but something else flickered in his eyes. Confidence. Heat. He flexed slightly - unconsciously, or maybe not - and his pecs shifted.
"See something you like?" he asked, his voice lower now.
"You've been hiding that under a baggy jumpsuit for months?"
He shrugged, and the movement made his shoulders roll impressively. "Didn't seem professional to walk around shirtless."
You reached out, trailing a finger down the center of his chest, tracing the line between his pectorals, then down each ridge of his abs. He shivered under your touch, his breath catching.
"Definitely not professional," you murmured. "Definitely a problem."
"I can put the shirt back on-"
"Don't you dare."
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down, stepping out of them with an awkward haste that made you smile. He was hard - clearly, obviously hard - and the sight of him, completely bare and utterly vulnerable in the dim blue light, sent a pulse of heat straight between your legs.
"Your turn," he said, his voice dropping into that lower register that made your stomach flip. He knelt in front of you, his hands finding the waistband of your underwear.
"Can I-"
"Yes. Please."
He tugged them down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your thighs, your knees, your calves. He paused when you were bare, his hands resting on your knees, his eyes fixed on the apex of your thighs. His breath came in short, uneven bursts.
"You have no idea," he whispered, "how many times I've thought about this. About you. About what you would sound like. What you would taste like."
"Then stop thinking," you said softly, reaching down to cup his face, tilting his chin up so his eyes met yours. "And find out."
He needed no further encouragement.
He leaned forward, his hands sliding up your thighs, parting them gently. You let your knees fall open, making space for him, and he settled between them with a quiet sigh of relief - like he'd finally found where he belonged.
His first kiss was pressed to the inside of your knee. Then higher, to your thigh. Then higher still, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his breath hot and damp against you. You shivered, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he let out a low hum of approval.
"You're so responsive," he murmured against your skin. "I love that. I love that I can feel you react to every single thing I do."
His mouth found you - finally, finally - and your head fell back, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. His tongue was tentative at first, exploratory, the same careful, methodical attention he gave to every experiment. But he learned fast. He always did.
He learned exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly where to focus, exactly when to circle his tongue and when to suck gently. He learned the sounds you made - the little whimpers, the sharp intakes of breath, the way you moaned his name when he did something particularly devastating. And every time he discovered something that made you gasp, he did it again, and again, until you were trembling beneath him, your thighs shaking around his shoulders.
"Ryland," you breathed, tugging at his hair.
"Ryland, I'm close-"
He didn't stop. If anything, he doubled down, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as his tongue worked you through the rising tide of sensation. Your back arched off the mattress, a broken cry escaping your lips as the wave crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body shuddering through the release.
He stayed with you through it, gentling his touch as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, the curve of your stomach. When you finally opened your eyes, he was looking up at you with an expression of pure, unguarded wonder.
"That," he said, his voice rough and raw, "was the single most incredible thing I have ever experienced. And l've seen a supernova."
A breathless laugh escaped you. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm honest." He crawled up your body, bracing himself above you, his forearms planted on either side of your head. His hair was a disaster, his lips were slick, and his eyes were burning with a heat that made your heart stutter. "I want to be inside you," he said quietly, no stammer, no hesitation.
"Is that okay?"
You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, pulling him down so your foreheads touched. "Yes. Ryland, yes."
He reached down between your bodies, positioning himself at your entrance. You could feel him there - hot, hard, pressing against you - and the anticipation alone made your thighs clench around his hips.
"Tell me if I hurt you," he said. "Tell me if you want to stop."
"I want this." You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "I want you, Ryland. Every overthinking, beautiful, brilliant inch of you. Now stop talking and fuck me."
The word hit him like a physical blow. His hips jerked against you, and a sound escaped him - half laugh, half moan - that vibrated through your chest.
"Yes ma'am," he breathed. He didn't push in immediately. Instead, he rocked against you, teasing, letting the friction build until you were arching up beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders.
"Ryland, please-"
He pushed inside you slowly - agonizingly slowly - inch by inch, his jaw clenched, a low groan vibrating through his chest. The stretch was exquisite, a fullness that made your eyes flutter shut and your nails dig into his shoulders.
"You're so tight," he breathed, his voice cracking. "God, you feel- I can't- fuck-"
"More," you demanded.
He gave you more. Another inch, then another, until he was buried to the hilt, his body pressed flush against yours. He stayed there for a moment, trembling, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
"You feel..." He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
You clenched around him experimentally, and he swore - a sharp, bitten-off curse that would have made his academic colleagues blush.
"Move," you whispered against his ear.
He did.
The first thrust was tentative, almost shy.
The second was deeper, harder. By the third, he had found a rhythm - slow and deep, each stroke dragging against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.
"That's it," you breathed, your legs tightening around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Right there. Don't stop."
He didn't stop.
His hips snapped against yours, the rhythm deepening, quickening, each thrust driving him impossibly farther inside you.
"Like that?" he gasped, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat-slick and trembling. "Is this- fuck- is this what you wanted?"
"Yes," you managed, your voice breaking on the word. Your hands clawed at his back, nails raking across his shoulder blades, and he groaned - a raw, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his chest.
His hips never stopped moving, but the frantic edge softened into something deeper, more deliberate. He was making love to you now, not just fucking, and the shift made your chest ache.
"I'm not going to last," he admitted, his voice muffled against your skin. "You feel- God, you feel incredible- and l've been imagining this for so long, and I can't-" His voice broke, his hips stuttering as he fought for control. His forehead pressed hard against yours, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a wire about to snap.
"Don't stop," you commanded, your voice breathless but firm. Your legs locked tighter around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. "I'm close too. Don't you dare stop."
His eyes flew open. "You're-"
"Yes. So close. Please, Ryland-"
Something shifted in his expression. The desperate scramble for his own release transformed into fierce, focused determination. He wanted this for you.
Needed it.
"Okay," he breathed, adjusting his angle.
"Okay, tell me what you need."
"Harder. Right there-"
He obeyed. His hips snapped against yours with renewed purpose, each thrust deliberate, aimed, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. His breathing turned ragged, his control clearly fraying, but he held on. For you.
"That's it," you gasped, your nails raking down his back. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't-"
The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding toward its breaking point. He was trembling above you, sweat dripping from his temple, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jumping.
"I can feel you," he groaned, his voice wrecked. "I can feel you squeezing me- fuck, you're so close-"
And then his voice dropped. Lower. Darker.
That tone - the one that had started this whole thing back in the control room.
"Come for me," he murmured against your ear, his hips never slowing. "That's it. Be a good girl and come for me."
There.
The words hit you like a live wire. Your back arched off the mattress, a broken cry tearing from your throat as the orgasm crashed through you - white, hot and all-consuming, radiating from your core to your fingertips. Your inner walls clenched around him in pulsing waves, and the sensation of you coming undone around him, triggered by those two words, was the final thread holding his control together.
"God-" he choked out.
His hips snapped twice more, three times, and then he buried himself to the hilt and shattered. A raw, broken sound escaped him - half your name, half a sob-as he spilled inside you, his body shuddering through wave after wave of release. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his entire weight pressing you into the thin mattress, and he gasped against your skin like a drowning man finally breaking the surface.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
The ship hummed around you. The centrifuge spun. Somewhere in the engineering bay, an alien politely pretended not to have heard any of this.
Ryland's breathing slowly steadied. His heart hammered against your chest, wild and out of sync with your own. You could feel the dampness of sweat on his back, the fine tremor still running through his thighs.
"That was..." He lifted his head, looking down at you with glassy, adoring eyes. His hair was a disaster, his lips swollen. He looked utterly wrecked. And utterly happy.
"Clinical?" you offered, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.
He snorted, burying his face in the crook of your neck again. "If I ever use that word to describe this, you have my permission to space me."
You laughed softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his sweat-damp back.
"Noted."
He shifted, pulling out of you with a gentle slowness that made you both wince. The loss of him left you feeling strangely empty, but he didn't go far. He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, rearranging your bodies until you were curled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin.
"We should probably clean up," he murmured, his hand stroking up and down your spine.
"Probably," you agreed, making no move to get up.
He was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip. Then, softly, almost hesitantly: "I meant what I said. About you being the center of my gravity. That wasn't- I wasn't just trying to be clever."
You tilted your head back, looking up at him. In the dim blue light, his face was open, vulnerable.
"I know," you said softly. "You're terrible at lying, Ryland. It's one of the things I like about you."
His lips twitched. "One of the things?"
"There are many things," you allowed. "We have a long flight to Tau Ceti. I'm sure I'II discover more."
He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "We have a few years," he said quietly. "Give or take."
"Plenty of time for research."
A laugh rumbled through his chest. "Is that what we're calling it now? Research?"
"Very rigorous research," you confirmed, your hand splaying across his heart. It was still beating fast, a steady thrum beneath your palm. "Peer-reviewed, even."
He propped himself on an elbow to look down at you, his nose brushing affectionately against yours. In the dim blue light, the earlier panic was completely gone, replaced by something steady, warm, and profoundly certain.
"Well, as a man of science," he whispered, a bright, hopelessly fond smile breaking across his face, "I'm going to need to replicate the results. Multiple times. Just to be absolutely sure the data is sound."
"Get some rest, Dr. Grace," you murmured against his lips. "We will still be here tomorrow."
He let out a soft, contented sigh, settling his weight back down beside you and wrapping his arms securely around your waist. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing finally falling into a slow, even rhythm.
The ship hummed around you, the centrifuge spinning you both toward a star you might never reach. But as you laid there in the dark, surrounded by his warmth and the steady beat of his heart against yours, the vast, empty expanse of space didn't feel quite so lonely anymore.
in which Dr. Grace uses the wrong vocabulary, and the Hail Mary gets a lot hotter
part one - part two
word count: 2,9k
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The vast, endless expanse of interstellar space was, frankly, a little monotonous.
When you first boarded the Hail Mary, the sheer, existential terror of the mission had been enough to keep your adrenaline spiking every hour of the day since you woke up. You were on a one-way trip to Tau Ceti, carrying the weight of the entire human race on your shoulders, surrounded by technology that was experimental at best and completely suicidal at worst. For the first few months, every creak of the hull, every fluctuation in the life support systems, and every minor error code on the monitors had felt like a harbinger of imminent death.
But the human brain is remarkably adaptable. After millions of miles, the terrifying isolation of the cosmos had slowly morphed into a strange, domestic routine. You knew the exact, comforting hum of the centrifuge spin drive. You recognized the faint, metallic scent of the air scrubbers working overtime. And, perhaps most dangerously, you had memorized the exact way Dr. Ryland Grace’s brow furrowed when he was lost in a complex mathematical equation.
Living in a tin can hurtling through the dark abyss of space meant that personal boundaries were a luxury you had both abandoned long ago. You had learned to navigate around each other in the cramped, utilitarian quarters of the ship, sharing unappetizing nutrient paste rations, recalibrating the atmospheric controls shoulder-to-shoulder, and existing in a constant, comfortable proximity that would have felt suffocating back on Earth.
But out here, with only each other - and an incredibly intelligent, five-legged alien space spider - for company, that proximity was the only thing keeping you sane. Ryland was brilliant, relentlessly optimistic, and possessed a deeply ingrained, nerdy charm that made the crushing weight of the mission feel survivable. He was a good man.
Lately, however, that comfortable proximity had started to feel a lot heavier. The accidental brushes of his arm against yours in the laboratory, the way he looked at you when you managed to decipher a new string of Eridanian vocabulary, the warmth of his presence when you were both exhausted and staring out at the uncaring void - it was all beginning to build a quiet, simmering tension in the pit of your stomach.
Currently, that tension was being tested as you sat strapped securely into the pilot’s seat in the main control room, running manual astrogation drills.
The ship’s automated systems were robust, but Eva Stratt’s paranoia had dictated that every single crew member know how to fly the Hail Mary in the event of a catastrophic computer failure. Well, except the two of you. You were scientists, not pilots. The dizzying arrays of vectors, velocities, and orbital mechanics were entirely outside your wheelhouse. But Ryland, ever the patient educator, had taken it upon himself to teach you - in theory, that was. You liked to consider the both of you as clueless as any other human down on Earth.
"Okay, let's run through the parameters one more time," Ryland said.
He was hovering just over your left shoulder, anchored to the hard plastic back of your pilot's chair in the zero-gravity environment of the control cabin. Because there was no 'up' or 'down' without the centrifuge spinning, he was floating at a slight angle, perfectly relaxed in the weightlessness.
"If I want to adjust our attitude to point exactly at that specific star cluster in the Tau Ceti system," you murmured, keeping your eyes locked strictly on the glowing telemetry screen in front of you. You raised your hands, hovering them over the manual thruster controls. "I can't just fire the port thruster like I'm turning a steering wheel."
"Right. Why?" Ryland prompted. His voice was close. Close enough that you could feel the ambient heat radiating off his standard-issue jumpsuit, a stark contrast to the slightly chilly, sterile air of the cabin.
"Because of Newton's First Law," you replied, reciting the lessons he had been drilling into your head for the past three weeks. "An object in motion stays in motion. In the vacuum of space, there is zero atmospheric friction to slow down the spin. If I fire the port thruster, the ship will just keep spinning along that axis forever, or until we make ourselves incredibly dizzy."
"Exactly," Ryland beamed. The pride in his voice was palpable, vibrating right near your ear. "You are your own friction. You have to be your own brakes."
You swallowed hard, forcing your focus away from the warmth of his arm, which was currently hovering a mere millimeter away from the shoulder of your flight suit, and forced your brain back to the math. "So, I fire the port thruster to initiate the turn, let the momentum carry our mass, and then I have to counter-fire the starboard thruster at the exact right millisecond to arrest the momentum and lock us into the new trajectory."
"That's the theory. Now let's see the application," Ryland encouraged softly. He was watching your hands over the console, entirely focused on your progress.
You let out a slow, steadying breath. You disabled the autopilot interlocks, the console flashing a brief yellow warning before yielding full manual control to your joysticks.
"Alright. Manual control engaged. Firing port attitude thruster for zero-point-two seconds... now."
You tapped the left control stick. The ship didn't shudder - the attitude thrusters were too small to feel inside the massive hull - but the starfield out the reinforced viewport slowly, lazily began to drift to the right. It was a dizzying sensation, watching the universe spin around you while you sat perfectly still.
You glued your eyes to the digital degree marker on the main astrogation display. It ticked up with agonizing slowness. Ten degrees. Fifteen degrees. Twenty degrees.
"Wait for it," Ryland coaxed.
He leaned in a fraction closer to check the monitor over your shoulder. You could faintly smell the sterile, unscented ship soap they provided in the washroom, mixed with the distinct, warm scent that was just fundamentally him. It was intoxicating in a way it had absolutely no right to be. His presence was a massive, grounding anchor in the middle of nowhere.
"Twenty-eight... thirty-two..." you counted aloud, your fingers tensing over the starboard control stick. Your heart was thumping a rapid rhythm against your ribs. If you overshot the counter-burn, you'd have to waste precious fuel correcting the wobble.
You tapped the starboard control with as much precision as you could muster.
Out the viewport, the spinning starfield instantly stopped drifting. The sudden halt was almost jarring to the eyes. The nose of the Hail Mary locked into absolute stillness. You checked the telemetry screen. The digital crosshairs were sitting exactly on top of the coordinates you had calculated. Dead center. Zero drift. Zero wobble.
"Yes!" Ryland cheered.
In a completely natural, unfiltered burst of scientific triumph and pride, he shifted his grip.
His large hand moved from the hard plastic back of the pilot's chair to rest warmly and firmly on the curve of your shoulder. His thumb pressed right into the dip of your collarbone through the fabric of your jumpsuit, an anchoring, heavy weight in the zero gravity. He leaned down, his face dipping into your peripheral vision, his cheek almost brushing yours as he grinned at the perfect alignment on the screen.
"Perfect pitch and yaw," he praised.
The sheer, relieved approval stripped away his usual nervous, rapid-fire energy. His voice dropped an octave, settling into a low, breathless rumble that vibrated right through the shell of your ear.
"Textbook execution. Good girl."
The ambient, ever-present hum of the ship’s life support systems seemed to vanish entirely from your awareness.
The praise had slipped out of him on pure, unadulterated instinct. It was a leftover relic from his previous life, from his days of leaning over lab tables, grading middle school science fair projects, and offering gentle, authoritative encouragement to students who finally figured out how to balance a chemical equation.
But floating in a tiny cabin in the dark abyss of space, millions of miles away from any school or civilization... it didn't sound like a teacher.
Delivered with the heavy, possessive weight of his hand on your collarbone, the close proximity of his body, and the low, rough timbre of his voice, it sounded like something else entirely.
It sent a searing, electric jolt straight down your spine, pooling hot and heavy in your stomach. Your breath hitched audibly in the dead quiet of the cabin. Your hands froze over the manual controls, your fingers curling inward. Every single nerve ending in your shoulder seemed to hyper-focus on the exact shape and heat of his hand gripping you.
It took Ryland Grace exactly one and a half seconds to hear the echo of his own words replay in his brilliant, analytical brain.
"Oh, my gosh," he gasped.
He yanked his hand off your shoulder as if your flight suit had just been doused in liquid nitrogen. In his sudden, blind, overwhelming panic, the man completely forgot the very laws of physics he had just spent half an hour teaching you.
He pushed back away from you with entirely too much force. Without any gravity to anchor him, the violent push launched him backward across the control room. He flailed wildly, his arms windmilling in the air as he sailed across the cabin, completely out of control, until his back slammed into the main science console with a loud, painful thump.
You spun around in your chair, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, entirely unsure if you should be concerned for his safety or absolutely entirely amused by his panic.
The brilliant, world-saving biologist - the man who had figured out how to harness alien microbes for interstellar travel - was currently tangled in his own zero-G socks, gripping the edge of the metal console for dear life. A furious, agonizing, painfully bright red blush was crawling so fast up his neck that his ears practically looked radioactive.
"I- I didn't mean-" Ryland stammered.
His eyes were wide, round, and completely horrified behind the lenses of his glasses. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air in front of him, fingers twitching, as if he didn't know what to do with his own limbs anymore.
"My brain just- it cross-wired!" he blurted out, his voice cracking horribly. "I was looking at the telemetry and I was just so proud of the math, and my brain just reverted to grading eighth-grade science fairs! I swear on my life, I swear to gosh, I do not think of you as a seventh grader! That was incredibly inappropriate, I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean it like- I didn't mean to sound-"
He was rambling at the speed of light, his chest heaving under his jumpsuit as he hyperventilated.
But despite his absolute mortification, despite his frantic attempts to rationalize the slip of the tongue as a simple, harmless pedagogical error... the tension in the room had irreversibly shifted.
It was thick. It was electric. You could practically cut it with a scalpel.
He was panicking precisely because he was suddenly, acutely, and overwhelmingly aware of the fact that you were definitely not one of his students. The realization was hitting him like a freight train, crashing through the comfortable, platonic barriers he had built around himself for the duration of this mission. As he stared at you from across the room, his eyes darted nervously from your gaze, down to your slightly parted lips, down to the curve of your throat, and quickly back up to the ceiling ceiling panels, swallowing hard enough that you could see the apple of his throat bob from across the room.
You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying desperately to suppress the smile that was threatening to break across your face. Your own cheeks were burning hot, a flush that you knew matched his completely. You could still feel the physical ghost of his thumb pressing into your collarbone.
"Ryland, breathe," you managed to say. You tried to sound reassuring, but your voice came out a little softer, a little huskier than usual, betraying the fact that the slip-up had affected you just as much as it had horrified him. "It's fine. Really. I know what you meant-"
Thump.
A soft, hollow impact echoed in the cabin, cutting off your reassurance.
A large, perfectly clear, pressurized sphere of xenonite drifted lazily through the open doorway of the control room, gently bumping against the upper doorframe before floating into the space between you and Ryland.
Rocky was inside his custom-built bubble. The Eridanian engineer had likely been in his workshop, heard the loud crash of Ryland slamming into the science console, and pushed himself down the zero-gravity corridor to investigate the commotion.
"Observation. Human female face is red. Internal temperature elevated."
The deadpan, entirely emotionless robotic monotone of Ryland’s custom translation program filled the room instantly. Because the software was completely hardwired to intercept Rocky’s frequencies and translate them in real-time, there were no musical chords to soften the blow - just the immediate, blunt observation echoing from the laptop speakers strapped to the console.
Ryland groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated suffering. He let go of the console and pressed both hands over his flaming face, hiding behind his fingers.
"Oh, heck," Ryland muffled into his palms. "Please. Kill me now. Just vent the airlock and put me out of my misery."
Inside the floating sphere, Rocky shifted. His carapace scraped slightly against the xenonite, his five little articulated legs tapping a rapid, curious rhythm against the clear wall of his bubble. He was a scientist at heart, and a new, unexplained biological phenomenon was entirely too fascinating to ignore.
The laptop speakers instantly spoke again, delivering the translation with zero tact.
"Query. Grace also turning red. Heart rates for both humans are currently fast. Biometric sensors indicate endocrine systems are actively producing large amounts of adrenaline, cortisol, and oxytocin."
Rocky’s bubble slowly rotated in the zero gravity, his eyeless carapace seemingly tracking between the two of you.
"Are humans in physical danger, question? Or is this typical Earth mating behavior, question? Please explain."
"It's not mating behavior!" Ryland yelped, dropping his hands from his face.
His voice was an octave higher than normal, bordering on hysterical. He pointed an accusatory finger at the floating glass ball, looking like a man who was fighting for his life against his own ship's computer.
"It was a linguistic error! A vocabulary slip! I used a colloquial phrase in the wrong context and triggered an inappropriate psychological response! Rocky, I swear to gosh, turn off the biological monitors right now! Stop looking at our oxytocin levels!"
Inside the sphere, Rocky tapped a few more times.
"Linguistic error causes mating response, question?" the robotic voice stated deadpan. The xenonite ball slowly bounced off a wall panel, lazily drifting back toward the center of the room. "Earth biology remains highly confusing. I will take notes for future reference."
You finally let out a shaky laugh. You couldn't hold it in anymore. The sheer absurdity of the situation - arguing about mating responses and oxytocin levels with a highly intelligent, incredibly blunt alien space spider who was rolling around in a hamster ball - was exactly what you needed to break the suffocating, heavy sexual tension that had gripped the room.
You unbuckled your complex pilot's harness, the straps floating away from your shoulders. With a gentle, practiced push against the footrests, you floated up and out of the pilot's seat, letting the zero gravity carry your momentum smoothly across the small room.
Ryland watched you approach. He looked entirely paralyzed, his back pressed flat against the science console. His eyes tracked your every movement, the dark rings around his pupils blown wide, the furious blush on his face stubbornly refusing to fade.
You reached out and caught the edge of the science console, arresting your momentum and stopping just a few inches away from where Ryland was currently trying to merge his molecular structure with the bulkhead. Up this close, you could see the rapid pulse beating at the base of his throat. You could feel the heat radiating off him again.
He looked up at you, his breath catching audibly in his chest for a second time.
"I'm going to go to the galley and get a drink of water," you said softly, holding his panicked, entirely captivated gaze.
You let a slow, deliberate, teasing smirk tug at the corner of your mouth. You didn't back down from the proximity. Instead, you let the silence stretch for just a second longer than necessary, letting him sweat it out.
"But you know..." you added, leaning in just a fraction of an inch closer, dropping your voice. "My astrogation is getting pretty good."
Ryland swallowed, his eyes darting to your lips. "It... it is. Yes."
"So," you whispered, pushing off the console to slowly float backward toward the open doorway, "I expect you to keep up the positive reinforcement, Dr. Grace."
Ryland made a sound that was half-choke, half-squeak. His hands gripped the metal edge of the console so tightly his knuckles turned completely white.
Satisfied, you turned in the air and floated gracefully out of the control room, heading down the corridor toward the galley. You left the brilliant, awkward microbiologist completely flustered, entirely speechless, and very, very red as Rocky’s clear glass bubble lazily drifted past his head, the laptop speakers chiming one last time.
"Observation. Human female has retreated. Mating ritual concluded?"
New Discoveries ‧₊˚ੈ Ryland Grace x Fem!Scientist!Reader. proximity crushes / ryland and reader are lowk avoidant but it works / not proofread / yes there will be a part 2 being within the next few days. (nsfw..)
word count: 4.8k
Sixteen days.
It had been sixteen days since a woman named Eva Stratt approached you after one of your astrophysics classes and whisked you away to work for her and use your knowledge to study the Petrova Line halfway across the world. - On a boat. In the middle of the ocean. Called Stratt’s Vat.
Three men dressed in black suits drove you back to your house the moment a small agreement left your mouth. They gave you twenty minutes to gather your things into a suitcase and get back into the car.
They didn’t make conversation either. “So do you guys wear the same outfit everyday? Like a cartoon character?” You asked after an hour of silence. A black divider between the front and back seats rolled up, and the man sat next to you pushed his glasses up further on his nose and looked out the window. “Great. Great. Good to know.”
At least you didn’t have to talk once in the jet. The strange pills wiped you out straight away - which you were grateful for after finding out how long the flight took.
It was windy outside the jet, given you were on an extremely large research vessel in the ocean. You looked around, there was a lot of people and machines and vehicles on the boat. There was a lot of machines on the boat.
A sigh of relief left your lips once you recognised a face, Eva Stratt, walking right towards you.
“Hi.” Your voice waivers a bit, but she brushed off your nerves and gestured for you to follow her.
She’s drinking coffee, you note that immediately. You want some. “How was your flight.” She asks, making eye contact as you walk. “It was fine. Never been on a plane that fast, so can’t complain.” She nods, leading you down a strip of walkway as you approach the building part of the boat.
“You didn’t get sick.”
“I didn’t.” You nod.
“That’s a good sign.”
“A good sign? A good sign of what?”
She opens a door for you, bringing you down a narrow hallway that looks like something from a movie where everyone is going to die, but that’s not far off from what’s happening.
“Integrity. Strength. Determination. You are a good sign in general. Or perhaps you just have a strong stomach.” Your thoughts mute in your head for a moment, you glance at her and she’s already looking at you. She’s enjoying your confusion. “Wha-”
“Afternoon.” She interrupts you as you round a corner, where two men stand guarding a door, which they open. Stratt stands behind you, you glance back. “Your room.” The two men stand to the side, allowing you space to walk through. Your steps are slow, brows furrowed while you stare at one of the men. He doesn’t look away. Interesting.
The room has a lot of people. Too many people. This is not your room. You back up, and Stratt’s behind you again, shaking her head to match yours. “No. No. What’re you do-” “Yes. You are doing this. Come.” You turn back around and it seems like there’s people more this time.
There’s a U-shaped table in the centre of the room, and every seat is filled with people looking at you, there’s more people standing behind them too - also looking at you.
Your heart plummets in your chest at the sight of it. Teaching college students everyday is an easy thing to do when everyone is younger than you and they technically pay for you to talk to them. Standing here in front of adults who are either the same age or older than you is a very different experience.
“This is Doctor Y/n L/n. She is a Professor in astrophysics, and will aid us in our research.” Stratt stands a slight bit in front of you, giving you a chance to look around the room better.
The table has an extremely diverse group of people sat at it, men and women varying in ages with different country flags sat on the desk before them. All with the same type of aura as Stratt about them. They each have a thick book, something similar you’d seen Stratt carry before.
“Dr. Y/n L/n, I hereby grant you top-secret clearance to all information pertaining to Project Hail Mary.”
You pause, and an abrupt silence fills the room. Your mouth opens as if to say something, you close it again to swallow sharply. “I’m sorry, Project what?”
-
The smell of coffee filled your senses - your second cup today after eating breakfast and having a quick briefing with some French government officials. They were quick learners, something you were grateful for after the meeting came to an end earlier than expected. Leaving you a spare twenty minutes to have another trip to the canteen and grab the drink in hand.
You were excited today, an uncommon feeling now that you were aware you and three other people would be sent on a suicide mission to space in order to save the world.
Ryland Grace - a name that filled your ears more and more as each day passed, would finally be brought to the ship and you would get to meet the man face to face. He was intriguing, as you’d been told. A man who was confident in his beliefs and somehow managed to breed astrophage. A top secret piece of information you could not tell anyone until he arrived.
Yes, you were excited to meet him.
The meeting room was filled the same way it was when you were first brought to the mission, the U-shaped table, the serious faces of each representative, however this time it was a small bit busier after some of the younger engineers and scientists arrived. Like you.
You stood near the back against the wall, talking to one of the Australian scientists who filled you in on how Grace had once written a paper about the existence of life without water that cost him his job. It seemed some of the other representatives were just an unaware as you were in this fact, and turned around to talk to you both about it.
Everyone fell silent quickly, and a blond man walked in cluelessly, before realising just how many people were waiting for him and turned back around like you had. He seemed to be talking exasperatedly to Stratt, and looked quite disheveled.
He was gorgeous though.
No. You could not think of him like that. No matter how friendly the other colleagues had gotten with each other.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Dr. Ryland Grace from the United States. He figured out how to breed astrophage.” Stratt announced and the representatives did not sound happy. A German man got to his feet harshly. “Are you serious? Stratt was haben sie-?” “Englisch.” She cut him off sharply. A small smile graced your face.
Ryland still seemed very perplexed, and looked around the room bewildered by the situation.
“Doctor, have a seat and lay it out for us.” Stratt asked softly, pulling a chair out for him. He paused, holding his hand up to brace himself. “Hold on.” He began. “Who are these people? Why am I on a Chinese aircraft carrier? And have you ever heard of Skype?”
A huffed laugh left your lips in the noiseless environment. His gaze met yours for a moment, and he seemed almost relieved to see your face. He smiled softly at you, before Stratt interrupted again.
Okay, maybe you could think of him like that.
-
“Did you know the stegosaurus had a brain the size of a walnut despite being as big as a bus?”
“I’m not sure that’s a biology fact.”
“Still a fun one though. And it technically is a biology fact if you think about it.”
Ryland places a spoon on your tray, smiling at you while you look at him with furrowed brows. You reach slowly for a bottle of orange juice, handing it to him while he chuckles at you. A small part of a routine the two of you have been building over the past few weeks.
“Didn’t know I was getting a history lesson too. I must be lucky.” You follow behind him to a table in a hidden corner, a spot you sit in everyday.
“Oh yes, you’re very lucky actually. It’s not everyday I use my knowledge for other people’s benefit.”
“Wow, I wasn’t aware I was so special to you.”
“Very special. There’s a reason it’s you and not Yao I sit with every morning.”
You place a hand to your chest, looking away with a sarcastic bashful expression on your face. “That is not a compliment.” Yao appears from behind Ryland, making you burst out laughing at his timing.
“Ruining my flow here but I’ll allow it.” Ryland mutters and Yao ruffles his hair, a large grin playing his face. Yao smiles fondly at you both, watching as you try and suppress your laughter and Grace drag a hand tirelessly down his face. "Ah, young love."
His words were quiet and mumbled as he walked away, but Ryland heard. Of course he heard, and of course you didn't. You were still laughing away as he tried to stop the heat rising to his face, the tips of his ears were red, but the sheepish smile he had on his mouth distracted you. "What did he say?" You finally asked, taking the first bite of your oatmeal with the spoon Ryland had given you.
He shakes his head and makes use of opening his bottle of orange juice to give him something to do with his hands. "Oh I don't know. Didn't hear." He lied, and he felt his heart stop when you shot him a questioning look at his response.
It took a second before you spoke, swallowing slowly as you watch him look down at his plate feebly. A small habit he had when nervous. A cute habit.
"Are you coming to tonights party?"
Your question was much more easier to answer than he anticipated, even though he still couldn't find the right words for that one. "Jeez I'm not really sure... you know how I get around those guys. I- I mean, it's just not my thing." He trails a hand to the back of his neck, looking at your narrowed eyes.
"Come on. You seriously can't get a drink with me for one night?"
"No, it’s just..." He sighs, making eye contact with you for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. Gosh you really were pretty. "Please? Just this once?" You drag out, almost halfway through your meal whereas Ryland has barely had two mouthfuls.
"Fine."
He gives in, and he starts to think maybe he should've said yes sooner with the size of the smile that erupted on your face.
Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and your face practically lights up at his response. DuBois and Ilyukhina have been edging him on each day they see him to join in on the fun, and they won't be surprised it was you who finally got him to crack.
"Really? Oh you won't be disappointed. First drink on me!"
"Well good, I'd certainly hope so after all that begging." He snorts, laughing as you roll your eyes. Shovelling the last mouthful of your breakfast in your mouth, you push your chair out to stand.
"I better get going. Don't want Stratt finding me on the opposite side of the ship as to where I should be again." Ryland nods, holding out an apple he took from his tray.
"Eat more. It's gonna be like four hours before she lets you have a break."
"I’ll be fine, you watched me have one of those on the way here."
"Still."
A shy smile grows on your face once you take the piece of fruit from him and stand up. "Thank you. I'll see you later Ryland."
He waves when you turn your head to him once last time before leaving, and you wave back after he mouthes a silent "Bye." He watches you go through the lenses of his glasses, and he huffs at the now stagnant air around him compared to before when you were still sat with him.
He was hopeless.
On the way to your first meeting of the morning, you trailed mindlessly behind two women from the engineering team. You’d talked to one of them before, Jesse you think her name was, and you couldn’t place the other one. They were talking about tonight’s mixer. You tried not to listen in - but they were like eight feet away from you. How could you not?
You heard some names being mentioned here and there, like “Leclerc” and “Ilyukhina” followed by “Vodka.” Nothing uncommon to hear alongside their names. But then another name caught your attention, an you found yourself picking up your pace slightly to hear better.
“I am so gonna try my luck with Grace tonight. I think he’d have a good head game.” Jesse stated, and your mouth actually opened in shock at her words. The other girl laughed, nudging her slightly. “That’s even if he’s there and you can get him away from that scientist he’s always with.”
You. They’re talking about you. Fantastic.
“Well I’ll just have to snag him away and show him a good time.” She answered, and the two of them started giggling loudly. They suddenly turned a corner, the opposite way you were heading.
Your steps lulled a tad, and your gaze stuck to the floor incase they glanced back at the last second. They didn’t. But you didn’t bother lifting your head.
It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. Ryland was more than welcome to go around and have all the fun he wants with other women. But how could you be so naive? You wouldn’t always have Ryland to yourself, and you hadn’t even realised you thought of him like… that. until now.
That’s a lie. You have thought of him like that once or twice. Jesse wasn’t the only to think Grace has good head game.
A door opened infront of you. The door to the room you were meant to be in actually, and you were ripped from your thoughts. Stratt’s face stood before you, a polite smile on her face.
Gross. Gross. Ew. Don’t ever do that again.
-
The communal area was busier that normal tonight, and people were already pretty rowdy. You sat with Ilyukhina and some of her engineering crew, who were drinking a bottle of something strong that you couldn't name while you awaited your little scientist friends arrival.
Ryland said he would be there for 20:00, and it was 19:58 right now. Ryland wasn't the type to flake out - in fact he had never done it before, but christ were your nerves on fire.
You peeled your eyes away from the doorway, and instead watched as Chekhov downed an entire bottle of Smirnoff under his twenty second timer. He was impressive, and you all cheered when he completed it with three seconds to spare. He wrapped his arm around your head and swayed you back and forth as the others chanted his name, the two of you cackling loudly.
Ilyukhina placed her hand around her neck, pulling your body into her side instead of Chekhov’s. All of you cheering as one of the others got up to get a round of shots. Standing in the middle of the doorway, your eyes find a familiar head of unruly hair. Ryland had arrived, right on time too. His eyes skimmed the room before his framed gaze landed on you, and his face lit up as you waved and beckoned for him to come over.
He was barely three steps into the room when a hand caught his arm, and he turned to find a woman he had never seen before. She greeted him with a very loud “Hi.” He grimaced at the sound in his ear, but he sent her a polite smile and greeted her with a quiet “Hello” nonetheless.
Your smile faltered a bit and you turned around immediately, fighting the urge to bite your fist and roll your eyes at her voice halfway across the room.
You tilt your head to Ilyukhina. She was a good talker. She could distract you. If Ryland wasn’t going to come over and stay, then you needed someone else to humour you for the rest of the night. Someone good too.
“You’re Dr. Grace right?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” He nodded, noticing the way her grip hasn’t loosened on his bicep since he said hello. She watched his eyes flick down to her hand on his arm, and a cheeky smile grew on her lips.
“Are you nervous?” She asked lowly, and Ryland furrowed his brows with utmost confusion on his face. “Nervous? No? What? Why - What’s your name again? I don’t think I heard it.”
She grins, and her hand finally lets go of his arm before it’s stuck out infront of him. “Jesse Wallace. Part of the engineering team.” He takes her hand curtly, shaking it quickly before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Must be why I haven’t seen you then.” His tone is dismissive, and he’s looking around the room in an awkward manner, wondering why the hell you haven't come and swept him away yet.
“Maybe you haven’t looked hard enough.” Her voice is sultry, and not in a good way as he raises his brows and avoids eye contact. “Maybe.” He mutters, looking over to the crowd you’re sat in, staring straight at the back of your head.
Jesse follow his gaze, eyes zeroing in on you as she realises what he keeps looking at. “You two aren’t hooking up? Are you?” Grace’s wide eyes gape open to look at her, choking on his words and scoffing at the same time. “No! No… we’re not.” He stutters out, voice muffled as he looks down to his feet, shifting back and forth on them uncomfortably. “I wish.”
He mumbled the last bit too quickly, but his eyes flick over to you, then to Jesse, then to you again, and then back to her as if you had heard them from across the loud room.
"She seems like one of the only people you talk to. Her and Stratt."
Ryland nearly sneers at her words. "I talk to people. I talk to a lot of people actually, like Yao and Dimitri and Carl and Steve- I doubt you even know Carl and Steve." She giggles at that, a bit too loudly for his liking. "You don't talk to me?" Her question makes him glance at her for a moment, and he purses his lips at the sight of her fake hurt expression.
"This is the first time I've met you." He responds blatantly.
"Well then we should get to know each other better. Maybe we could head to my room?”
He inhales sharply, his hands balled into fists in his pockets begin to grow sweaty. He could’ve screamed at the thought of it. “Well uh I actually told Y/n I’d buy her a drink tonight. So… no. Sorry.”
She looks agitated at his reaction, yet Grace couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. Not when you hadn’t turned around once during their conversation. “I’ll just - um. I’ll see you later.” He winces at the awkwardness, but breathes a breath of relief he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding once he walks away, and internally smiles at the sight of your group coming closer.
“Hey.” He beams, placing a hand on your shoulder, standing behind you and Ilyukhina. “Hi.” You grin up at him.
You can’t tell if you’re feeling butterflies inside your stomach at the fact he chose to come over to you and not Jesse, or if your screaming inside at the fact he took so long to come over in the first place. But he looks really good in that shirt and those enticing little teacher glasses.
“I believe I owe you a drink.” You say in a teasing tone, standing to lead him over to the bar. He follows behind happily, trying not to look at your ass in those jeans, he averts his gaze to the duo doing karaoke - another thing he hasn’t seen until now.
The two of you lean against the bar table, waiting to be served. He gets to look at your face now, a better view than the back of your hair. You have a slight bit more makeup on, a teeny change only he would’ve noticed for how much he stares at you.
“How’s Jesse?”
“Who?”
“Jesse. The woman you were talking to.”
“Oh um. Strange.” He tuts, chuckling at the not so distant memory of her asking to go back to her room.
“Strange? What on earth did she say to freak you out?” A light laugh leaves your mouth as you speak, and he smiles at the sound of it.
Ryland shakes his head dismissively, jutting his lip out while pondering whether to say. “She just -” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck unsure of how to go about it. “She asked me to go back to her room with her and I said no. Then she got all weird and stuff so I walked away.”
Your heart lurches in your chest, feeling your blood rush to your head at the idea of it. “Why didn’t you go to her room? I’m sure she would’ve had a lot of fun with you.” You say in a joking voice, nudging him slightly. Even if the humour was fake.
“Because… I- I like somebody else.”
Your stomach jumps into your throat, and you have to act like you were expecting that. You look around for a bartender, someone to give you both a distraction so your knees don’t buckle on you.
“Oh really? Like who?” You still don’t turn back to him, only gripping the wood of the bar harder.
“Phsh. I don’t know. Maybe someone who actually bothers to talk to me. Someone who eats breakfast and lunch with me everyday.”
You nearly break your neck at how fast you turn to look at him. He looks back at you, then swallows thickly to disguise his burst of boldness. “Someone who makes me go for drinks when I don’t want to. Someone who’s standing right in front of me and hopefully maybe feels the same way.”
The two of you are awfully close now, yet neither of you seem to move. You take a deep breath in through your nose, parting your lips slightly to whisper to him.
summary: when rocky asks ryland if he has a mate, he doesn’t expect his memories to be flooded with images of you
warning: ryland being stuck in space, angst! (gosh), fluff for the moments inbetween, not a happy ending, one use of mrs for describing reader, one flashback gets a little steamy
note: am i writing this when i have a request for scott miller in my drafts, but i can’t get over project hail mary or ryland grace? absolutely
word count: 3.4k
“rocky ask question, question?” the computerised voice of rocky echoed throughout the hail mary. both rocky and ryland had been sat in silence for a while, rocky in his xenonite ball and ryland sprawled out on the metal bridge, watching the ‘world’ go by through monitors that surrounded the room.
“go for it, rock.” ryland replied, sitting up and turning around to face rocky properly. his arms rested on top of his bent knees, his hands clasping together in front of him. the computer that translated rocky’s music was balanced precariously in between them and waited patiently for his friend to speak.
“grace have mate, question?” it came out soft, and, even lacking in facial features, ryland realised that rocky was asking this with the upmost care. of course, they had spoken about their crew members that they had lost along the way. rocky had spoken about his mate, but ryland had been quiet about himself.
“grace hear rocky, question?” the automated voice called out again causing ryland to lift his head up from where it had dropped between his knees. without realising, his eyes had glossed over, tears forming without the right conscious feeling behind them.
that had happened a lot, especially after waking up from his coma, realising his crew mates were gone and going through their belongings. ryland felt things deeply. so deeply that whatever had happened in his coma had stopped them from coming to the surface, shying away from being reachable to his conscious, but there enough to cause reactions like this.
“yeh, rock, i heard you. i still have trouble with remembering things.” ryland replied, wringing his fingers together as he thought of what to say. there was nothing in his personal belongings that suggested there being a ‘mate’, but he had had too many dreams of someone lately. someone talking to him after long days, someone taking care of him.
his head went foggy, the space behind he eyes began to hurt, and as ryland pulled his glasses away from his face, he closed his eyes and rubbed them harshly.
and suddenly, there was you. the grocery store lights were harsh around the corners of ryland vision, he saw the cart in front of you and the basket in his hands, but he didn’t see the corner of the cart growing ever closer to him until the clashing of metal snapped him out of his daydream.
“oh, gosh, i am so sorry.” you gasped, turning around from looking at the shelves to pull your cart closer to you before walking around it to meet ryland.
“no, no, it was my fault, i wasn’t looking-” he stumbled over his words, your eyes peering up at him as your hands covered your mouth. were you giggling?
“no, i’m sorry, i don’t know why im laughing,” you apologised again, dropping your hands as you balanced them against the edge of your cart. “i can’t believe i ran into you with my cart.” and your hands were over your face.
“hey, no, it was totally my fault!” ryland insisted, dropping his fairly empty basket to gently grab your wrists. he pulled them down to reveal your face once more before realising what he had just done. “oh, God, and now i’m sorry for just touching you, i don’t know why i did that.” then it was his turn to cover his face.
“i think we need to stop apologising, this isn’t going well.” you laughed again, this time more wholeheartedly as you mirrored his actions and pulled his wrists down with such care.
ryland let you hold onto his wrists for longer than what others would find appropriate for strangers. but there was something about you, something that he couldn’t put his finger on, but it felt something like fate, like he was meant to be here with your warmth wrapped around him.
neither of you moved for a few moments, your hands still on his skin as you looked over each other. his sandy hair was messy, he hadn’t bothered to do much to it that morning, but your eyes couldn’t be drawn away from the strands, flitting between them and his eyes. by your account, they were the bluest eyes you’d ever seen, and this man was just walking around with them freely. it was totally unfair.
“i’m ryland.” he finally said, breaking the silence that had sat comfortably between you two. you gave him your own name in reply, smiling wider as he repeated it back to you. you were still holding his wrists.
“well, ryland,” his name was sweet on your tongue, “i better get back to shopping. i don’t want to take up more of your time apologising.” both of you laughed again at your joke, your hands dropping his as you moved back to the handle of your cart. ryland didn’t pick up his basket.
“i don’t mind,” he started. “i’m pretty sure it was my fault anyway.”
“i thought we were done taking blame?”
“maybe i could try it once more?” you laughed at his words once again and smiled brightly, your chin dipping down to cover the blush that had started to warm your face.
“maybe you could try over dinner? if that’s something-”
“yes! yeh, i can do that.” ryland replied instantly, not letting you finish your sentence before eliciting another giggle from your lips. God, he wanted to do that until the end of time.
“tomorrow night?”
“yes, that’s perfect,” he nodded, pulling out his phone open his contacts and pass it over to you. “just not too late, it’s a school night.”
“oh, what are you studying?” you asked curiously, taking his phone and hoping to every external force that he wasn’t a college student who happened to look older for his age.
“well, i studied molecular biology, but im an eighth grade teacher now.” ryland explained, taking his phone back from you.
“wow, cute and good with kids? i think i hit the jackpot.” you smirked and watched as his face fell, a redness covering his cheeks as he looked down at his basket. pieces of words started to leave ryland’s lips before you said, “text me. i’ll see you tomorrow, mr ryland.”
he watched as you headed down the aisle, looking back over your shoulder for one last glance at the cute teacher who had somehow scored himself his first date since college. “yes, tomorrow!” he called after you, seeing you off with one final wave before walking in the opposite direction.
in that moment, ryland forgot all about his basket and the candy in it for his students in the coming weeks.
then he was back on the hail mary. rocky was in front of him tapping one of his hands onto the xenonite ball beneath him. the screens were still playing out a scene of an early spring day. ryland wiped away a stray tear that began to fall.
“i did have someone,” he started in a quiet voice, knowing no matter how much he whispered, rocky would hear him. he gave your name before continuing, “we met in a grocery store - it’s where people buy food. i bumped into this cart and just started apologising before we actually started talking, and i suddenly had a date for the next day. that was it. that was the start of everything.”
rocky was quiet as he took in ryland’s words. there was a certain somber tone to his voice that rocky hadn’t heard before, and he wasn’t fully sure what it meant. he could see that ryland’s mate had meant a lot of him. rocky should know, he has his own, of course. but for someone who was meant to be seeing their mate again, ryland seemed too… sad.
“grace still have mate, question?” rocky asked, tapping his hands again whilst moving forward in his ball.
“yeh. yeh, rock, at home.” ryland nodded, bracing his arms on his bent knees whilst looking at a very partially interesting spot on the floor.
“grace go home to mate, question?”
you. home. he was back there instantly. the lights low as he hung up his bike helmet on the special hook you had put up one evening, your scribbled writing above it on a plaque signifying what it held. ‘ryland’s helmet’ with a smiley face underneath it. he never knew he needed that until he had it. until he had you.
there was soft music playing in the kitchen, floating through the small living space and filling ryland’s ears as he pulled off his bag and yellow rain coat. next, he toed off his shoes, placing them next to your own before following the delicious smell of your dinner.
as he rounded the corner, his vision was filled with you, the usually glow around the edges as it soften his memories. you were graceful going back and forth between the cooker and the sink, carefully washing dishes whilst checking on the pasta sauce you had simmering away.
ryland was always quiet getting home. you knew he would be late getting back from work tonight, but you didn’t realise what time it was until you felt his arms circling your waist, his warmth perforating your clothes as you leaned back into his presence.
“hi, baby.” you whispered, smiling widely as you rested your head against his shoulder, your hands coming up to rest on his own on your stomach. “good day?”
“eventful, as always.” he replied, leaning down slightly to press a soft kiss into your check.
“did the kids like the mars model you made?” you asked, turning around in his hold to reach up and around his neck to play with the short hairs there.
“the model we made,” he chastised gently, placing a kiss on your nose. “but yes, they did. they asked if mrs grace had helped make it because it was too good for me to have done.”
“no they didn’t.” you giggled, one hand coming down to cover your mouth as you tried to not sound so amused at the almost insult.
“oh, they did.” ryland nodded, pulling your wrist down to press a sweet kiss on your lips.
“i mean, it was a good model.”
“it was, because mrs grace helped me out.”
“not yet, mr,” you reminded him, patting his chest lightly before pulling yourself out of his grasp and headed over to the cooker. “i don’t remember being asked any question.”
“of course,” he agreed, a hand hitting his forehead before bouncing back off it and hanging in the air. “what’s your ring size?”
as you turned to look at him, he was stood with a huge grin on his face, his glasses slightly wonky on his nose which made him even more endearing. your head was tilted to the side at his joke, a small smile fighting its way to the surface as you lifted a playful finger at him.
“you’re lucky i love you.” you reminded him, turning to quickly stir the sauce once more before looking back at ryland.
“i love you, too.”
and he did. he could feel it deep in his chest, like it had shimmied down from his heart and rooted itself in between his ribs as to not be forgotten. his chest hurt at that memory, thinking not only of you, but of his students and his classroom. that model had sat on his desk for months, proudly in place as he used it multiple times for different lessons.
he could taste your pasta sauce, feel how your hands felt in his hair, on his chest. he can feel the ache in his cheeks from how you made him smile, knowing you must have felt the same each night before going to bed.
ryland lifted his head back up briefly, his hands rubbing across his face in exasperation, and he was grateful that he wasn’t wearing his glasses in that moment. you always reminded him to be carefully whilst wearing them. he always poked himself in the eye after your statement.
“home is very far away at the moment.” ryland said, thinking about the warmth that came with the word, the slightly frayed and worn in couch that you both settled down on each night. the creaky floorboards that you both failed to miss each morning whilst trying to get ready.
“rocky go home to mate,” rocky stated, one hand coming up to tap on the opal stone embedded in his arm. “grace go home to mate.” another statement, one that ryland couldn’t bare to think about, let alone answer.
ryland never thought he’d have a place to feel like home. of course, he had a home, a small place in san francisco that held all his things and kept him safe and warm at night. until you, he didn’t truly realise that home follows another person around before coming back to him.
instead of finding a new place together, you agreed to move in with him. six months after your first date, you quickly realised that you were it for each other, and didn’t want to waste another minute apart. you couldn’t go another night without seeing him come home from work, and ryland couldn’t go another day without kissing you goodbye.
it took a couple of weeks to move all of your things over to his place. you didn’t live too far from each other, and ryland had a lot of furniture already, but you found it difficult to pack everything you owned into boxes and move it whilst both of you were working full time.
regardless of that, you still stayed at his every night, some boxes there and some at your old place. the impending deadline of your lease ending did very little to encourage you to move things over when all you needed was in bed next to you, snoring away softly as he had both arms wrapped around your body.
“ryland.” you whispered into the darkness. your face was close enough to his to feel his warm breath on your cheek. he had one arm tucked under your neck whilst the other rested as a comforting weight over your hip. your legs were tangled together as your hands rested on his chest, a science pun barely visible under your fingers, but you knew exactly which one it was.
“ryland.” you tried again, your voice getting slightly louder as you brought a hand up to stroke his stubbled cheek.
“ryland.” you said once more before you heard a grunt of a reply. his body moved closer to yours as you realised he was slowly waking up. “i’m going to move everything else in tomorrow.” your voice went back down to a whisper.
“hmm, that’s great, honey.” he mumbled, pulling you closer to him so that your bodies were flushed against each other. his head fell into the gap between the pillows and your neck, his breathing shallowing out again and his snores started up once more.
“ryland!” you still whispered, pulling back slightly to grab his face with both hands (and admire his sleepy state).
“is the house on fire?” he grumbled, just like moments ago, one eye opening slightly to look at your face and gauge what was going on.
“did you hear me?” you asked, a soft smile on your face as you watched him start to open his other eye. all you got was another grumble in response. he definitely hadn’t heard you.
“i’m going to move everything else in tomorrow, finally get it sorted.” you repeated, squeezing his cheeks as he processed your words and opened his eyes fully.
“sweetheart, that’s great!” ryland’s voice was soft and full of sleep, but his excitement was evident, especially with how he pulled you close to him once again and placed kisses down your cheek, jawline and onto your neck.
“i mean, it’s been long enough.” you giggled as his stubble tickled you, knowing it was late at night, but still feeling giddy at the thought of the rest of your life with ryland.
he pulled back from your skin, looking at you in the dim lights of your shared bedroom before leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. as always with ryland, it was soft, gentle, full of love and words that he said to you in person and seemed to perfectly translate into a kiss.
the arm that rested on your hip moved towards your back, pulling your chest flush with his as your hands found their way to the back of his head. the hairs on the nape of his neck had started to grow out a bit more lately, ryland having missed his hair cut the other week, but you weren’t complaining.
it gave you the perfect opportunity to thread your fingers through the strands, pulling on them slightly as his lips parted and a small groan escaped them. you took that as a chance to deepen the kiss, finding warmth and comfort in the way his lips felt against your own, how his skin was hot against yours and his hands held you gently.
with his arms still around you and your legs still intertwined, one of your hands let go of his hair and came down to fist the material of his shirt. kissing ryland always left you breathless, and it always left you wanting more. but you were also very aware that he had work in a few hours, it was a school night after all.
“baby.” you muttered against his lips. they were still gliding over your own, taking what was his and leaving nothing behind. “ry.” you tried again, the hand on his chest pushing up to meet the sharp edge of his jaw.
“yes.” he replied quickly, taking a short breath before kissing you again softly.
“dr grace.” you said with every intention of getting his attention, but he seemed to take it another way.
“it’s too late for that, honey.” he mumbled, finally pulling away from your lips to press gentle kisses on your cheek and jawline once again.
“i know, we should get to sleep,” you gasped as he found his favourite spot and decided to bite the skin slightly. “i only wanted to tell you my plan.”
“and i think it’s a great plan.” ryland pressed one last kiss against your lips before moving you further down the bed to let your head rest against his chest. his arms were still tightly around your body, keeping you safe as if anything could happen at any time. as if anything could take you away from him.
you said a quiet “goodnight” into the room as ryland kissed the top of your head. all you could feel was the vibrations of his voice on your skin, but you knew what he had said. only after that did you finally close your eyes and start to drift to sleep, thinking about ryland and tomorrow and the day after that. you thought about the day after that as well, for good measure.
ryland thought about the same thing, too. he thought about you and your future home, somewhere away from the busy main streets, but still somewhere that collected the fog in the early morning. he pictured a large yard out back, a few kids and maybe a dog running around as he chased you down, doing whatever he could to hear that giggle another time.
the thought hit him hard, his hands running over his face and through his hair once more. it wasn’t the same as how you used to do it. none of this was the same for what once was. he never would have left you on earth if this was what he would come home too. ryland was just grateful that his memories had finally come back.
“grace sad about mate, question?” rocky perked up gently, sensing something wasn’t right about his friend but not knowing what.
“yeh. we were together a long time-it was meant to be a long time.” ryland sniffled, his hands falling limp in front of his body as he looked back over to rocky.
“not long enough.”
ryland agreed, “not long enough.”
masterlist!
requests! please send me ryland grace thoughts bc i cannot get over this man
tagging people who might like this! @crystalzweig @heartburriedintauceti @lostinwildflowers @pagesfromthevoid @doctor-ryland-grace @redwinelewis @effloradox @deanssecretary @yearningforsolitude @icantthinkofafuckingnameatm @stargirl-meltdown @bibigo-lover @eridianhearts
summary: ryland finds himself in bed with you. he's a little out of practice.
word count: 2.2k
tags: gn!reader + vague anatomy; established relationship; smut (pwp, masturbation, anal, light body worship, praise, talkative!ryland); takes place before phm events (no spoilers!).
a/n: tried to make this as neutral as possible bcus we ALL deserve to get freaky with this nerd <3
“Okay, so, for starters — since we’re here and all — I would just like to say that it’s been about five or so years since I’ve, you know… Done the devil’s tango, if you will. Just to warn you. No pressure.”
Ryland’s word vomit arrives as gracefully as a plane crash, right after you have both stripped down to nothing and settled beneath the sheets of your queen-sized bed (a delightful upgrade from Ryland’s springy, busted twin bed back at his apartment). He’s been sweating bullets for the last hour of your impromptu make out session, and he’s been hard for about eighty percent of that time. You’ve lost count of how many times he groaned in the past twenty minutes from accidentally nudging his erection against your thigh.
Needless to say, you already figured he was a little out of practice.
“That’s fine,” you murmur from below, your head cushioned by a pillow. “I mean, the last time I slept with anyone was…” You pause, brows furrowed in thought. Ryland watches your hands leave his hair only to start counting on your fingers, muttering under your breath, until you give up, settling on, “It’s been a while for me, too.”
Ryland sighs in relief, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Good.” Then, reflexively, his head pops back up. “I mean— Not good. Sorry. That was very selfish of me. You deserve to have— you should get to, you know— bed someone as you wish. Make love. Get frisky. Et cetera. I mean, look at you, how could anyone not—? Well. Anyway… that must have been rough.”
A snort escapes you at Ryland’s inability to use the word ‘sex.’ And did he… speak in a British accent for a moment there? It’s a bit unclear what dialect he was going for.
Regardless of his awkward, sporadic behavior and ceaseless talking, you’re familiar enough with this song and dance that you don’t hesitate to return your fingers to his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. The action, as per usual, makes him melt like putty in your hands.
“Yeah, let’s maybe not get into the humiliating details,” you muse, tugging him down for a chaste kiss. He moans into your mouth, his body sagging atop yours. He tries to nod in response to your words, but his lips are still smushed against yours. Not to mention his glasses are still hanging on for dear life and poking your cheek. You gently push him away, remove them, and set them on your nightstand; Ryland flashes a sheepish smile.
“Sorry,” he says. “You know me. Forgot I was wearing them.”
“Uh-huh,” you nod slowly, tugging him down again. “Shut up, handsome.”
Ryland kisses you like he’s been starving for it, panting against your mouth from the effort it takes to focus on just this moment. He doesn’t want to start humping you like a dog in heat, even though he sure feels like one right about now. He gets dizzy off your shared breath, nudging his nose against yours between heated kisses. His hands are shaking — partially from holding himself up, but mostly because he’s scared to touch you. All he keeps thinking about, even now, is how mortifying it would be if he disappointed you even a little bit. He’s out of practice and definitely way too old to be floundering over a kiss, but being in your bed after months of wet dreams and sighing your name into his pillow is a step he didn’t think he’d ever take. Fortunately for him, you were brave enough to finally bring it up and drag him into your bed.
“You can touch me,” you mumble against his mouth, noting his hesitation.
“Right.” Ryland swallows. His lips stray to the corner of your mouth, then further to your jawline. He hides his face there, heart hammering against his rib cage, to ask, “Where?”
Although Ryland drudges up a myriad of self-deprecating thoughts upon asking, you happen to find the question terribly sexy.
“I’ll show you,” you mutter, already searching for his hands. You guide them over your body, letting his palms splay across your bare skin. His breath catches. Ryland reels his head back to get a good look at you while his hands explore — kneading at mounds of flesh, lightly pinching your nipples, caressing the curves and dips of your body. He’s meticulous in his search to find out exactly what makes you tick — a scientist after your own heart.
His cock is leaking against your thigh. It’s been in such a state for nearly an hour now; Ryland hasn’t quite found the courage to give himself to you yet. Hell, he hasn’t even dared to grind against you for fear that he’ll empty himself all over your stomach by accident.
Eventually, you turn on your side, shuffling around on your bed. Ryland watches with a growing flush as you get into position, taking his hand into your own and leading it to settle between your thighs. “Here,” you finally murmur, patient as a saint. Ryland’s heart nearly stops altogether when you guide him to where you’ve been aching just as badly as him. He drags the tips of his fingers over your arousal — wet, warm, and patiently waiting for him to get his shit together.
“Good God,” he whines, his voice cracking. Your hips jerk upward when he applies pressure, stimulating your sensitive nerves; he nearly loses all composure the second you moan in response.
“Ryland,” you whisper, squirming beneath him. You’re torn between jerking your hips forward or holding them in place; your body can’t seem to decide which is more appealing.
“Uh-huh?” He can’t rip his eyes off your body, slack jawed as he strokes your leaking heat. Ryland’s hand suddenly redirects, fingers slipping into his mouth — his tongue swirls around them, messily wetting the digits — before traversing around your hip. He watches his finger gently prod at your rear, slowly slipping into you. Your body gives in with ease, and he marvels at your sharp breaths and sighs when he pumps his finger in and out — slowly, curling just so, angling his hand to let you receive another digit.
Your throat bobs when you swallow, chest heaving. With a shaking hand, you reach behind you to touch Ryland’s chin. With his attention caught, you tug him closer, pulling him into your orbit. He falls into it without hesitation, allowing you to bring him in for a slow, heady kiss whilst he continues to work you open.
If you weren’t already as worked up as you are, you wouldn’t mind staying like this for a few more hours. He’s warm and tender, expertly balancing his weight above you. For all his fumbling up to this point, Ryland has managed to far exceed your expectations — and, surprisingly, even his own. Not bad for a couple of out of practice losers.
“Ry,” you sigh into your pillow, closing your eyes to focus on him. “You can— I’m good, if you want to… to…” You trail off, too busy jerking your hips back to really finish your thought.
Ryland gets the gist of it. In response to your invitation, the man shifts his hips forward, pressing his flushed cock against your ass. He eases his way in, a ragged groan escaping him. You can feel him panting against your cheek as he hovers behind you, working his way inside your rear, slowly filling you up. Ryland bites his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut. He sinks further into you, fisting the sheets as he bottoms out.
“Fuck,” he sighs, hanging his head low enough that his nose touches your cheek. “Fuck. That’s good. You’re— Jesus, you’re perfect, so fucking…” He trails off, muttering a long, unintelligible string of curses beneath his breath. Ryland doesn’t dare to move until your hips cant backwards, eager for friction, wanting for more. He responds in kind, slowly reeling his hips back before swaying into your orbit. The roll of his hips is heavenly; you moan, reaching behind you. Your hands flail around, searching for his thigh, desperate to pull him in for every deep, languid thrust that fills you.
“So tight,” he mutters once his forehead drops to the crook of your neck. “So, so good. God, you’re good.” His body is flush to yours, focused less on going deep and more on simply feeling you all over him. Ryland’s hands start to wander of their own accord, gripping your hips to help you rock against him, locking your sweaty bodies into a desperate rhythm.
When his thrusts start to become increasingly heavy, you remove your hand from his thigh to slip your hand between your legs. He doesn’t notice at first, not until you start to whine a bit from the stimulation.
Ryland picks his head up to look at you before averting his gaze downward. He licks his lips, eyes darkened to a sultry expression.
“Let me,” he boldly insists, already sliding a hand down to meet yours. His hand replaces yours; you keep it there, hovering over his for guidance, but Ryland already seems to have you figured out. The pads of his fingers press against the most sensitive parts of you, getting you off whilst his hips rock into yours. You gasp, clutching his wrist and dropping your mouth open in a perpetual moan.
“There? You like that?” Ryland asks huskily, panting against your ear with barely-there composure. You wonder if he knows how attractive he is at this moment — so unlike his usual self. More confident, more sure of his actions.
Regardless of whether he realizes how well he’s doing or not, you nod, moaning wantonly. “Yes, yes. Right there.”
You’re both a breathy, sweaty mesh of limbs, clinging to each other and chasing a high that seems increasingly within reach. Ryland is further ahead of the curve than you are, whining against your neck.
“I’m almost— Fuck, you feel amazing— Can I come inside you? I can’t, I can’t pull out… Too tight, I’m gonna lose it.”
His rambling is met with a fervent nod. As your legs kick against the sheets, Ryland pants like a dog, fucking into you sporadically. He spills his seed — hot and heavy — and groans so loud you jolt in surprise. The sound causes your muscles to squeeze around him; you’re nearing the edge now, barely hanging on.
Ryland remembers to stimulate your sex again, pushing himself up enough to slip his hand where it needs to be. He gets you off with quick, brutal force to your nerves, and you pulse against his deft hand as your orgasm hits.
Even though you’ve both cum already, Ryland’s hips don’t stop. He continues to bury himself inside you — raggedly working himself through the lasting remains of his release — while he sputters under his breath.
“Could stay here all day,” he mumbles. “Perfect, best I’ve ever had. Fuck, I can’t wait to make you cum again, babe. Fill you ‘til you’re dripping. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—”
If you weren’t so sensitive, you’d probably roll your eyes and laugh at his slurred prayer.
By the end of it, when Ryland has finally had his fill of you, he pulls out and fully drops his weight upon yours, too spent to keep himself upright. You release an oomph when he lays on you, squeezing the breath from your lungs.
“Ry—” You start, already nudging him off of you.
He groans, burying his face against your neck. From his place on your chest, you can see that the tips of his ears are bright red. He mumbles something that you can’t decipher; you poke his ribs.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
Ryland groans again, flustered and shaking his head. “Sorry. Sorry. Dunno what that was. Who even says that kind of stuff? Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”
With a snort, you ruffle his already-messy hair, raking your nails over his scalp. “What are you sorry for? I liked it.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You pity me,” he whines. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”
You can’t help but scoff at that, yanking at a lock of his hair. Ryland yelps, turning his head to look at you.
“Who do you think I am, huh?” You poke his cheek, brow raised. “Don’t be silly. Enjoy the moment for once, won’t you?”
Ryland opens his mouth to argue, but — after a beat of consideration — he closes it. He props his chin on your shoulder, sighing through his nose.
“You are, as always, correct,” he mutters, looking at you with all the adoration a man can offer.
“Exactly.” You smile, fixing his hair back into place. It springs right back up, perpetually defying gravity. Your head tilts, searching his expression. “You know, you’re selling yourself short. That was really good for five years out of practice.”
Ryland perks up. “Really?”
“Really.”
The man cracks a smile, shifting to nuzzle his scratchy, stubbled cheek against your shoulder. “Well, you’ve only seen a fraction of my power.”
“Oh?” You laugh at the ridiculous, overly-serious tone he takes. “Do share more.”
“Give me ten minutes, baby, and I’ll rock your world.”
Advice: Always trust a scientist to deliver thorough results.
Okay but imagine reader and Dennis who had a one night stand and then like a month later she ends up in the er and he gets assigned as her doctor. she needs to take a pregnancy test for some medical reason and turns out she is preggo
𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 ♡
Uh, such a cute (and juicy!!) idea! Thank you for the request, hun <3
Dennis Whitaker x f!reader || Masterlist || Spotify
summary: After fainting in a grocery store, you end up in the ER. Turns out your stay comes with a couple surprises. Not only who your doctor turns out to be, but what you thought was just stress also turns out to be something more.
word count: 9.9k
note/tags: Afab!reader. No use of y/n. One night stand. Unplanned pregnancy. Fluff/tiny bit of angst? May contain medical inaccuracies. Dennis is a sweetheart.
You sit yourself down on the side of the hospital bed with a mix of self-pity and embarrassment, hunched slightly forward with your elbows on your knees. The fluorescent lights overhead make everything feel harsher than it should be, and the faint smell of disinfectant only makes the nausea rolling in your stomach worse.
You swallow hard, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth. This is ridiculous. People go to the ER for actual emergencies. Broken bones, car accidents, things that bleed or stop working. Not because they passed out in the middle of a grocery store. The nurse who brought you in gives you a sympathetic smile as she logs something into the computer in the corner of the room.
You like her, she seems nice, and you have the feeling that she’s rooting for you, like she is on your team. It’s not often you feel that when you’re in places like this.
Usually, it’s the opposite. Usually, it feels like you’re being evaluated, quietly measured against some invisible standard you’ve already failed to meet. But she doesn’t look at you like that. There’s no impatience in the way she moves, no thinly veiled skepticism when she glances in your direction. Just calm, steady attention.
You drop your hand back into your lap, fingers curling together. The nausea ebbs slightly, replaced by a dull, lingering shakiness that makes your limbs feel like they don’t quite belong to you.
“Your doctor will be with you in just a minute,” she says kindly. “In the meantime, I’m gonna start taking your vitals, alright?”
You nod, shifting slightly on the bed as another small wave of nausea rolls through you. “Yeah, okay,” you mumble.
She gives you a small, reassuring nod before reaching for a blood pressure cuff and wrapping it around your arm. Quietly explaining while she does so.
“Just relax,” she says softly.
You try. The cuff tightens, squeezing your arm, and you focus on the steady hum of the machine instead of the lingering unease in your stomach and now your arm, before it slowly loosens again.
She glances at the numbers on the monitor. “Well, your blood pressure is on the lower side,” she says. “That could definitely explain the dizziness.”
You just nod, not really trusting yourself to say anything without your voice giving you away.
“Did you eat today?”
“Yeah, some toast,” you admit. “That’s about it.”
She nods again before reaching for your arm to remove the cuff, her touch light and careful as she slides it off. “Alright,” she says softly, setting it aside. “And have you been eating normally lately?” she asks.
“No… not really,” you admit. “I’ve been feeling kinda sick the past few days.”
“Nauseous?”
You nod again.
“Okay. Have you experienced any stomach pain?”
You shake your head. “Not really.”
“Any vomiting?”
“No…” you hesitate, glancing down at your hands. “But there have been a few times I’ve felt like I might,” you admit, your voice quieter now.
Then, in that same neutral, routine tone, she asks, “Any chance you could be pregnant?”
The question lands heavier than it should. You’re just about to blurt out no, out of pure instinct, something automatic, easy and safe. But the word catches in your throat. Your love life hasn’t exactly been active the last year or two. And that’s why your brain wants to say no without thinking.
But there was that one night about a month ago.
It was the kind of night out that wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. Just a way to get out of your own head for a few hours, to feel normal again. You hadn’t expected anything from it. You had just met up with some of your friends, some of your friends’ friends. And a few people who turned out to be friends of friends of friends –people you didn’t know, names you didn’t catch, faces that blurred together after a while.
You hadn’t planned on staying long. Just a drink or two, a laugh and a light conversation, then leave. But then you noticed him. He looked even more out of place than you felt. Leaning against the wall, drink in hand, like he wasn’t sure where he belonged. His eyes roamed the room but didn’t settle on anyone, not until they landed on you.
You smiled first, almost without thinking. He looked surprised, a little caught off guard, and then he smiled back, awkwardly, nervously, but genuine. And somehow, that was enough. It was awkward, sure, but real in a way that made you want to stay a little longer than you first intended.
You started talking. He was one of those friends of friends of friends. The kind of person you could’ve missed entirely if things had gone just a little differently that night. At first, just small talk to fill the time, but then it wasn’t just small talk anymore. It was laughter and shared glances, a kind of ease that felt like it had slipped through the cracks of the night. He was charming in a quiet, unassuming way. Sweet, earnest, a little clumsy, completely unlike anyone you’d met in a long time.
And it was so nice. Someone kind, nervous, and a little awkward. Someone who had made you feel lighter than usual. One drink became two, two turned into standing a little closer than before, conversations dipping softer, quieter. There had been a moment, just a small one, where neither of you were really talking anymore, just looking at each other like you were both trying to decide something at the same time. And then you had.,.
You swallow. Your fingers curl tighter in your lap, nails pressing lightly into your skin
“There might be a little chance.”
The nurse doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look at you differently. She just nods, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.
“Alright. We’ll have you take a pregnancy test just to rule it out.”
Your stomach twists again, though this time it’s not entirely because of the nausea. Because technically, there is a chance.
The thought settles heavy, sinking somewhere deep in your chest. The nurse gives you a small, reassuring smile, like nothing about this is unusual, like this is just another step in a routine process.
“I’ll see if your doctor is ready now,” she says gently.
“Okay,” you manage, your voice quieter than you intend. “Thank you.”
The curtain shifts as she steps out, leaving you alone with the low hum of the machines and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. You exhale slowly, leaning forward again, elbows resting on your knees, trying to ground yourself.
It’s probably nothing. It has to be nothing. Low blood pressure. Not eating enough. Stress. Your fingers tighten together, then loosen again as you force yourself to breathe.
After a while the curtain rustles. You glance up, and everything in you stills. You are met by a friendly smile from your nurse, kind brown eyes, soft and familiar. But it is not her who makes your breath catch. It’s the person stepping in behind her.
He is looking down at the ipad in his hands, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, like he’s trying to finish reading something before stepping fully into the room. It gives you a second, just one, to see him without being seen.
The familiar slope of his shoulders. The way he holds himself, a little unsure, like he’s still getting used to being here. Light brown hair falling over his forehead, and curling up at the nap of his neck.
Then he looks up, and his eyes meet yours. Those wide, blue eyes, you remember all too well.
“This is Dr. Whitaker,” the nurse says softly, her tone carrying the gentle authority of routine, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. She tells Dennis your name, not knowing that he already knows it. “We already took her blood pressure, and you ordered a pregnancy test.”
His gaze flickers briefly toward the nurse, then back to you. “Thank you, Perlah,” he says, voice small.
There’s a pause, the kind that makes the air between you feel thicker. She gives him a quick look, a brow slightly raised, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Then she gazes back to you, smiling softly, as if nothing unusual has happened.
“If you need anything, you can call on the button and I’ll be back. But in the meantime, you’re in good hands with Dr. Whitaker.”
You give a small nod, your throat tight, words catching somewhere between nervousness and surprise. She steps out, the curtain swishing closed behind her, and the door closes, and suddenly the room feels impossibly quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing a little louder, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears.
“Hi,” he says, an awkward smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, just enough to make it feel human, approachable.
“Hi,” you manage, your voice smaller than you would like, uneven, caught somewhere between nerves and surprise.
“So, uh, you fainted…” he continues, voice careful, like he’s stepping lightly around fragile ground. His fingers tap lightly on the edge of the ipad, a subtle rhythm that seems to mirror your racing heartbeat.
You glance down at your hands, twisting them together in your lap. “Yeah… I guess,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper.
“Uhm.. If you would prefer another doctor, I can call them in,” he says, voice gentle, careful not to push. His gaze flickers to your face, giving you space, but holding just enough attention to make it clear he’s listening.
You shake your head quickly, almost automatically. “No… no, it’s fine,” you murmur. “You’re… you’re fine.” Your voice catches, tight and shaky.
He nods, a small, understanding smile tugging at his lips. “Alright,” he says softly.
There’s a pause as he studies you, and even in the sterile, buzzing hospital room, there’s a strange sense of understanding between you. The way he leans slightly, careful not to crowd your space, makes it clear he’s not in a rush.
“I could understand from Perlah that you have been feeling nauseous… Can you tell me when it started? And if it’s been constant, or comes and goes?”
You hesitate, twisting your fingers tighter in your lap, and then let out a quiet breath. “A few days… maybe longer,” you mumble. “It… comes and goes. Mostly in the mornings, but sometimes I feel it all day.”
He nods slowly, laying the ipad gently on the counter beside the computer, before sitting down on the stool near the bed. The movement is careful, deliberate, as if he’s trying to make the space feel less clinical and more… manageable.
Neither of you say anything for a moment. “This was not something I had expected today” he then says softly, his tone low and careful, like he’s aware of how fragile the moment feels.
You glance up, caught somewhere between nerves and disbelief. “Yeah… me neither,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.
He gives a small, awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck as if to ease the tension.
“I, uhm… I regretted not asking for your number that night,” he admits softly, voice low, careful, like he’s letting you in without forcing anything. There’s a vulnerability there, subtle but impossible to miss.
You feel your chest tighten, words catching in your throat. “Me too…” you hear your own voice, small and fragile, but it somehow feels like the only honest thing you can say. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, it’s heavy, yes, but also intimate, like the room has shrunk around just the two of you.
He nods slowly, as if letting your words sink in, the awkward smile lingering just a moment longer before he shifts slightly on the stool, just enough to lean a little closer without closing the space between you.
“I… I kept thinking about it,” he admits quietly, voice almost swallowed by the hum of the fluorescent lights. “I mean not in a weird way! Just… I don’t know, wondering if I’d get another chance to actually talk to you.”
Your heart tightens, and your fingers curl in your lap again. “We did a little more than just talking that night…”
He blinks, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Right.” His eyes flicker away for a moment, like he’s gathering courage, before returning to yours.
The quiet stretches, heavy but intimate, as if the room itself has shrunk to hold just the two of you in this suspended, fragile moment.
“A lot of things can make someone feel nauseous, or make them faint” he continues softly, like he’s searching for the right words, careful not to overstep, not to make you feel any more exposed than you already do. His voice, low and careful, like he’s trying to build a bridge across the nervous tension in the room. “Low blood pressure, stress, anxiety, not eating enough… but we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
You nod, your throat tight, the simple act of acknowledging him feeling heavier than it should. Your fingers fidget in your lap.
He pauses, letting the words settle. “The first thing we’ll do is a urine pregnancy test. It’s quick and easy, just to rule it out before we look at other causes. Pregnancy can lead to low blood pressure and nausea, so it’s a standard step,” he explains gently, keeping his tone calm and steady, though there’s a subtle hesitancy in his voice, like he’s aware of how loaded the moment feels. He meets your eyes, letting the weight of the words hang without pressing you, giving you space to react.
“And what if it is positive?” you say, though it’s closer to a whisper, your voice catching, trailing off as your fingers twist in your lap. The words feel heavier than you expect, like stepping over an invisible line.
He looks at you for a long moment, eyes steady, patient, giving you space to let the words settle without rushing in. His lips press into a thin line before he finally speaks, slow and careful.
“Then, uhm… Then we’ll figure it out,” he answers softly, like the word takes a second to find its way out. His voice is gentle, a little unsteady, but sincere in a way that makes it land.
His words make something in your chest tighten, then loosen all at once. It’s something warm, unfamiliar in a moment that should feel cold and clinical. You swallow, your fingers stilling in your lap for the first time since he walked in. It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t answer the question hanging between you. But it softens it, just enough to breathe around.
Your eyes stay on him, searching, like you’re trying to understand how he can feel so steadying, while looking so nervous at the same time.
He clears his throat softly, like he’s grounding himself back into the role he’s supposed to be playing here. Professional, steady, your doctor. But there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t quite let him be just that.
His hand shifts against his knee, fingers curling slightly, like he’s grounding himself the same way you’ve been trying to. His gaze flickers briefly away, then back to you, and there’s still that same openness there, uncertain, but real.
For a second, it feels like he might say something else. But instead, he exhales quietly and gives a small nod, almost to himself.
“Okay,” he says, softly, like he’s settling into something steadier. “I’ll go get you something to drink, so uh…” he trails off, glancing briefly toward the door before looking back at you. “So you can take the test,” he finishes, voice quiet, the words coming out a little uneven.
The words hang there, simple and clinical on the surface, but they don’t land that way between you.
His gaze lingers on you for a second longer than it needs, like he’s checking something unspoken. Making sure you’re okay. Or maybe trying to make himself believe that you are.
You nod, even though your throat feels tight again. “Okay.”
He gives a small nod back, almost mirroring you, like that’s enough to anchor him.
“Okay,” he echoes. But he doesn’t move right away.
There’s a hesitation, subtle, but there. His fingers press lightly against his knee, then release, like he’s debating something he doesn’t quite let himself say.
“Hey,” he adds softly, drawing your attention back up to him. Your eyes meet his again. “If you start to feel lightheaded again… just lay down, and use the call button, alright?” he says, slipping gently back into that steady, professional tone, but it’s warmer now. More personal.
You nod, even though your throat feels tight again. “Okay,” you whisper.
He watches you for a moment longer, like he’s making sure you really mean it. Like he’s trying to memorize something. Your expression, maybe, or just the fact that you’re still sitting there, still steady.
“Alright,” he says softly. “I’ll be right back.”
You nod again, a little more firmly this time, like you’re trying to hold onto that steadiness he’s offering you.
“Okay,” you repeat, barely above a whisper.
He gives you one last look, longer than necessary, softer than it should be, and then finally turns, pulling the curtain aside. The hallway noise spills in again, distant and impersonal. Voices, footsteps, the faint clatter of something metal against tile. It all feels far away.
And then he’s gone. The curtain falls back into place with a quiet swish, and the room settles into stillness again. You sit there for a moment, unmoving. Your hands rest in your lap, fingers loosely intertwined now instead of clenched. Your breathing is a little uneven, but not as tight as before.
· · · · ·
Dennis leans back against the cool wall just outside the exam room, exhaling slowly through his nose like he’s been holding his breath for the past ten minutes without realizing it. His heart is still beating a little too fast, faster than it should for a routine case. For any case, really.
So for a moment, he just stands there, staring down at the floor, trying to put himself back together into something useful, something professional.
Because the second he walked into that room and saw you he was brought back to that night he met you, and that night wasn’t supposed to follow him here. It had been… simple, surprisingly so. Unexpected, but simple. A rare kind of ease he didn’t often get.
You had felt easy, talking to you had felt easy. Being around you had all felt easy, and nice, but also kind of terrifying in a way he hadn’t really let himself sit with until now. Dennis lets out a quiet breath, dragging a hand down over his face. Yeah. That’s the word. Terrifying. Not because of what happened, but because of how easily it had happened.
Trinity had dragged him along to the bar, and he hadn’t even wanted to go. Pittsburg hadn’t felt like home yet, not really. It still isn’t really, but that night had felt like something close to it. Or at least like a break from everything that didn’t.
Everything still feels slightly unfamiliar, like he is walking half a step out of sync with the rest of the world, but with you, he hadn’t felt so out of sync. It was as if something real had slipped in where it wasn’t supposed to. No expectations, no pressure, no weight. Just someone sweet, someone pretty and kind, who laughed at his awkward jokes like they were actually funny. Smiled at him like you meant it.
He shifts, the back of his head resting briefly against the wall as he now stares up at the fluorescent lights. They buzz faintly, steady and indifferent, like none of this matters outside of that room.
But it does. Because you’re in there. And there’s a chance that… He cuts the thought off before it can fully form, jaw tightening. This must be scary enough for you, he can’t let himself spiral. Because right now, your health, the test, the possibility… it’s about you. Not him
He technically doesn’t even know if he is the father if it turns out that you are pregnant. You could have had other sexual partners within the period of a possible pregnancy. And you would be totally justified in that.
The thought lands quietly this time, without resistance. And he lets it, because it’s true. You would be justified. It’s your life, your choices, your body. One night, no matter how real it felt to him, doesn’t give him any kind of claim or expectation.
Dana is standing by the nursestarion, watching him with that same calm, observant expression she always has, but there’s something a little more knowing in it now. Subtle, but enough to make him straighten instinctively when he notices that she’s looking at him.
“You okay, kid?” she asks, tone light, but not casual enough to ignore.
He nods a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
Dana doesn’t push. She just tilts her head slightly, letting the silence hang long enough for him to notice he’s holding himself too rigidly. Then she turns, returning her focus to the computer in front of her, fingers moving over the keyboard with practiced ease.
He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut for a second before opening them again, blinking a few times, to get himself back together. You need fluids. Ideally something with sugar. That’s an easy task, something manageable he can do right now. Fluids and a pregnancy test, he can get you that.
· · · · ·
You sit in the quiet for a moment, the hum of the fluorescent lights filling the space between your thoughts. Your fingers fidget in your lap, twisting together, letting the tension work itself out in small, unconscious movements.
The shock of seeing him, of him being the one stepping into the room, of being told that he was the doctor that should help you, curls around your chest, tightening in a way that makes your breath catch even though you’re trying to calm yourself.
Your gaze drifts toward the door, half-expecting it to open again, for the curtain to rustle, for him to step back in like this is all some strange, suspended moment that hasn’t quite decided what it is yet.
Out of all of the ER’s in Pittsburgh and all the doctors, it had to be him. The thought doesn’t even feel real when it settles in your mind. It just… sits there, heavy and impossible, like something that belongs to a different version of your life.
A month ago, he was just a stranger. Someone you weren’t supposed to see again, at least not under these circumstances. But somehow, here he is. And here you are. It’s not like you wouldn’t have wanted to see him again but not like this.
The thought settles heavy in your chest, quieter than the others, but somehow almost sharper. Because you had thought about it. Seeing him again. Not in any serious way. Not something you let yourself linger on too long, but it had crossed your mind in those quiet moments afterward. A passing what if. A soft, almost embarrassing curiosity about whether you’d ever run into him again.
Maybe at another bar, or at a house party Trin would drag him along to. Somewhere casual, somewhere easy. Somewhere you could’ve just smiled when you saw him, maybe teased him a little about that awkward first conversation, and about what followed, asked for his number this time without overthinking it. Something simple.
Your chest tightens faintly. Because that version of it doesn’t exist anymore, and it never will, no matter what that test says.
Your stomach shifts again, a low, uneasy roll that makes you press your lips together. You swallow it down, one hand coming to rest lightly against your abdomen, as if that might steady something deeper than just the nausea.
A pregnancy test. The words echo faintly in your head, softer now, but the words aren’t feeling any less heavy. You exhale shakily, dropping your hand back into your lap.
It’s probably nothing. You cling to it again, even as doubt presses in at the edges. Low blood pressure, not eating enough, stress. All things that make sense. All things that don’t change your life in an instant.
Unlike the alternative.
Your foot taps lightly against the side of the bed, a quiet, restless rhythm. And then, without meaning to, your thoughts drift back to that night. The way everything had felt so easy. Like you hadn’t been trying so hard to be okay for once. Like you hadn’t been overthinking every word, every movement.
He was different. Not in any obvious, overwhelming way. Not in the kind of way that demands attention the second someone walks into a room. No, he was much quieter than that. Softer. He hadn’t tried too hard. Hadn’t filled every silence or pushed every conversation forward like he needed it to go somewhere. There had been pauses, small ones, where neither of you spoke, and somehow they hadn’t felt awkward.
Or actually, they had, a little at least, but not in a bad way. Not the kind of awkward that makes your skin itch or your mind scramble for something to fill the space. It was just a little unsure. Like both of you were still figuring each other out in real time, neither quite knowing what to say next, but not wanting to walk away either.
You remember noticing that. The way he looked at you like he was actually listening. Like he wasn’t just waiting for his turn to talk. Your chest tightens faintly. And the way he smiled. A little unsure, a little crooked, like he wasn’t entirely used to it landing somewhere it was truly wanted. It had made something in you soften.
You shift a little on the bed, the paper cover beneath you crinkling softly. The sound feels too loud in the quiet room, making you pause for a second before exhaling slowly. Time feels strange in here, stretched thin. You have no idea if it’s been a minute or five since he left the room–maybe even ten.
Your gaze drifts back to the curtain again, like it might give you some kind of answer. It doesn’t. It just hangs there, still and closed, separating you from everything outside this room.
You exhale slowly, shoulders rising and falling in a measured attempt to stay grounded. But without anything to distract you, your thoughts keep circling back to the same place. The test, him, that night.
Because if it’s negative… Your chest lifts slightly with the thought, something almost like relief brushing against the edges of your ribs. Then this can just stay what it was. A strange coincidence, an almost, something soft and unfinished that you can tuck away and maybe, maybe, come back to later, under different circumstances.
Your throat tightens faintly. Maybe you would actually get that second chance. Maybe you could both laugh about this someday. The absurdity of it, running into each other here, of all places.
But if it turns out to be positive… Your lips press together. The thought doesn’t finish forming before your stomach twists again, sharper this time. Your hand instinctively comes back to rest against your abdomen, fingers pressing lightly like you’re trying to steady the unease from the outside.
If it is positive, everything changes. Not just tonight, not just this moment. Everything.
Your breath comes out a little uneven, and you force yourself to inhale slowly through your nose, exhale through your mouth, like you’ve done a hundred times before when things start to feel like too much.
It wouldn’t just be yours to figure out. Your eyes flicker toward the door again, something uncertain settling in your chest. It would be his, too. Not in the same way, of course. Not in the way it would live in your body, change your body, ask things of you every single day. But it would still be his as well as yours. Shared.
And that thought, that’s the one that lingers the longest. Not fear, exactly. Surprisingly, not even panic. Just a heavy, unsure weight. Because you don’t really know him. Not beyond a single night and a handful of soft, unfinished moments. And yet, you know enough to remember the way he looked at you. The way he touched you. The way he held you as you both caught your breath afterward. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push, didn’t make anything feel like it had to be more than it was.
Your chest tightens again, quieter this time. Would that change? Would this, whatever this is, turn him into someone else? Or would he still be that same person, just in a situation neither of you had asked for?
The thought lingers, unanswered as a soft knock breaks through the quiet before the door opens again, the curtain shifts, not waiting long enough for you to respond to your own questions.
Your head lifts instinctively. Dennis steps back in, the back of one hand pushing the curtain aside, in his arms he’s holding five different small sealed cups, a bottle of water, a can of La Crox. And in his right hand he’s holding another type of cup wrapped in sterile plastic and a packet of test strips.
His eyes find yours immediately. And for a second he hesitates. Like he’s checking the temperature of the room.
“Hey,” he says softly, stepping inside as the curtain falls closed behind him again. His voice is gentler this time, steadier, like he’s had a moment to pull himself back together. But there’s still something there under the surface. “I, uhm, I didn’t know what you like, so I brought a few options,” he finishes a little awkwardly, lifting his arms slightly like it might explain itself, as if he’s only just now realizing how much he’s carrying
Your lips part slightly, a quiet breath slipping out before you can stop it. “Thank you,” you say softly.
The cups shift a little in his hold, and he lets out a small, self-conscious breath before stepping closer to the table beside your bed. “I might’ve… overestimated how many choices you’d need,” he adds quietly.
There’s something almost endearing in the way he says it. Like he’s aware of it, but not enough to undo it. You can’t help it, the faintest hint of a smile tugs at your lips, soft and brief, but real.
“It’s okay,” you murmur.
He gives a small nod, like your approval matters more than it maybe should, like it settles something in him. He put the cups down on the little table next to the bed beside you, a little more carefully than necessary, like even that small action requires focus.
“The apple juice is, uh… probably better,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, gesturing lightly toward it. “You need some sugar.”
“Okay.” You nod, meeting his eyes with a sudden feeling of shyness. “I like apple juice.”
“Yeah?” he says, a little too quickly, like he didn’t expect an actual answer. Then he lets out a small, almost sheepish breath, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sweet, shy smile, like he is happy to learn even the smallest thing about you.
You nod again, a little more certain this time, though the warmth creeping up your neck gives you away.
“Yeah,” you murmur, almost like you’re confirming it for both of you.
His smile lingers for a moment longer than necessary. He removes the lid before handing you the juice cup. You take a sip, the sweetness hitting your tongue a little sharper than you expect, but not unpleasant. It settles something small in your stomach, even if the unease doesn’t fully go away.
You lower the cup slightly, your fingers still wrapped around it. “Good?” he asks, a little tentative, like he’s not entirely sure why it matters so much, but it does.
You nod. “Yeah… it helps.”
Something in his shoulders eases at that, just a fraction. “That’s good,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
There’s a quiet pause, the kind that feels softer now, less strained. Like the edges of the moment have smoothed just a little.
“I know this is… a lot,” he says finally, voice lower now, less clinical, more honest. “The fainting, and feeling sick, and then… this on top of it.” He gestures vaguely, like the words possible pregnancy is too heavy to just drop into the space between you again.
You let out a small breath, eyes dropping to the cup in your hands. “Yeah… it is,” you admit quietly.
He nods, like he understands that in a way that goes beyond just the medical side of things. His fingers shift against the edge of the table, restless for a second before stilling again. There’s something else sitting with him now. You can see it. He glances at you, then away, then back again, like he’s circling something he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch.
“I, uh…” he starts, then stops, a faint crease forming between his brows. He lets out a small breath through his nose, almost a quiet laugh at himself, like he’s aware of how awkward this is about to sound. “I’m trying to figure out how to ask this without making it weird…” he admits softly.
Your grip on the cup tightens just slightly.
“I don’t want to assume anything,” he starts, the words slow, deliberate. “And you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable, I just…” he exhales softly, like he’s trying to steady himself. “Timing-wise…” He trails off, glancing at you briefly, then back down, then back up again. Then, more carefully. “That night was, what… about a month ago?”
You nod slowly. “Yeah.”
He nods too, like he expected that, but hearing it still makes something in him settle—and tighten at the same time.
“Okay,” he murmurs. Then another pause. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” he says. “Really. I mean that.” His hand comes up briefly, rubbing the back of his neck again before dropping back down. “It’s just… medically, it helps to know, and…” he hesitates, then corrects himself, more honest now, “and not just medically,” he admits, quieter now.
That lands a little heavier. The way he says it, so careful, so indirect, makes your chest ache a little. He’s not pushing. Not claiming anything. Just asking for a place in something that maybe don’t een exist, but already feels bigger than either of you can name.
“There hasn’t been anyone else,” you say softly.
His eyes widen just the slightest fraction, a flicker of relief passing through them before he smooths it down into calm attentiveness. He doesn’t smile or anything, but you can see the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little.
“Okay,” he says softly. His voice low, steady and careful. “That… helps, a lot. Thank you for telling me.” He lets the words hang for a moment, letting them settle between you both.
“Dennis?”
He blinks at your voice, a faint pause filling the space as if the single word pulled him up from a careful orbit around himself. His eyes flick to yours, wide, attentive, the weight of that moment settling on him too. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, still careful, like he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next but ready to meet it.
“Can I get your number?”
You don’t even know why you are asking him right now, the timing is weird, but it suddenly feels very important.
His eyebrows lift just the slightest fraction, like the question took a second to land. “Yeah,” says finally, voice low, almost shy. “Of course.”
You pull out your phone, swiping your thumb across the screen and unlocking it with quiet, deliberate motion, trying not to let your hands shake. You open up your contacts, fingers hovering over the ‘+’ button for a new entry. Your thumb hesitates just above the name field for a moment, and then, with a quiet breath, you type in Dennis. You tap the number field and carefully hand the phone toward him, your fingers brushing briefly against his as he takes it.
His hand is warm, steady, and there’s a soft, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he glances down at the screen. He types in his number slowly, deliberately, like he’s memorizing the motion as much as the digits. Then he hands the phone back to you.
“Thank you,” you say softly as you press the button to save the contact. You tuck the phone back into your pocket.
He hesitates for a second, like he is weighing something, then finally lifts his phone. “Uh… can I get your number too?” His voice is quiet, careful, almost shy, as if he’s afraid of breaking the fragile rhythm between you.
You feel a small warmth rise in your chest at the request. “Of course.”
It’s his turn to pull out his phone, fingers fumbling just slightly as he unlocks it. You watch him for a moment, the soft concentration on his face, the way his eyebrows draw together just a little, and it makes your chest tighten in a good, nervous way.
You hold out your hand, and he hands over the phone, your fingers typing again, warm and familiar before handing it back to him again. His eyes meet yours with that shy little smile before pressing save.
He glances down at the small collection of cups on the table beside your bed, then back up at you, eyes soft and careful. “Do you need some more to drink?”
You shake your head just slightly, still feeling the warmth from the phone exchange linger in your chest. “Maybe just a little,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intend, like the words are tentative, testing the space between you. You have to be able to pee to take the test, but you don’t feel ready, even though you know you should.
The thought of standing up, moving, letting go of control for even a moment, of taking a test that could change everything, twists your stomach in a way that has nothing to do with nausea.
“What would you like?” he asks, eyes soft, giving you room to choose without pressure.
“Just some water.”
He nods right away, like the answer really matters “Yeah, okay,” he says softly, reaching for the bottle. He screws the bottle open before handing it to you, the sound of the plastic breaking softly in the quiet as the seal of the bottle cap breaks.
You take a small sip, then another, your throat easing as the water settles. He stays where he is, close but not too close, his weight shifting slightly from one foot to the other. His hands hover like he’s not entirely sure what to do with them, before one comes up to rub the back of his neck again.
“So, uhm, Perlah will come back in a few minutes,” he says, voice a little uneven at first before he steadies it. “She’ll, uh… take you to the bathroom. And she will explain what to do, she is definitely a lot better at that than me.” He clears his throat softly, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. He shifts his weight again, glancing briefly at the door before looking back at you, softer this time. “And then it only takes a few minutes,” he adds. “For the result, I mean.”
A few minutes. It sounds so short, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. You swallow, taking another sip of water, letting the coolness settle. “Right.”
There’s a soft knock at the door before either of you can say anything else. The curtain shifts a second later, and Perlah steps in, her presence gentle but efficient, like she’s done this a hundred times before.
“Hi,” she says with a small, reassuring smile, glancing between you and Dennis before focusing on you. “How are you feeling?”
You hesitate. “A little better,” you manage.
“Alright.” She nods, like that’s enough for now. “When you’re ready, we’ll have you give us a urine sample so we can run the test, okay?”
“I, uhm, I think I’m ready,” you say, your voice small, almost swallowed by the quiet room. You take a last sip from the water bottle before setting it down on the table
“Okay.” Perlah nods, her smile steady and patient. You’re glad you know her name now, you had been too nauseous and out of it to catch it when she first introduced herself and you were too embarrassed to ask again. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Dennis hands her the specimen cup, sealed in clear wrapping, along with the small box of testing strips. His movements are careful, almost tentative, as if he’s afraid to break the fragile rhythm of the room. Perlah accepts them with a nod, her hands steady and practiced.
“Follow me, hun,” Perlah says gently, her voice warm but professional. She steps toward the door, holding it open for you with a soft, encouraging smile. Dennis shifts slightly, giving you a reassuring glance before staying where he is, letting you move forward.
When you reach the bathroom, she gestures toward it. “Alright, just like I said. You can use the cup here. When you’re done you can just leave the cup on the counter and I will take it to testing.”
“Okay, thank you,” you say quietly, your fingers tightening just slightly around the cup.
Perlah gives you one last reassuring nod. “I’ll be right outside, but you can take all the time you need,” she says softly, before stepping back and letting the door close behind you.
The small click of it feels louder than it should. For a moment, you just stand there. The bathroom is simple, clean, thank god. The cup in your hand feels light, but your chest doesn’t. You let out a slow breath, your shoulders rising and falling as you try to steady yourself.
When you’re done, you set the cup carefully on the counter before washing your hands. You catch your own gaze in the mirror, and for a second, you don’t quite recognize yourself.
You let out a sigh before looking away. You dry your hands slowly, buying yourself an extra second before reaching for the door. When you open it, Perlah is right where she said she’d be. She looks up immediately, her expression soft and steady.
“All set?” she asks.
You nod. “Yeah.”
“Perfect.” She steps inside, her movements easy and practiced as she picks up the cup from the counter. “I’ll take this to testing now. It won’t take long.”
You nod again, even though your chest tightens at that.
She pauses for just a second before stepping back out, her voice gentler now. “You can head back. I’ll come find you as soon as we have something.”
“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you.”
The walk back feels quieter than before, like the air has thickened somehow. When you step through the curtain, Dennis looks up immediately, like he’s been listening for your steps. His shoulders ease the second he sees you.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hey.”
There’s a small pause as you move back toward the bed, sitting down carefully. Your hands come together in your lap, fingers beginning fidgeting before you even notice that you’re doing it. It’s starting to become a bad habit.
Your eyes drift to his hand for a second, then back up to his face. He notices, just barely, and something in his expression softens even more.
For a second, neither of you says anything. Then, slowly, carefully, he steps closer. You scoot just slightly, making space for him without thinking about it. He notices. Of course he does. He sits down beside you, careful with the distance, close, but not crowding. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the quiet steadiness he carries with him.
Your hands are still fidgeting in your lap, fingers twisting together, and after a moment, his gaze drops to them. But it’s not in a way that makes you self-conscious.
Then his hand shifts. Slowly, deliberately, he rests it on the bed beside yours. It’s tentative, like a question, an option.
You hesitate, your breath catching just slightly. Your fingers still for a moment, like they’re deciding something before you are. Then, almost without thinking, they drift, just enough to brush against his.
The contact is light. Barely there. But it’s enough. His shoulders drop a fraction, like something in him settles.
“Sorry,” he murmurs softly, though he doesn’t pull away. “I just…”
“It’s okay,” you say quickly, your voice quieter than you expect. You glance down at your hands for a second, then back up at him. “It’s… nice.”
That earns the smallest, most relieved smile from him. “Okay,” he says, almost to himself.
The silence that follows feels different again. Still quiet, still heavy with waiting—but softer around the edges now. Less alone.
Your thumb shifts slightly against his without you realizing it, a small, grounding motion. His hand responds instinctively, just barely tightening, like he’s anchoring himself there too.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks after a moment, voice gentle. “Or… not talk about it,” he adds quickly, a hint of nervousness slipping back in. “Either’s okay.”
You let out a small breath, your gaze drifting somewhere past him for a second. “I don’t even know what there is to say yet,” you admit.
“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s fair.”
“I think I’m just scared of knowing,” you add, quieter now.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”
The honesty of it sits between you, simple and unguarded. And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe. But it doesn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat as the sound of soft, but firm knock lands against the door. It cuts clean through the quiet and both of you still.
Your hand tightens just a fraction before you even realize it, and he responds immediately, steady, present.
“Hey,” Perlah’s voice comes gently from the other side before she steps in, her expression changing for a split second when she sees the two of you sitting on the bed. Not judgment, just a slight surprise. Like she’s clocking the moment and choosing, very deliberately, to handle it gently.
Your heart jumps into your throat. She steps fully inside, glancing between the two of you, briefly, not intrusive, before her attention settles on you.
“The results are ready to be confirmed, so I need Dr. Whitaker for a moment,” Perlah finishes gently. The words land softly, but they shift something in the room immediately.
Dennis stills beside you. There’s a small pause, like he’s switching something inside himself, stepping back into a role he can stand on. His hand slips from yours this time, slower, more deliberate. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but steady. “Of course.” He says to Perlah before he glances at you, and for a second the doctor is still there, but there’s something else underneath it. Softer. More personal. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
You nod, even though your chest feels tight. “Okay,” you echo, your voice barely above a breath.
He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, like he wants to say something more. Then he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a small, reassuring nod before standing.
Perlah steps back slightly to give him space as he moves toward her. There’s a quiet efficiency in the way they fall into step with each other, like this is familiar ground for her and something he’s trying very hard to navigate correctly.
The curtain shifts closed behind them. And just like that, you’re alone. The room feels different without him in it. Quieter. And now bigger, somehow.
You stare down at your hands, still curled slightly like they’re remembering the shape of his. Outside, their voices are low. Too low to make out clearly, it’s just the soft murmur of conversation, the faint rustle of something, the clinical rhythm of confirmation.
Minutes stretch. Or maybe it’s seconds. Yeah, it probably is just second, but you have a hard time telling. Every second in here feels like a minute. Your knee starts bouncing before you notice it, a restless energy you can’t quite contain. You press your hands against them to make them still, but the movement doesn’t fully stop.
But then the curtain moves. Dennis steps back in, and you know. You don’t know how, but you just know. It’s in his face, not panicked, nor cold, but very careful. Grounded in a way that feels intentional, like he’s choosing how to hold this moment before he gives it to you, but there is still a small hint of both nervousness and shock that he can’t really hide.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Your throat feels tight. “Hey.”
He doesn’t come all the way in right away. There’s a brief pause, like he’s giving you a second to breathe, to brace, like he understands that once he says it, there’s no taking it back. Then he steps closer.
“Can I sit?” he asks gently.
You nod. He sits beside you again, leaving just a little space this time, professional and careful, but still close enough that you don’t feel alone.
A breath passes. Then another. And then, quietly. “So… as your doctor I needed to confirm the result.” He glances at you, just briefly, like he’s making sure you’re with him. “And, uh… It did come back positive.”
The words settle into the room slowly, like they don’t quite know where to land. Positive. For a second, everything feels very still. Your ears ring faintly, like the world has stepped just half a pace away from you. Your gaze drops somewhere between your hands and the floor, unfocused.
Positive. It echoes again, quieter this time, heavier. Your breath comes in, but it’s shallow. Not enough. You swallow, your throat tight, like there’s something lodged there that won’t move.
“Hey.” His voice is soft. Careful.
You don’t look up right away.
“I know this is… a lot,” Dennis adds gently, and there’s something in the way he says it, like he’s holding the weight of it with you instead of just handing it over.
You let out a small breath, but it shakes on the way out. “Yeah…” you manage, though it barely sounds like you.
Silence stretches again, but it’s different now, thicker, more real.
Your hand drifts, almost without thinking, back to your abdomen. It rests there lightly, like before, but now the gesture feels different. Your chest tightens.
“I…” you start, then stop. Your voice doesn’t want to cooperate. You shake your head slightly, a small, almost helpless motion. “I don’t know what to say. I thought it was just stress.”
“That’s okay,” he says immediately. Too quickly, almost, like he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to say anything. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”
You nod faintly, even though your thoughts are anything but still. Everything is moving too fast and not at all at the same time.
“Would you hate me if I kept it?” You can’t stop the words before they leave your mouth, you don’t even know why the thought feels so important to you, but in this moment it’s a question every fiber in your body needs an answer to. You don’t look at him, you can’t. It’s like something in you is bracing for impact.
Dennis stills. “Hate you?” he repeats softly, like he needs to hear it again to believe it.
You don’t look at him. Your gaze stays fixed somewhere low. “I don’t know…” you murmur, your voice small, fragile in a way you can’t quite hide. “I don’t even know what I want.” Your voice barely holds together by the end of it.
“No,” he says. His voice cuts in softly, but not sharply. Just catching you before you spiral too far ahead of yourself.
You still. You don’t look at him.
There’s a small pause. You can feel him shift beside you. not away, just adjusting, like he’s trying to meet you where you are without crowding you.
“No, I wouldn’t hate you for that,” he repeats, quieter now, but no less steady. “ Not for anything.”
Your throat tightens. You swallow hard. “I just,” you shake your head slightly, your voice barely holding together. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m allowed to feel about it. It’s like…” your breath stutters, “like if I even think about wanting it, I’m already messing everything up.”
That lands deeper than you expect it to. There’s a shift beside you again, closer this time, but still careful. Always careful. “You’re not messing anything up,” he says gently.
You let out a quiet, shaky breath, but it doesn’t quite steady you.
“I don’t even know what you’d want,” you admit, finally glancing at him, your eyes searching his like you’re bracing for something you’re not sure you can handle.
That’s what this is really about. Not just the question. Him. You don’t even know what you want, but not knowing what he wants somehow feels worse. Not knowing what you want is overwhelming, but not knowing where he stands? That feels like standing on something that might give out beneath you at any second.
“I want you to be okay,” he says first. It’s not a deflection. It’s just the most honest place he can start. Then, after a small breath. “And yeah,” he adds, quieter, more personal now, “I care about what happens. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”
Your chest tightens again, and you gather all your courage to look up and meet his eyes again. There’s something so rawly vulnerable in his expression now.
“But that doesn’t turn into pressure on you,” he continues quickly, gently. “It doesn’t get to.” His hand shifts slightly on the bed, closer again, still not assuming, still leaving the choice with you. “This is your decision,” he says softly. “Not mine to make for you, or mine to judge.”
You swallow, your throat still tight, but something in your chest has shifted, just enough that you can breathe a little deeper than before. “I know,” you say quietly, and you mean it. You can feel how careful he’s being, how hard he’s trying not to tip the balance one way or the other.
A small pause. Then, more carefully. “If you kept it, I wouldn’t hate you.” His voice softens even more. “And I’d… want to be there. If you wanted me to be.” That last part is quieter, almost tentative. “Honestly, I would want to be there even if you wouldn’t want me to.”
He stops himself. Like he hears it as he’s saying it and realizes how it might sound too much, too fast, crossing a line he’s been so careful not to cross.
A small breath leaves him, and he shakes his head slightly, softer now, correcting, not taking it back, just placing it better.
“I mean,” he says quietly, “I wouldn’t force that. I wouldn’t show up where I’m not wanted.” His eyes meet yours again, steady, open. “But I wouldn’t just stop caring either.”
That lands differently. No pressure, just truth.
“But we don’t have to figure everything out right now,” he continues, voice steady but soft. “This is just… information right now. Okay? Just one step.”
“Just one step,” you repeat, like you’re testing the shape of it.
His thumb shifts lightly against your hand, careful, reassuring. “Yeah.” The words sit between you, quieter now. You both let the silence settle. Your breathing evens out a little more, your shoulders lowering inch by inch, like your body is finally catching up to what your mind is trying to process.
His hand is still there, steady against yours. Not holding tight, not claiming, just present. Close enough that you can feel it if you need to. And you do.
“You need to stay for monitoring,” he says gently, voice slipping a little more into something professional, but still soft, still him. “Just for a couple of hours. Given the fainting earlier, we need to make sure everything stays stable. And we have to check a few other things, just to be sure,” he finishes gently, smoothing the sentence as it comes together.
He glances at you, like he’s checking how it lands before continuing. You nod, a small, quiet motion, your eyes still on him. “Okay,” you say softly.
“It’s just routine things,” he adds, softer again. “Blood pressure, heart rate, maybe some blood work. Nothing invasive unless we have a reason,” he adds quickly. “And we’ll talk you through everything before we do it.”
You nod again, a little more firmly this time.
“Okay…” A small breath leaves you. “That sounds… manageable,” you admit.
There’s the faintest hint of relief in his expression, not because the situation is easier, but because he seems to care a lot about your reaction.. “Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s the goal.”
“Thank you for being so nice to me,” you say quietly. The words come out softer than you expect, but they feel important to say.
He stills for just a second, not surprised exactly, but like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says gently.
You shake your head a little, your fingers shifting faintly against his. “I know,” you murmur. “But still.” Your eyes meet his again, steadier now. “Thanbk you for not making this feel worse,” you finish softly.
The words hang there for a second, fragile but honest. He doesn’t answer right away.
You can see the moment it lands, really lands, in the way his expression shifts. Something quieter, more affected than he’s been letting himself show.
“I’m really glad to hear it didn’t,” he says finally, voice low, but a sheepish smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, small and a little self-conscious, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with being seen like that. His gaze dips for a second before coming back to you, even softer now.
Your fingers move slightly against his again, a small, unconscious motion, but you don’t pull back at all. There’s a pause. Then, more quietly.
“If everything looks good, you should get discharged around the time my shift ends, so if you… I don’t know, uhm… maybe we could go grab something to eat after,” he says quietly, almost as if testing the idea out, letting it hover between you. “If you want to.”
You blink, caught off guard, but the thought warms your chest in a way nothing else has in hours. “Yeah,” you manage, voice small but steady, “I’d like that.”
A small, genuine smile spreads across his face, softening the tension you didn’t realize had been holding you so tight. “Okay,” he says, letting the word linger, careful not to rush it.
Your fingers brush against his again, just slightly, and he doesn’t pull away, instead of that ,his thumb brushes lightly over yours in a small, steadying motion. The room feels a little softer, the air a little warmer, and for the first time in hours, the tight coil in your chest loosens just enough for a small, real breath to escape. And for now, in this little moment of time, that’s enough. He’s on your team.
Summory: Reader is a surgery resident, specializing in orthopedics. Who just happens to be Frank Langdon's little sister who he calls June Bug. Dennis Whitaker seems to take a liking to his senior resident's little sister.
Posted on Ao3
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Pairing: Dennis Whitaker x FrankLangdon'sSister!Reader
Summary: After one car kiss and one dangerously thoughtful coffee delivery, June spends her entire shift in a suspiciously good mood while half the hospital tries to figure out what’s wrong with her. Between ortho consults, a code blue, Dennis being quietly sweet over text, and Frank going full overprotective brother in the ER, she realizes this whole thing with Whitaker is starting to feel a lot bigger than just flirting.
Warning: flirting, hospital chaos, medical setting, code blue/cardiac arrest, mild stress, protective brother behavior, teasing/simp allegations, light romantic tension, kissing, lots of yearning, text-message flirting, coworkers being nosy; fluff
•Part1•Part2•Part3•Part4•Part5• Main Masterlist <--- check out my other stories
You wake up criminally before your first alarm out of the seven you set due to fear. Not in a panic. Not with your heart trying to exit your body because Park is probably already halfway through his first insult of the day. Just… awake. Softly. Easily.
For one quiet second, you stay curled on your side under the blanket, still half warm with sleep, and all you can think about is Dennis kissing you against your car. The hand at your waist. The way he looked at you after like he was a little stunned he got to. The fact that you drove home smiling like a complete idiot and never really stopped.
Your mouth curves before you’re even fully conscious enough to be embarrassed about it. Then you roll over, grab your phone, and the smile gets worse.
Dennis 💕: Good morning beautiful.
Dennis 💕: Don’t get coffee. I already got you one. Just stop by the ED to get it.
You stare at the screen for a second too long, like maybe the words will rearrange themselves into something less devastating. They don’t.
Beautiful.
Your whole chest goes soft. Your body should not react this much to a text from a man.
There are other texts too, stacked underneath his.
Frankie 🧸: are you alive
Frankie 🧸: Penny asked for you at breakfast
Frankie 🧸: Tanner says you owe him a dinosaur race
Then from Yolanda, who you are absolutely in too good a mood to be super sarcastic toward this morning.
YoYo, My Lover: rise and shine, ortho menace
YoYo, My Lover: if you ghost me after that car-kiss update i’m reporting you to friendship HR
You laugh under your breath and flop back against the pillow for one extra second, phone held to your chest like you’re twelve and not a whole adult orthopedic resident who knows better than to let one text derail your morning this badly.
Then you text back, because apparently self-control is not a value you possess before coffee.
You: good morning yourself :)
You: and if this is hospital sludge in a starbucks cup i’m ending it before it starts
His answer is immediate.
Dennis 💕: I’m offended you think I’d do that to you.
Dennis 💕: It’s real coffee. Promise.
That gets you out of bed.
You shower, get dressed, and move through your morning with that strange floaty energy that makes every little thing feel easier. You pull on your dark blue scrubs, clip your badge at your waist, do light makeup, twist your hair up and then back down again because it looks better loose, and spend fully too long deciding whether you look like someone who got kissed goodnight against her car and is trying not to think about it.
The answer is yes. Unfortunately.
You text Yolanda while you’re pulling on your sneakers.
You: I just might ghost you
YoYo, My Lover: absolutely not
You: who knows
YoYo, My Lover: i defended your honor and this is the thanks i get
You grin and grab your bag.
By the time you get to Pitt, you’re practically vibrating.
The hospital is already alive when you badge in. People in gray and black scrubs are moving fast through the main corridor, somebody somewhere is already arguing about bed placement, and the smell of coffee, antiseptic, and bad decisions is thick enough to count as atmosphere.
You go straight to the ER first. Of course you do. You’re practically skipping, which is deeply off-brand for you. You should probably fix that, but right now you do not care.
Dennis is exactly where you knew he’d be—near the side workstation in black scrubs, coffee cup carrier in one hand, talking to Robby about a chart. Frank is farther down the desk, also in black scrubs, pretending to read something and absolutely clocking everything around him like a suspicious animal.
Dennis looks up when you walk in. And the second he sees you, his whole face warms and a big grin spreads across it. All you can think about is those stupidly soft lips that were all over yours yesterday. There’s a coffee in his hand with your name on it.
That alone nearly does you in.
You cross the space toward him before you can think too hard about what your body is doing, already smiling. He holds the cup out and you almost—almost—throw your arms around him in front of God and Dana and the whole emergency department.
You actually stop yourself mid-motion. It is too soon and too early for public affection no one knows you to be capable of. Which makes it worse somehow, because he clearly sees the aborted instinct and his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile bigger.
You snatch the vanilla latte instead, clutch it like a lifeline, and hiss under your breath, “You’re dangerous.” He smiles softly. “Good morning to you too.” You lift the cup. “Thank you,” you say, too warmly, then remember where you are and immediately take two steps backward like proximity itself is criminal.
From the charge desk, Dana says, “That was weird.” Robby glances up from the chart, eyes moving once between your face and Dennis’s and then to the coffee cup in your hand. “Interesting.” You point at both of them. “Don’t.”
Frank narrows his eyes at the entire interaction like he’s trying to solve a murder. You back toward the elevators, raising your voice as you go. “Thank you!” Dennis ducks his head a little, smiling in a way that should genuinely be illegal before seven a.m. “Anytime,” he calls.
And then you turn on your heel and make for the elevators before you do something more incriminating than almost hugging him. The OR break room notices immediately. Not the coffee. Not even the fact that you have real coffee instead of hospital sludge.
You.
Park is at the counter flipping through films with the expression of a man personally burdened by incompetence. One of the scrub techs is heating up oatmeal. Two CRNAs are silently sharing a muffin like they survived a small war together.
And the second you walk in, Park looks up and freezes just enough to register that you’re smiling. He squints. “What is wrong with you?” You take a sip of coffee. “Nothing.” “You look suspicious.” “I’m having a good morning.” Park sets the films down. “That’s worse.” One of the surgical techs laughs.
You smile even wider. “Maybe I’ve experienced personal growth.” Park looks actively offended by the concept. “No.” From the table, one of the nurses says, “She does look nice.” “I always look nice,” you say. Park points at you with a pen. “Don’t get smug before eight.”
You drop into a chair and open the patient list. “You’re just mad because I’m exhibiting more emotions than you know what to do with today.”
The room goes completely still. Then the surgical tech loses it. Park stares at you like you’ve just confessed to a crime. “I’m going to need you to never say that again.” Which only makes you laugh into your coffee.
The whole morning keeps going like that. You’re weirdly nice for Park’s mentee. Really ruining the orthopedic surgeon brand.
You help a first-year find a missing postop order set without making them cry. You answer three floor pages in a row without sounding like you want to bite through drywall. You even tell a medical student “good catch” when he notices a drainage color change on a postop dressing before anyone else does.
By nine-thirty, one of the floor nurses literally stops in the middle of the hallway and says, “Are you okay?” You blink. “Yes?” “You’re being… pleasant.” You stare at her. “That’s hurtful.” “You’re just normally more sharp.”
By the time you get paged down to the ER for a consult just before eleven, apparently half the building has decided your decent mood is either suspicious or terminal.
The consult is straightforward—older woman, mechanical fall, nondisplaced proximal humerus fracture, no neurovascular deficits, pain miserable but manageable.
You’re standing at the main desk going over her films with Robby while Dennis finishes charting one workstation over. Robby tilts the x-ray toward you. “I assume this is your idea of a relaxing morning.” “Honestly? Yes.” He eyes you. “You’re still doing the smiling thing.” “I’m in a good mood.” “That’s what worries me.”
You put a hand over your heart. “Robby. You wound me.” “You’re a surgeon. You’ll live.” You snort. “Probably.” He glances at the coffee cup that’s gone cold, still on the desk beside you. “Where’d you get the real coffee?” You point vaguely down the counter. “A generous donor.”
Robby follows the gesture with his eyes, lands on Dennis, and then looks back at you with an expression that says he has immediately figured out more than you would prefer. Before he can say a single devastating thing, the overhead alarm sounds.
Code blue. Code blue.
Every conversation in the ER drops. Robby moves first. Of course he does. “Room twelve!” You’re already turning.
The code is in one of the hallway-adjacent acute rooms, an older man who came in short of breath and crashed hard before anyone could really settle the whole picture. The room is chaos by the time you get there—Dana barking nursing assignments, Jesse yanking the crash cart into place, Perlah getting pads exposed, Mohan already at the head of the bed with the airway setup, Dennis coming in on the opposite side, Victoria just outside the doorway with her face set into terrified focus.
There’s a half-second where you could stop. A half-second where you are technically just the ortho consult who happens to be nearby. Instead you’re already gloving up. “No pulse?” you ask. “None,” Robby snaps, climbing into the room. “Start compressions.” So you do.
You get up on the step stool and lock your elbows, heel of your hand centered over the sternum, and start compressions hard and deep while the room moves around you. Counting out each compression. Someone calls time. Someone pushes epi. The monitor changes. Pads go on. Shock advised. Clear.
You step back for the shock, chest heaves once, then you’re back in for compressions again before anybody can be surprised long enough to comment on the fact that the orthopedic surgery resident threw herself into the code without hesitation.
But they are surprised.
You can feel it in the room anyway.
The glances. The split-second recalculations. The fact that you hear Jesse say, “Go, ortho,” under his breath when he thinks nobody’s listening. It takes two rounds before they get return of spontaneous circulation. When the pulse comes back, the room collectively exhales.
Robby immediately shifts gears, calling for post-arrest orders and ICU transfer and a repeat pressure while the adrenaline slowly starts to leak out of all of you. You step away at last, breathing harder now, gloves tacky, pulse still fast in your own throat. Dana hands you a wipe without comment, which from Dana is practically a medal.
Only then do you really register the looks.
Victoria is staring at you like you just descended from heaven holding an ACLS card. Mohan gives you one short nod. Dennis is looking at you in that open, stunned way that makes you feel suddenly too visible.
Even Robby glances over once while pulling off his gloves. “You know,” he says, “most surgeons would’ve found a way to be busy.” You strip your gloves off and toss them. “Most surgeons are cowards.” That gets a sharp laugh out of him despite the room still running hot from the code. You head for the sink to wash up while everyone resets around you.
Frank catches you in the hall ten minutes later.
Of course he does.
He’s got that look on his face—the big brother mix of pride, concern, and wanting details right this second. “You okay?” You grab a paper towel and keep moving. “Great.” “You jumped into a code.” “I have hands, I’m medically trained, and I personally don’t like watching people die.”
He falls into step beside you. “June Bug.” You sidestep the question with a grin. “What, Frankie Bear? Worried I’m cooler than you now?” “That was never in question.” You laugh and angle away toward the elevators before he can pin you down. “Love you too.” He calls after you, “That’s not an answer.” You lift the paper towel in a vague wave without turning around.
Lunch ends up being with Garcia after she practically threatens you. She corners you in the surgical corridor around twelve-thirty and physically steals your chart out of your hands. “You’re eating.” “I ate a granola bar.” “That’s not food, that’s a cry for help.”
So you end up in the little physician lounge upstairs with terrible salads and better gossip. Yolanda is in navy scrubs that match you and everyone else ever to work in surgery in this hospital, hair half escaping her ponytail, looking exactly like a trauma fellow who has already seen too much before noon.
She studies your face over her fork. “You are being weirdly sunny.” “I don’t know what you mean.” “Yes, you do.” You stab a tomato. “Maybe I’m just in a good mood.” “That’s terrifying. How many bones have you jackhammered today?”
You laugh. She points at you. “See? That.” “What?” “The laughing. The not biting people. The fact that I called you three names before lunch and you didn’t threaten my life.” “I’m evolving.” “You’re dating.” You blink. “I’m not dating.” She leans back. “Mm.”
You reach for your phone instead of answering because Dennis has texted.
Dennis 💕: Are you famous now or are they still talking about the code?
A smile tugs at your mouth before you can stop it.
You: if by famous you mean Robby made one dry comment and victoria looked like she wanted my autograph then yes
Garcia sees the expression and makes a violent gagging motion. “Disgusting.” “You’re jealous.” “I’m hungry. Different condition.”
You text on and off through the rest of the afternoon whenever there’s a free minute.
Nothing huge. Just little check-ins. A joke about Shen trying to chart one-handed while balancing iced coffee in the other. A picture from you of Park’s handwriting on a postop dressing order that looks like a curse written by a dying man. A message from him saying Trinity has decided he’s “for sure gonna be a simp,” which he claims was not reassuring.
That one matters more than it should. Mostly because later, back in the ER, Frank hears the tail end of the actual conversation. It happens at the main desk around three.
You’re upstairs dealing with a postop dressing change when Trinity is leaning against the workstation with Dennis and Victoria nearby. Victoria is talking too loudly, as always, and Trinity is in one of those moods where every sentence comes out half joking and fully pointed.
“I’m just saying,” she says, “you’re absolutely gonna be a simp.” Victoria gasps in delight. “Oh my God, he is.” Dennis mutters, “Can both of you not.”
Trinity ignores him. “He already gets this stupid face every time she walks in. It’s embarrassing.” And then Frank, unfortunately, walks up at exactly the wrong moment and catches enough. He stops. “Who.” Trinity glances at him, unimpressed. “Relax, Langdon.” Frank’s eyes narrow. “Who.”
Victoria, betraying everyone instantly, says, “Whitaker.” Dennis closes his eyes. Frank turns slowly toward him with the expression of a man evaluating a problem from multiple morally questionable angles. “Whitaker.” Dennis straightens. “Frank.” Trinity, delighted now, folds her arms. “Oh, this is fun.”
Frank points at Dennis with the full weight of older-brother authority. “I don’t know what’s happening here, but I’m going to say this once.” Victoria whispers, “Oh no.” Frank keeps going. “My sister is not a training opportunity.” Dennis flushes. “That’s not—” “And if I hear the word simp in connection with her ever again, I’m making it everybody’s problem.”
Trinity, to absolutely no one’s surprise, starts laughing so hard she nearly chokes. Victoria looks like she’s getting front-row seats to the greatest show on earth. Dennis looks like he wants to vanish into the supply closet and never return.
When you finally come downstairs for another consult and catch the tail end of the weird energy at the desk, Dana gives you one long look and mutters, “Your family is exhausting.” You blink. “That narrows nothing down besides it being that Frank did something dumb.” “Exactly.”
The rest of the shift keeps moving, because time never stops in the hospital.
Another consult. A floor page. One quick stop in radiology. Back to the ED for an ankle fracture that turns out less dramatic than the resident calling it made it sound. More joking with Robby because apparently once you start, you can’t stop.
Shen arrives for night shift and immediately clocks the atmosphere. “Why is everyone in this department acting like there’s lore?” Dana doesn’t look up from the board. “Because there is.” Abbot comes in behind him, slower, steadier, and glances between all of you. “I leave for twelve hours and the place develops mythology.” Parker Ellis is with them at shift change, already reading the board and half-listening. “That’s every day here.”
By the end of the shift, your feet hurt, your pager battery is dying, and you’re still somehow in an obscenely good mood. Frank catches you on the way out. He’s got his backpack over one shoulder, coffee long gone, and the expression of a brother who has definitely not finished thinking about earlier.
“You want dinner?” You blink. “With you? Disgusting.” “With Abby. Obviously. I’m not taking you on a date.” You laugh. “That’s good, because I have standards.” He exhales through his nose. “You’re impossible.” “You ask every day anyway.” He smirks a little. “Yeah.”
You soften just enough to bump your shoulder into his. “I can’t tonight. But I’ll come over this week.” “Do you hate me?” “No, Frank.” He nods once, satisfied enough with that, then points at you. “And if anything weird is happening in my ER—” You hold up both hands. “Nope. Goodbye.”
He says your name like a warning and you just keep walking, grinning, because if he’s going to be all overprotective older brother, then you’re at least allowed to enjoy being annoying about it.
By the time you get home, you’re still smiling. Still replaying the coffee. The code. Dennis’s texts. The way he looked at you when you practically hugged him and then had to pretend not to. You turn the key into your apartment door, kick off your shoes, and look at your phone.
There’s already a text waiting.
Dennis💕: Did you survive your weirdly good mood?
And just like that, the smile comes right back.
You were in a really good mood. An obnoxious one, apparently. The kind that made Dana suspicious, Robby nosy, and half the hospital act like you’d either won the lottery or developed a head injury.
Your bag lands on the chair by the door. Your badge gets unclipped and dropped onto the counter. You peel off your dark blue scrub top on the way to the bathroom. You shower and change into soft shorts and an oversized T-shirt, hair falling out of its tie halfway through because you’re too tired to care.
Then you grab your phone.
There’s already another text from Dennis.
Dennis💕: Did you make it home okay?
You smile immediately and flop down across the bed on your stomach.
You: i’m home. i was not in a weirdly good mood
You: i was in a perfectly normal good mood
You: everyone else was being weird about it
The dots appear almost right away.
Dennis💕: Dana said you practically skipped into the OR.
Dennis💕: That feels weird for you
You laugh under your breath and kick your feet once against the mattress.
You: dana is a liar and a narc
You: also i did not skip
You: i moved with purpose
Dennis💕: You yelled thank you across the ED like a cartoon husband had brought you lunch.
You cover your face with one hand, already grinning.
You: okay first of all rude
You: second of all you did bring me coffee
You: that was very husband coded of you
You: therefore your fault
There’s a longer pause after that one. Like he’s thinking very carefully about his next reply.
Dennis 💕: Husband coded?
You bite your lip, already knowing he’s blushing somewhere.
You: don’t get cocky whitaker
You: i’m simply observing the vibe
Another pause.
Dennis 💕: I’m okay with that vibe.
That one lands low and warm, right under your ribs. You roll onto your side, phone held up over your face.
You: wow
You: look at you being bold from a safe distance
Dennis💕: I did ask you out.
Dennis💕: That was pretty brave.
You: so brave huckleberry
You: i’m proud of your growth
His next message comes while you’re brushing your teeth, and you end up laughing toothpaste into the sink.
Dennis💕: Are you still proud of me after the part where Frank threatened me in front of Santos and Javadi?
You spit, wipe your mouth, and stare at the screen in open delight.
You: HE DID WHAT
Dennis💕: You didn’t hear?
Dennis💕: Trinity told me I was gonna be a simp.
Dennis💕: Frank heard just enough to become unbearable.
You actually have to sit down on the closed toilet lid because you’re laughing too hard.
You: oh my god
You: i leave you alone for five minutes
You: and you let my brother go all guard dog in the nurses station?
Dennis💕: In my defense, I didn’t let him do anything.
Dennis💕: He just sort of… became Frank.
You: he’s so embarrassing. i don’t know how we’re related
You: i’m obsessed with this
You: what exactly did he say
You carry the phone back into the bedroom and start pulling your blanket down with one hand.
Dennis takes a minute to answer.
Then:
Dennis💕: “My sister is not a training opportunity.”
Dennis💕: Which honestly was rough for me personally.
You gasp out loud. Why would Frank say that? You swear if that man ruins this for you, he will never hear the end of it.
You: NO
You: he did not
Dennis💕: He did.
Dennis💕: Santos almost fell over laughing.
You: i am going to kill him
You: that is the most Frank James Langdon sentence ever spoken
Dennis💕: It really was.
Dennis💕: For the record, that’s not what this is.
That softens you immediately.
You roll onto your back, blanket pulled up to your waist now, your room dim except for the little bedside lamp. Why does he say the cutest things that make your stomach do somersaults?
You: i know, he’s just insane
Dennis💕: That also feels true, but he’s also brotherly.
Dennis💕: I liked seeing you today.
You go still for just a second. The whole room feels quieter around that one. Not because it’s a big declaration. Because it isn’t. Because it’s simple and it’s Dennis and he keeps saying things like he means them so plainly that they go straight through you before you have time to defend yourself.
You type back slower this time.
You: i liked seeing you too
You: especially the coffee part
You: that was dangerously thoughtful
His answer is immediate.
Dennis💕: You almost hugged me.
You stare at the screen in offense and embarrassment.
You: i did not
Dennis💕: June Bug.
Dennis💕: You absolutely did.
You drag the blanket over your face for one second, then pull it back down.
You: okay maybe for half a second
You: but then i remembered the existence of literally everyone
Dennis💕: I noticed.
You: you looked smug about it
Dennis💕: I was.
That gets you smiling again.
You reach over and turn off the lamp, leaving just the glow of your phone screen in the dark.
You: the code was rough though
You: i didn’t even think i just moved
A longer pause this time.
When his reply comes, it’s gentler.
Dennis💕: You were really good in there. Everyone noticed.
Your throat goes a little tight in that annoying way praise sometimes hits when it comes from the right person. You stare up at the ceiling for a second with the phone resting against your chest, then bring it back up.
You: robby made fun of me after obviously
Dennis💕: That means he liked it.
You: i know
You: he was weirdly nice today too
You: or maybe i was just extra charmed by everyone because i got kissed against my car yesterday and brought coffee this morning
The dots pop up. Stop. Pop up again.
Dennis💕: That feels like a very fair reason.
You grin into the dark.
You: wow you’re flirting now
Dennis💕: Trying to.
You: 7/10 points for effort
Dennis💕: That’s brutal. What would get me a 10?
You bite your lip, thinking for a minute.
You: dangerous question. probably kissing me like that again.
This time the pause is long enough that you know you really got him.
When the answer finally comes, it’s worth it.
Dennis💕: I can work with that.
You tuck one hand under your pillow and smile so hard your face hurts.
A second later your phone buzzes again—Yolanda.
YoYo, My Lover: Are you alive
YoYo, My Lover: or are you still being emotionally moisturized
You: die
YoYo, My Lover: no thanks, you’d miss my presence
YoYo, My Lover: also santos is still making fun of whitaker for the simp thing and i regret to inform you he is taking it very well
You: he is a little bit of a simp
YoYo, My Lover: oh you like him so much. it’s disgusting
You ignore that because she’s annoying and also because Dennis is still typing.
Dennis💕: Are you still grinning like you were when you left?
That one gets you all over again.
You roll over onto your side, curling deeper under the blanket, and answer honestly because apparently that’s what tonight is.
You: yes. it’s honestly becoming a problem
Dennis💕: I don’t think it is. you’re cute when you smile
You: you’re very confident for someone who got threatened by my brother today
Dennis💕: I’m choosing courage.
You: that’s not what this is
Dennis💕: No?
You: no this is you being too Nebraskan to know when to back down
His reply comes with a little more time behind it, like he’s smiling when he types it.
Dennis💕: Maybe. Still got the date, though.
You press your lips together to hold in another grin.
You: true and a kiss so really you’re having a strong week
Dennis💕: Thank you. I’m trying to stay humble.
You: don’t. it would ruin your brand
The conversation drifts after that the way it always seems to now—easy, loose, soft at the edges.
Little jokes. Little check-ins. Him asking if Park called you Orca in front of anyone else. You telling him no, but Robby and Frank heard it this morning and both looked spiritually damaged. Him saying that was the highlight of his day until the code. You admitting lunch with Yolanda helped more than you wanted to admit.
Eventually the messages get slower.
Not because either of you wants to stop.
Because it’s late, and your eyes are getting heavy, and you’ve reread one of his texts three times without processing it.
He notices before you do.
Dennis💕: You should sleep.
You squint at that in offense.
You: rude
Dennis💕: You’re fading. Also I’ve learned you’ll stay up another hour if I don’t say it.
You sigh dramatically into your pillow and type one-handed now.
You: maybe but only because you’re fun to text
Dennis💕: You too.
Dennis💕: Goodnight, beautiful.
That word should not have such an effect on you. Maybe because the room is dark now. Maybe because you’re tired enough not to protect yourself from it. Maybe because he means it in that easy, unembarrassed way that makes you feel like maybe you don’t have to be embarrassed either.
You smile into the pillow.
You: goodnight whitaker
You: dream of nebraska or whatever
He replies one last time.
Dennis💕: Only if you dream of being nicer to Park.
You bark out one last laugh into the empty room.
You: impossible
Then you set your phone on the mattress beside you, still smiling in the dark, and let yourself stay there for one extra minute thinking about coffee cups, car kisses, and the fact that tomorrow you get to see him all over again.
By the time sleep finally takes you, you’re still smiling a little bit.
Kind of a filler episode. Let me know if that much texting is obnoxious. I cut down alot of it, simply because I wasn't certain where this chapter was going. The next part will be better. <3
taglist:@blitzni @lockeswoodss @lindell101 @sempi-leah321 @vastscoutweapon @jaudinca @paperman20
@pinkpantheris @viviannagiorgini @archxve @star-of-velaris @my-whole-brain-is-crying @strawbrysapphic @s1lliestsavy
@katzarantos @lalehan-al-katib @a-quick-request @calytrixsworld @mappleleaf893 @redsakura101 @strawbrysapphic @my-whole-brain-is-crying @vivian-555 @toasteraccident @momdancingtomcr @solqrpower @ivy-stuffs @lorosette @celestialcheshire @preeyas-world @ilovehanniballecter2 @secretlyapartofthisfandom @grace118 @llovekats @starsicled @clowninavan
Okay but imagine reader and Dennis who had a one night stand and then like a month later she ends up in the er and he gets assigned as her doctor. she needs to take a pregnancy test for some medical reason and turns out she is preggo
𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 ♡
Uh, such a cute (and juicy!!) idea! Thank you for the request, hun <3
Dennis Whitaker x f!reader || Masterlist || Spotify
summary: After fainting in a grocery store, you end up in the ER. Turns out your stay comes with a couple surprises. Not only who your doctor turns out to be, but what you thought was just stress also turns out to be something more.
word count: 9.9k
note/tags: Afab!reader. No use of y/n. One night stand. Unplanned pregnancy. Fluff/tiny bit of angst? May contain medical inaccuracies. Dennis is a sweetheart.
You sit yourself down on the side of the hospital bed with a mix of self-pity and embarrassment, hunched slightly forward with your elbows on your knees. The fluorescent lights overhead make everything feel harsher than it should be, and the faint smell of disinfectant only makes the nausea rolling in your stomach worse.
You swallow hard, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth. This is ridiculous. People go to the ER for actual emergencies. Broken bones, car accidents, things that bleed or stop working. Not because they passed out in the middle of a grocery store. The nurse who brought you in gives you a sympathetic smile as she logs something into the computer in the corner of the room.
You like her, she seems nice, and you have the feeling that she’s rooting for you, like she is on your team. It’s not often you feel that when you’re in places like this.
Usually, it’s the opposite. Usually, it feels like you’re being evaluated, quietly measured against some invisible standard you’ve already failed to meet. But she doesn’t look at you like that. There’s no impatience in the way she moves, no thinly veiled skepticism when she glances in your direction. Just calm, steady attention.
You drop your hand back into your lap, fingers curling together. The nausea ebbs slightly, replaced by a dull, lingering shakiness that makes your limbs feel like they don’t quite belong to you.
“Your doctor will be with you in just a minute,” she says kindly. “In the meantime, I’m gonna start taking your vitals, alright?”
You nod, shifting slightly on the bed as another small wave of nausea rolls through you. “Yeah, okay,” you mumble.
She gives you a small, reassuring nod before reaching for a blood pressure cuff and wrapping it around your arm. Quietly explaining while she does so.
“Just relax,” she says softly.
You try. The cuff tightens, squeezing your arm, and you focus on the steady hum of the machine instead of the lingering unease in your stomach and now your arm, before it slowly loosens again.
She glances at the numbers on the monitor. “Well, your blood pressure is on the lower side,” she says. “That could definitely explain the dizziness.”
You just nod, not really trusting yourself to say anything without your voice giving you away.
“Did you eat today?”
“Yeah, some toast,” you admit. “That’s about it.”
She nods again before reaching for your arm to remove the cuff, her touch light and careful as she slides it off. “Alright,” she says softly, setting it aside. “And have you been eating normally lately?” she asks.
“No… not really,” you admit. “I’ve been feeling kinda sick the past few days.”
“Nauseous?”
You nod again.
“Okay. Have you experienced any stomach pain?”
You shake your head. “Not really.”
“Any vomiting?”
“No…” you hesitate, glancing down at your hands. “But there have been a few times I’ve felt like I might,” you admit, your voice quieter now.
Then, in that same neutral, routine tone, she asks, “Any chance you could be pregnant?”
The question lands heavier than it should. You’re just about to blurt out no, out of pure instinct, something automatic, easy and safe. But the word catches in your throat. Your love life hasn’t exactly been active the last year or two. And that’s why your brain wants to say no without thinking.
But there was that one night about a month ago.
It was the kind of night out that wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. Just a way to get out of your own head for a few hours, to feel normal again. You hadn’t expected anything from it. You had just met up with some of your friends, some of your friends’ friends. And a few people who turned out to be friends of friends of friends –people you didn’t know, names you didn’t catch, faces that blurred together after a while.
You hadn’t planned on staying long. Just a drink or two, a laugh and a light conversation, then leave. But then you noticed him. He looked even more out of place than you felt. Leaning against the wall, drink in hand, like he wasn’t sure where he belonged. His eyes roamed the room but didn’t settle on anyone, not until they landed on you.
You smiled first, almost without thinking. He looked surprised, a little caught off guard, and then he smiled back, awkwardly, nervously, but genuine. And somehow, that was enough. It was awkward, sure, but real in a way that made you want to stay a little longer than you first intended.
You started talking. He was one of those friends of friends of friends. The kind of person you could’ve missed entirely if things had gone just a little differently that night. At first, just small talk to fill the time, but then it wasn’t just small talk anymore. It was laughter and shared glances, a kind of ease that felt like it had slipped through the cracks of the night. He was charming in a quiet, unassuming way. Sweet, earnest, a little clumsy, completely unlike anyone you’d met in a long time.
And it was so nice. Someone kind, nervous, and a little awkward. Someone who had made you feel lighter than usual. One drink became two, two turned into standing a little closer than before, conversations dipping softer, quieter. There had been a moment, just a small one, where neither of you were really talking anymore, just looking at each other like you were both trying to decide something at the same time. And then you had.,.
You swallow. Your fingers curl tighter in your lap, nails pressing lightly into your skin
“There might be a little chance.”
The nurse doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look at you differently. She just nods, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.
“Alright. We’ll have you take a pregnancy test just to rule it out.”
Your stomach twists again, though this time it’s not entirely because of the nausea. Because technically, there is a chance.
The thought settles heavy, sinking somewhere deep in your chest. The nurse gives you a small, reassuring smile, like nothing about this is unusual, like this is just another step in a routine process.
“I’ll see if your doctor is ready now,” she says gently.
“Okay,” you manage, your voice quieter than you intend. “Thank you.”
The curtain shifts as she steps out, leaving you alone with the low hum of the machines and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. You exhale slowly, leaning forward again, elbows resting on your knees, trying to ground yourself.
It’s probably nothing. It has to be nothing. Low blood pressure. Not eating enough. Stress. Your fingers tighten together, then loosen again as you force yourself to breathe.
After a while the curtain rustles. You glance up, and everything in you stills. You are met by a friendly smile from your nurse, kind brown eyes, soft and familiar. But it is not her who makes your breath catch. It’s the person stepping in behind her.
He is looking down at the ipad in his hands, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, like he’s trying to finish reading something before stepping fully into the room. It gives you a second, just one, to see him without being seen.
The familiar slope of his shoulders. The way he holds himself, a little unsure, like he’s still getting used to being here. Light brown hair falling over his forehead, and curling up at the nap of his neck.
Then he looks up, and his eyes meet yours. Those wide, blue eyes, you remember all too well.
“This is Dr. Whitaker,” the nurse says softly, her tone carrying the gentle authority of routine, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. She tells Dennis your name, not knowing that he already knows it. “We already took her blood pressure, and you ordered a pregnancy test.”
His gaze flickers briefly toward the nurse, then back to you. “Thank you, Perlah,” he says, voice small.
There’s a pause, the kind that makes the air between you feel thicker. She gives him a quick look, a brow slightly raised, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Then she gazes back to you, smiling softly, as if nothing unusual has happened.
“If you need anything, you can call on the button and I’ll be back. But in the meantime, you’re in good hands with Dr. Whitaker.”
You give a small nod, your throat tight, words catching somewhere between nervousness and surprise. She steps out, the curtain swishing closed behind her, and the door closes, and suddenly the room feels impossibly quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing a little louder, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears.
“Hi,” he says, an awkward smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, just enough to make it feel human, approachable.
“Hi,” you manage, your voice smaller than you would like, uneven, caught somewhere between nerves and surprise.
“So, uh, you fainted…” he continues, voice careful, like he’s stepping lightly around fragile ground. His fingers tap lightly on the edge of the ipad, a subtle rhythm that seems to mirror your racing heartbeat.
You glance down at your hands, twisting them together in your lap. “Yeah… I guess,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper.
“Uhm.. If you would prefer another doctor, I can call them in,” he says, voice gentle, careful not to push. His gaze flickers to your face, giving you space, but holding just enough attention to make it clear he’s listening.
You shake your head quickly, almost automatically. “No… no, it’s fine,” you murmur. “You’re… you’re fine.” Your voice catches, tight and shaky.
He nods, a small, understanding smile tugging at his lips. “Alright,” he says softly.
There’s a pause as he studies you, and even in the sterile, buzzing hospital room, there’s a strange sense of understanding between you. The way he leans slightly, careful not to crowd your space, makes it clear he’s not in a rush.
“I could understand from Perlah that you have been feeling nauseous… Can you tell me when it started? And if it’s been constant, or comes and goes?”
You hesitate, twisting your fingers tighter in your lap, and then let out a quiet breath. “A few days… maybe longer,” you mumble. “It… comes and goes. Mostly in the mornings, but sometimes I feel it all day.”
He nods slowly, laying the ipad gently on the counter beside the computer, before sitting down on the stool near the bed. The movement is careful, deliberate, as if he’s trying to make the space feel less clinical and more… manageable.
Neither of you say anything for a moment. “This was not something I had expected today” he then says softly, his tone low and careful, like he’s aware of how fragile the moment feels.
You glance up, caught somewhere between nerves and disbelief. “Yeah… me neither,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.
He gives a small, awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck as if to ease the tension.
“I, uhm… I regretted not asking for your number that night,” he admits softly, voice low, careful, like he’s letting you in without forcing anything. There’s a vulnerability there, subtle but impossible to miss.
You feel your chest tighten, words catching in your throat. “Me too…” you hear your own voice, small and fragile, but it somehow feels like the only honest thing you can say. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, it’s heavy, yes, but also intimate, like the room has shrunk around just the two of you.
He nods slowly, as if letting your words sink in, the awkward smile lingering just a moment longer before he shifts slightly on the stool, just enough to lean a little closer without closing the space between you.
“I… I kept thinking about it,” he admits quietly, voice almost swallowed by the hum of the fluorescent lights. “I mean not in a weird way! Just… I don’t know, wondering if I’d get another chance to actually talk to you.”
Your heart tightens, and your fingers curl in your lap again. “We did a little more than just talking that night…”
He blinks, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Right.” His eyes flicker away for a moment, like he’s gathering courage, before returning to yours.
The quiet stretches, heavy but intimate, as if the room itself has shrunk to hold just the two of you in this suspended, fragile moment.
“A lot of things can make someone feel nauseous, or make them faint” he continues softly, like he’s searching for the right words, careful not to overstep, not to make you feel any more exposed than you already do. His voice, low and careful, like he’s trying to build a bridge across the nervous tension in the room. “Low blood pressure, stress, anxiety, not eating enough… but we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
You nod, your throat tight, the simple act of acknowledging him feeling heavier than it should. Your fingers fidget in your lap.
He pauses, letting the words settle. “The first thing we’ll do is a urine pregnancy test. It’s quick and easy, just to rule it out before we look at other causes. Pregnancy can lead to low blood pressure and nausea, so it’s a standard step,” he explains gently, keeping his tone calm and steady, though there’s a subtle hesitancy in his voice, like he’s aware of how loaded the moment feels. He meets your eyes, letting the weight of the words hang without pressing you, giving you space to react.
“And what if it is positive?” you say, though it’s closer to a whisper, your voice catching, trailing off as your fingers twist in your lap. The words feel heavier than you expect, like stepping over an invisible line.
He looks at you for a long moment, eyes steady, patient, giving you space to let the words settle without rushing in. His lips press into a thin line before he finally speaks, slow and careful.
“Then, uhm… Then we’ll figure it out,” he answers softly, like the word takes a second to find its way out. His voice is gentle, a little unsteady, but sincere in a way that makes it land.
His words make something in your chest tighten, then loosen all at once. It’s something warm, unfamiliar in a moment that should feel cold and clinical. You swallow, your fingers stilling in your lap for the first time since he walked in. It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t answer the question hanging between you. But it softens it, just enough to breathe around.
Your eyes stay on him, searching, like you’re trying to understand how he can feel so steadying, while looking so nervous at the same time.
He clears his throat softly, like he’s grounding himself back into the role he’s supposed to be playing here. Professional, steady, your doctor. But there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t quite let him be just that.
His hand shifts against his knee, fingers curling slightly, like he’s grounding himself the same way you’ve been trying to. His gaze flickers briefly away, then back to you, and there’s still that same openness there, uncertain, but real.
For a second, it feels like he might say something else. But instead, he exhales quietly and gives a small nod, almost to himself.
“Okay,” he says, softly, like he’s settling into something steadier. “I’ll go get you something to drink, so uh…” he trails off, glancing briefly toward the door before looking back at you. “So you can take the test,” he finishes, voice quiet, the words coming out a little uneven.
The words hang there, simple and clinical on the surface, but they don’t land that way between you.
His gaze lingers on you for a second longer than it needs, like he’s checking something unspoken. Making sure you’re okay. Or maybe trying to make himself believe that you are.
You nod, even though your throat feels tight again. “Okay.”
He gives a small nod back, almost mirroring you, like that’s enough to anchor him.
“Okay,” he echoes. But he doesn’t move right away.
There’s a hesitation, subtle, but there. His fingers press lightly against his knee, then release, like he’s debating something he doesn’t quite let himself say.
“Hey,” he adds softly, drawing your attention back up to him. Your eyes meet his again. “If you start to feel lightheaded again… just lay down, and use the call button, alright?” he says, slipping gently back into that steady, professional tone, but it’s warmer now. More personal.
You nod, even though your throat feels tight again. “Okay,” you whisper.
He watches you for a moment longer, like he’s making sure you really mean it. Like he’s trying to memorize something. Your expression, maybe, or just the fact that you’re still sitting there, still steady.
“Alright,” he says softly. “I’ll be right back.”
You nod again, a little more firmly this time, like you’re trying to hold onto that steadiness he’s offering you.
“Okay,” you repeat, barely above a whisper.
He gives you one last look, longer than necessary, softer than it should be, and then finally turns, pulling the curtain aside. The hallway noise spills in again, distant and impersonal. Voices, footsteps, the faint clatter of something metal against tile. It all feels far away.
And then he’s gone. The curtain falls back into place with a quiet swish, and the room settles into stillness again. You sit there for a moment, unmoving. Your hands rest in your lap, fingers loosely intertwined now instead of clenched. Your breathing is a little uneven, but not as tight as before.
· · · · ·
Dennis leans back against the cool wall just outside the exam room, exhaling slowly through his nose like he’s been holding his breath for the past ten minutes without realizing it. His heart is still beating a little too fast, faster than it should for a routine case. For any case, really.
So for a moment, he just stands there, staring down at the floor, trying to put himself back together into something useful, something professional.
Because the second he walked into that room and saw you he was brought back to that night he met you, and that night wasn’t supposed to follow him here. It had been… simple, surprisingly so. Unexpected, but simple. A rare kind of ease he didn’t often get.
You had felt easy, talking to you had felt easy. Being around you had all felt easy, and nice, but also kind of terrifying in a way he hadn’t really let himself sit with until now. Dennis lets out a quiet breath, dragging a hand down over his face. Yeah. That’s the word. Terrifying. Not because of what happened, but because of how easily it had happened.
Trinity had dragged him along to the bar, and he hadn’t even wanted to go. Pittsburg hadn’t felt like home yet, not really. It still isn’t really, but that night had felt like something close to it. Or at least like a break from everything that didn’t.
Everything still feels slightly unfamiliar, like he is walking half a step out of sync with the rest of the world, but with you, he hadn’t felt so out of sync. It was as if something real had slipped in where it wasn’t supposed to. No expectations, no pressure, no weight. Just someone sweet, someone pretty and kind, who laughed at his awkward jokes like they were actually funny. Smiled at him like you meant it.
He shifts, the back of his head resting briefly against the wall as he now stares up at the fluorescent lights. They buzz faintly, steady and indifferent, like none of this matters outside of that room.
But it does. Because you’re in there. And there’s a chance that… He cuts the thought off before it can fully form, jaw tightening. This must be scary enough for you, he can’t let himself spiral. Because right now, your health, the test, the possibility… it’s about you. Not him
He technically doesn’t even know if he is the father if it turns out that you are pregnant. You could have had other sexual partners within the period of a possible pregnancy. And you would be totally justified in that.
The thought lands quietly this time, without resistance. And he lets it, because it’s true. You would be justified. It’s your life, your choices, your body. One night, no matter how real it felt to him, doesn’t give him any kind of claim or expectation.
Dana is standing by the nursestarion, watching him with that same calm, observant expression she always has, but there’s something a little more knowing in it now. Subtle, but enough to make him straighten instinctively when he notices that she’s looking at him.
“You okay, kid?” she asks, tone light, but not casual enough to ignore.
He nods a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
Dana doesn’t push. She just tilts her head slightly, letting the silence hang long enough for him to notice he’s holding himself too rigidly. Then she turns, returning her focus to the computer in front of her, fingers moving over the keyboard with practiced ease.
He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut for a second before opening them again, blinking a few times, to get himself back together. You need fluids. Ideally something with sugar. That’s an easy task, something manageable he can do right now. Fluids and a pregnancy test, he can get you that.
· · · · ·
You sit in the quiet for a moment, the hum of the fluorescent lights filling the space between your thoughts. Your fingers fidget in your lap, twisting together, letting the tension work itself out in small, unconscious movements.
The shock of seeing him, of him being the one stepping into the room, of being told that he was the doctor that should help you, curls around your chest, tightening in a way that makes your breath catch even though you’re trying to calm yourself.
Your gaze drifts toward the door, half-expecting it to open again, for the curtain to rustle, for him to step back in like this is all some strange, suspended moment that hasn’t quite decided what it is yet.
Out of all of the ER’s in Pittsburgh and all the doctors, it had to be him. The thought doesn’t even feel real when it settles in your mind. It just… sits there, heavy and impossible, like something that belongs to a different version of your life.
A month ago, he was just a stranger. Someone you weren’t supposed to see again, at least not under these circumstances. But somehow, here he is. And here you are. It’s not like you wouldn’t have wanted to see him again but not like this.
The thought settles heavy in your chest, quieter than the others, but somehow almost sharper. Because you had thought about it. Seeing him again. Not in any serious way. Not something you let yourself linger on too long, but it had crossed your mind in those quiet moments afterward. A passing what if. A soft, almost embarrassing curiosity about whether you’d ever run into him again.
Maybe at another bar, or at a house party Trin would drag him along to. Somewhere casual, somewhere easy. Somewhere you could’ve just smiled when you saw him, maybe teased him a little about that awkward first conversation, and about what followed, asked for his number this time without overthinking it. Something simple.
Your chest tightens faintly. Because that version of it doesn’t exist anymore, and it never will, no matter what that test says.
Your stomach shifts again, a low, uneasy roll that makes you press your lips together. You swallow it down, one hand coming to rest lightly against your abdomen, as if that might steady something deeper than just the nausea.
A pregnancy test. The words echo faintly in your head, softer now, but the words aren’t feeling any less heavy. You exhale shakily, dropping your hand back into your lap.
It’s probably nothing. You cling to it again, even as doubt presses in at the edges. Low blood pressure, not eating enough, stress. All things that make sense. All things that don’t change your life in an instant.
Unlike the alternative.
Your foot taps lightly against the side of the bed, a quiet, restless rhythm. And then, without meaning to, your thoughts drift back to that night. The way everything had felt so easy. Like you hadn’t been trying so hard to be okay for once. Like you hadn’t been overthinking every word, every movement.
He was different. Not in any obvious, overwhelming way. Not in the kind of way that demands attention the second someone walks into a room. No, he was much quieter than that. Softer. He hadn’t tried too hard. Hadn’t filled every silence or pushed every conversation forward like he needed it to go somewhere. There had been pauses, small ones, where neither of you spoke, and somehow they hadn’t felt awkward.
Or actually, they had, a little at least, but not in a bad way. Not the kind of awkward that makes your skin itch or your mind scramble for something to fill the space. It was just a little unsure. Like both of you were still figuring each other out in real time, neither quite knowing what to say next, but not wanting to walk away either.
You remember noticing that. The way he looked at you like he was actually listening. Like he wasn’t just waiting for his turn to talk. Your chest tightens faintly. And the way he smiled. A little unsure, a little crooked, like he wasn’t entirely used to it landing somewhere it was truly wanted. It had made something in you soften.
You shift a little on the bed, the paper cover beneath you crinkling softly. The sound feels too loud in the quiet room, making you pause for a second before exhaling slowly. Time feels strange in here, stretched thin. You have no idea if it’s been a minute or five since he left the room–maybe even ten.
Your gaze drifts back to the curtain again, like it might give you some kind of answer. It doesn’t. It just hangs there, still and closed, separating you from everything outside this room.
You exhale slowly, shoulders rising and falling in a measured attempt to stay grounded. But without anything to distract you, your thoughts keep circling back to the same place. The test, him, that night.
Because if it’s negative… Your chest lifts slightly with the thought, something almost like relief brushing against the edges of your ribs. Then this can just stay what it was. A strange coincidence, an almost, something soft and unfinished that you can tuck away and maybe, maybe, come back to later, under different circumstances.
Your throat tightens faintly. Maybe you would actually get that second chance. Maybe you could both laugh about this someday. The absurdity of it, running into each other here, of all places.
But if it turns out to be positive… Your lips press together. The thought doesn’t finish forming before your stomach twists again, sharper this time. Your hand instinctively comes back to rest against your abdomen, fingers pressing lightly like you’re trying to steady the unease from the outside.
If it is positive, everything changes. Not just tonight, not just this moment. Everything.
Your breath comes out a little uneven, and you force yourself to inhale slowly through your nose, exhale through your mouth, like you’ve done a hundred times before when things start to feel like too much.
It wouldn’t just be yours to figure out. Your eyes flicker toward the door again, something uncertain settling in your chest. It would be his, too. Not in the same way, of course. Not in the way it would live in your body, change your body, ask things of you every single day. But it would still be his as well as yours. Shared.
And that thought, that’s the one that lingers the longest. Not fear, exactly. Surprisingly, not even panic. Just a heavy, unsure weight. Because you don’t really know him. Not beyond a single night and a handful of soft, unfinished moments. And yet, you know enough to remember the way he looked at you. The way he touched you. The way he held you as you both caught your breath afterward. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push, didn’t make anything feel like it had to be more than it was.
Your chest tightens again, quieter this time. Would that change? Would this, whatever this is, turn him into someone else? Or would he still be that same person, just in a situation neither of you had asked for?
The thought lingers, unanswered as a soft knock breaks through the quiet before the door opens again, the curtain shifts, not waiting long enough for you to respond to your own questions.
Your head lifts instinctively. Dennis steps back in, the back of one hand pushing the curtain aside, in his arms he’s holding five different small sealed cups, a bottle of water, a can of La Crox. And in his right hand he’s holding another type of cup wrapped in sterile plastic and a packet of test strips.
His eyes find yours immediately. And for a second he hesitates. Like he’s checking the temperature of the room.
“Hey,” he says softly, stepping inside as the curtain falls closed behind him again. His voice is gentler this time, steadier, like he’s had a moment to pull himself back together. But there’s still something there under the surface. “I, uhm, I didn’t know what you like, so I brought a few options,” he finishes a little awkwardly, lifting his arms slightly like it might explain itself, as if he’s only just now realizing how much he’s carrying
Your lips part slightly, a quiet breath slipping out before you can stop it. “Thank you,” you say softly.
The cups shift a little in his hold, and he lets out a small, self-conscious breath before stepping closer to the table beside your bed. “I might’ve… overestimated how many choices you’d need,” he adds quietly.
There’s something almost endearing in the way he says it. Like he’s aware of it, but not enough to undo it. You can’t help it, the faintest hint of a smile tugs at your lips, soft and brief, but real.
“It’s okay,” you murmur.
He gives a small nod, like your approval matters more than it maybe should, like it settles something in him. He put the cups down on the little table next to the bed beside you, a little more carefully than necessary, like even that small action requires focus.
“The apple juice is, uh… probably better,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, gesturing lightly toward it. “You need some sugar.”
“Okay.” You nod, meeting his eyes with a sudden feeling of shyness. “I like apple juice.”
“Yeah?” he says, a little too quickly, like he didn’t expect an actual answer. Then he lets out a small, almost sheepish breath, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sweet, shy smile, like he is happy to learn even the smallest thing about you.
You nod again, a little more certain this time, though the warmth creeping up your neck gives you away.
“Yeah,” you murmur, almost like you’re confirming it for both of you.
His smile lingers for a moment longer than necessary. He removes the lid before handing you the juice cup. You take a sip, the sweetness hitting your tongue a little sharper than you expect, but not unpleasant. It settles something small in your stomach, even if the unease doesn’t fully go away.
You lower the cup slightly, your fingers still wrapped around it. “Good?” he asks, a little tentative, like he’s not entirely sure why it matters so much, but it does.
You nod. “Yeah… it helps.”
Something in his shoulders eases at that, just a fraction. “That’s good,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
There’s a quiet pause, the kind that feels softer now, less strained. Like the edges of the moment have smoothed just a little.
“I know this is… a lot,” he says finally, voice lower now, less clinical, more honest. “The fainting, and feeling sick, and then… this on top of it.” He gestures vaguely, like the words possible pregnancy is too heavy to just drop into the space between you again.
You let out a small breath, eyes dropping to the cup in your hands. “Yeah… it is,” you admit quietly.
He nods, like he understands that in a way that goes beyond just the medical side of things. His fingers shift against the edge of the table, restless for a second before stilling again. There’s something else sitting with him now. You can see it. He glances at you, then away, then back again, like he’s circling something he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch.
“I, uh…” he starts, then stops, a faint crease forming between his brows. He lets out a small breath through his nose, almost a quiet laugh at himself, like he’s aware of how awkward this is about to sound. “I’m trying to figure out how to ask this without making it weird…” he admits softly.
Your grip on the cup tightens just slightly.
“I don’t want to assume anything,” he starts, the words slow, deliberate. “And you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable, I just…” he exhales softly, like he’s trying to steady himself. “Timing-wise…” He trails off, glancing at you briefly, then back down, then back up again. Then, more carefully. “That night was, what… about a month ago?”
You nod slowly. “Yeah.”
He nods too, like he expected that, but hearing it still makes something in him settle—and tighten at the same time.
“Okay,” he murmurs. Then another pause. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” he says. “Really. I mean that.” His hand comes up briefly, rubbing the back of his neck again before dropping back down. “It’s just… medically, it helps to know, and…” he hesitates, then corrects himself, more honest now, “and not just medically,” he admits, quieter now.
That lands a little heavier. The way he says it, so careful, so indirect, makes your chest ache a little. He’s not pushing. Not claiming anything. Just asking for a place in something that maybe don’t een exist, but already feels bigger than either of you can name.
“There hasn’t been anyone else,” you say softly.
His eyes widen just the slightest fraction, a flicker of relief passing through them before he smooths it down into calm attentiveness. He doesn’t smile or anything, but you can see the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little.
“Okay,” he says softly. His voice low, steady and careful. “That… helps, a lot. Thank you for telling me.” He lets the words hang for a moment, letting them settle between you both.
“Dennis?”
He blinks at your voice, a faint pause filling the space as if the single word pulled him up from a careful orbit around himself. His eyes flick to yours, wide, attentive, the weight of that moment settling on him too. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, still careful, like he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next but ready to meet it.
“Can I get your number?”
You don’t even know why you are asking him right now, the timing is weird, but it suddenly feels very important.
His eyebrows lift just the slightest fraction, like the question took a second to land. “Yeah,” says finally, voice low, almost shy. “Of course.”
You pull out your phone, swiping your thumb across the screen and unlocking it with quiet, deliberate motion, trying not to let your hands shake. You open up your contacts, fingers hovering over the ‘+’ button for a new entry. Your thumb hesitates just above the name field for a moment, and then, with a quiet breath, you type in Dennis. You tap the number field and carefully hand the phone toward him, your fingers brushing briefly against his as he takes it.
His hand is warm, steady, and there’s a soft, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he glances down at the screen. He types in his number slowly, deliberately, like he’s memorizing the motion as much as the digits. Then he hands the phone back to you.
“Thank you,” you say softly as you press the button to save the contact. You tuck the phone back into your pocket.
He hesitates for a second, like he is weighing something, then finally lifts his phone. “Uh… can I get your number too?” His voice is quiet, careful, almost shy, as if he’s afraid of breaking the fragile rhythm between you.
You feel a small warmth rise in your chest at the request. “Of course.”
It’s his turn to pull out his phone, fingers fumbling just slightly as he unlocks it. You watch him for a moment, the soft concentration on his face, the way his eyebrows draw together just a little, and it makes your chest tighten in a good, nervous way.
You hold out your hand, and he hands over the phone, your fingers typing again, warm and familiar before handing it back to him again. His eyes meet yours with that shy little smile before pressing save.
He glances down at the small collection of cups on the table beside your bed, then back up at you, eyes soft and careful. “Do you need some more to drink?”
You shake your head just slightly, still feeling the warmth from the phone exchange linger in your chest. “Maybe just a little,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intend, like the words are tentative, testing the space between you. You have to be able to pee to take the test, but you don’t feel ready, even though you know you should.
The thought of standing up, moving, letting go of control for even a moment, of taking a test that could change everything, twists your stomach in a way that has nothing to do with nausea.
“What would you like?” he asks, eyes soft, giving you room to choose without pressure.
“Just some water.”
He nods right away, like the answer really matters “Yeah, okay,” he says softly, reaching for the bottle. He screws the bottle open before handing it to you, the sound of the plastic breaking softly in the quiet as the seal of the bottle cap breaks.
You take a small sip, then another, your throat easing as the water settles. He stays where he is, close but not too close, his weight shifting slightly from one foot to the other. His hands hover like he’s not entirely sure what to do with them, before one comes up to rub the back of his neck again.
“So, uhm, Perlah will come back in a few minutes,” he says, voice a little uneven at first before he steadies it. “She’ll, uh… take you to the bathroom. And she will explain what to do, she is definitely a lot better at that than me.” He clears his throat softly, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. He shifts his weight again, glancing briefly at the door before looking back at you, softer this time. “And then it only takes a few minutes,” he adds. “For the result, I mean.”
A few minutes. It sounds so short, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. You swallow, taking another sip of water, letting the coolness settle. “Right.”
There’s a soft knock at the door before either of you can say anything else. The curtain shifts a second later, and Perlah steps in, her presence gentle but efficient, like she’s done this a hundred times before.
“Hi,” she says with a small, reassuring smile, glancing between you and Dennis before focusing on you. “How are you feeling?”
You hesitate. “A little better,” you manage.
“Alright.” She nods, like that’s enough for now. “When you’re ready, we’ll have you give us a urine sample so we can run the test, okay?”
“I, uhm, I think I’m ready,” you say, your voice small, almost swallowed by the quiet room. You take a last sip from the water bottle before setting it down on the table
“Okay.” Perlah nods, her smile steady and patient. You’re glad you know her name now, you had been too nauseous and out of it to catch it when she first introduced herself and you were too embarrassed to ask again. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Dennis hands her the specimen cup, sealed in clear wrapping, along with the small box of testing strips. His movements are careful, almost tentative, as if he’s afraid to break the fragile rhythm of the room. Perlah accepts them with a nod, her hands steady and practiced.
“Follow me, hun,” Perlah says gently, her voice warm but professional. She steps toward the door, holding it open for you with a soft, encouraging smile. Dennis shifts slightly, giving you a reassuring glance before staying where he is, letting you move forward.
When you reach the bathroom, she gestures toward it. “Alright, just like I said. You can use the cup here. When you’re done you can just leave the cup on the counter and I will take it to testing.”
“Okay, thank you,” you say quietly, your fingers tightening just slightly around the cup.
Perlah gives you one last reassuring nod. “I’ll be right outside, but you can take all the time you need,” she says softly, before stepping back and letting the door close behind you.
The small click of it feels louder than it should. For a moment, you just stand there. The bathroom is simple, clean, thank god. The cup in your hand feels light, but your chest doesn’t. You let out a slow breath, your shoulders rising and falling as you try to steady yourself.
When you’re done, you set the cup carefully on the counter before washing your hands. You catch your own gaze in the mirror, and for a second, you don’t quite recognize yourself.
You let out a sigh before looking away. You dry your hands slowly, buying yourself an extra second before reaching for the door. When you open it, Perlah is right where she said she’d be. She looks up immediately, her expression soft and steady.
“All set?” she asks.
You nod. “Yeah.”
“Perfect.” She steps inside, her movements easy and practiced as she picks up the cup from the counter. “I’ll take this to testing now. It won’t take long.”
You nod again, even though your chest tightens at that.
She pauses for just a second before stepping back out, her voice gentler now. “You can head back. I’ll come find you as soon as we have something.”
“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you.”
The walk back feels quieter than before, like the air has thickened somehow. When you step through the curtain, Dennis looks up immediately, like he’s been listening for your steps. His shoulders ease the second he sees you.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hey.”
There’s a small pause as you move back toward the bed, sitting down carefully. Your hands come together in your lap, fingers beginning fidgeting before you even notice that you’re doing it. It’s starting to become a bad habit.
Your eyes drift to his hand for a second, then back up to his face. He notices, just barely, and something in his expression softens even more.
For a second, neither of you says anything. Then, slowly, carefully, he steps closer. You scoot just slightly, making space for him without thinking about it. He notices. Of course he does. He sits down beside you, careful with the distance, close, but not crowding. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the quiet steadiness he carries with him.
Your hands are still fidgeting in your lap, fingers twisting together, and after a moment, his gaze drops to them. But it’s not in a way that makes you self-conscious.
Then his hand shifts. Slowly, deliberately, he rests it on the bed beside yours. It’s tentative, like a question, an option.
You hesitate, your breath catching just slightly. Your fingers still for a moment, like they’re deciding something before you are. Then, almost without thinking, they drift, just enough to brush against his.
The contact is light. Barely there. But it’s enough. His shoulders drop a fraction, like something in him settles.
“Sorry,” he murmurs softly, though he doesn’t pull away. “I just…”
“It’s okay,” you say quickly, your voice quieter than you expect. You glance down at your hands for a second, then back up at him. “It’s… nice.”
That earns the smallest, most relieved smile from him. “Okay,” he says, almost to himself.
The silence that follows feels different again. Still quiet, still heavy with waiting—but softer around the edges now. Less alone.
Your thumb shifts slightly against his without you realizing it, a small, grounding motion. His hand responds instinctively, just barely tightening, like he’s anchoring himself there too.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks after a moment, voice gentle. “Or… not talk about it,” he adds quickly, a hint of nervousness slipping back in. “Either’s okay.”
You let out a small breath, your gaze drifting somewhere past him for a second. “I don’t even know what there is to say yet,” you admit.
“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s fair.”
“I think I’m just scared of knowing,” you add, quieter now.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”
The honesty of it sits between you, simple and unguarded. And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe. But it doesn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat as the sound of soft, but firm knock lands against the door. It cuts clean through the quiet and both of you still.
Your hand tightens just a fraction before you even realize it, and he responds immediately, steady, present.
“Hey,” Perlah’s voice comes gently from the other side before she steps in, her expression changing for a split second when she sees the two of you sitting on the bed. Not judgment, just a slight surprise. Like she’s clocking the moment and choosing, very deliberately, to handle it gently.
Your heart jumps into your throat. She steps fully inside, glancing between the two of you, briefly, not intrusive, before her attention settles on you.
“The results are ready to be confirmed, so I need Dr. Whitaker for a moment,” Perlah finishes gently. The words land softly, but they shift something in the room immediately.
Dennis stills beside you. There’s a small pause, like he’s switching something inside himself, stepping back into a role he can stand on. His hand slips from yours this time, slower, more deliberate. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but steady. “Of course.” He says to Perlah before he glances at you, and for a second the doctor is still there, but there’s something else underneath it. Softer. More personal. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
You nod, even though your chest feels tight. “Okay,” you echo, your voice barely above a breath.
He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, like he wants to say something more. Then he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a small, reassuring nod before standing.
Perlah steps back slightly to give him space as he moves toward her. There’s a quiet efficiency in the way they fall into step with each other, like this is familiar ground for her and something he’s trying very hard to navigate correctly.
The curtain shifts closed behind them. And just like that, you’re alone. The room feels different without him in it. Quieter. And now bigger, somehow.
You stare down at your hands, still curled slightly like they’re remembering the shape of his. Outside, their voices are low. Too low to make out clearly, it’s just the soft murmur of conversation, the faint rustle of something, the clinical rhythm of confirmation.
Minutes stretch. Or maybe it’s seconds. Yeah, it probably is just second, but you have a hard time telling. Every second in here feels like a minute. Your knee starts bouncing before you notice it, a restless energy you can’t quite contain. You press your hands against them to make them still, but the movement doesn’t fully stop.
But then the curtain moves. Dennis steps back in, and you know. You don’t know how, but you just know. It’s in his face, not panicked, nor cold, but very careful. Grounded in a way that feels intentional, like he’s choosing how to hold this moment before he gives it to you, but there is still a small hint of both nervousness and shock that he can’t really hide.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Your throat feels tight. “Hey.”
He doesn’t come all the way in right away. There’s a brief pause, like he’s giving you a second to breathe, to brace, like he understands that once he says it, there’s no taking it back. Then he steps closer.
“Can I sit?” he asks gently.
You nod. He sits beside you again, leaving just a little space this time, professional and careful, but still close enough that you don’t feel alone.
A breath passes. Then another. And then, quietly. “So… as your doctor I needed to confirm the result.” He glances at you, just briefly, like he’s making sure you’re with him. “And, uh… It did come back positive.”
The words settle into the room slowly, like they don’t quite know where to land. Positive. For a second, everything feels very still. Your ears ring faintly, like the world has stepped just half a pace away from you. Your gaze drops somewhere between your hands and the floor, unfocused.
Positive. It echoes again, quieter this time, heavier. Your breath comes in, but it’s shallow. Not enough. You swallow, your throat tight, like there’s something lodged there that won’t move.
“Hey.” His voice is soft. Careful.
You don’t look up right away.
“I know this is… a lot,” Dennis adds gently, and there’s something in the way he says it, like he’s holding the weight of it with you instead of just handing it over.
You let out a small breath, but it shakes on the way out. “Yeah…” you manage, though it barely sounds like you.
Silence stretches again, but it’s different now, thicker, more real.
Your hand drifts, almost without thinking, back to your abdomen. It rests there lightly, like before, but now the gesture feels different. Your chest tightens.
“I…” you start, then stop. Your voice doesn’t want to cooperate. You shake your head slightly, a small, almost helpless motion. “I don’t know what to say. I thought it was just stress.”
“That’s okay,” he says immediately. Too quickly, almost, like he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to say anything. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”
You nod faintly, even though your thoughts are anything but still. Everything is moving too fast and not at all at the same time.
“Would you hate me if I kept it?” You can’t stop the words before they leave your mouth, you don’t even know why the thought feels so important to you, but in this moment it’s a question every fiber in your body needs an answer to. You don’t look at him, you can’t. It’s like something in you is bracing for impact.
Dennis stills. “Hate you?” he repeats softly, like he needs to hear it again to believe it.
You don’t look at him. Your gaze stays fixed somewhere low. “I don’t know…” you murmur, your voice small, fragile in a way you can’t quite hide. “I don’t even know what I want.” Your voice barely holds together by the end of it.
“No,” he says. His voice cuts in softly, but not sharply. Just catching you before you spiral too far ahead of yourself.
You still. You don’t look at him.
There’s a small pause. You can feel him shift beside you. not away, just adjusting, like he’s trying to meet you where you are without crowding you.
“No, I wouldn’t hate you for that,” he repeats, quieter now, but no less steady. “ Not for anything.”
Your throat tightens. You swallow hard. “I just,” you shake your head slightly, your voice barely holding together. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m allowed to feel about it. It’s like…” your breath stutters, “like if I even think about wanting it, I’m already messing everything up.”
That lands deeper than you expect it to. There’s a shift beside you again, closer this time, but still careful. Always careful. “You’re not messing anything up,” he says gently.
You let out a quiet, shaky breath, but it doesn’t quite steady you.
“I don’t even know what you’d want,” you admit, finally glancing at him, your eyes searching his like you’re bracing for something you’re not sure you can handle.
That’s what this is really about. Not just the question. Him. You don’t even know what you want, but not knowing what he wants somehow feels worse. Not knowing what you want is overwhelming, but not knowing where he stands? That feels like standing on something that might give out beneath you at any second.
“I want you to be okay,” he says first. It’s not a deflection. It’s just the most honest place he can start. Then, after a small breath. “And yeah,” he adds, quieter, more personal now, “I care about what happens. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”
Your chest tightens again, and you gather all your courage to look up and meet his eyes again. There’s something so rawly vulnerable in his expression now.
“But that doesn’t turn into pressure on you,” he continues quickly, gently. “It doesn’t get to.” His hand shifts slightly on the bed, closer again, still not assuming, still leaving the choice with you. “This is your decision,” he says softly. “Not mine to make for you, or mine to judge.”
You swallow, your throat still tight, but something in your chest has shifted, just enough that you can breathe a little deeper than before. “I know,” you say quietly, and you mean it. You can feel how careful he’s being, how hard he’s trying not to tip the balance one way or the other.
A small pause. Then, more carefully. “If you kept it, I wouldn’t hate you.” His voice softens even more. “And I’d… want to be there. If you wanted me to be.” That last part is quieter, almost tentative. “Honestly, I would want to be there even if you wouldn’t want me to.”
He stops himself. Like he hears it as he’s saying it and realizes how it might sound too much, too fast, crossing a line he’s been so careful not to cross.
A small breath leaves him, and he shakes his head slightly, softer now, correcting, not taking it back, just placing it better.
“I mean,” he says quietly, “I wouldn’t force that. I wouldn’t show up where I’m not wanted.” His eyes meet yours again, steady, open. “But I wouldn’t just stop caring either.”
That lands differently. No pressure, just truth.
“But we don’t have to figure everything out right now,” he continues, voice steady but soft. “This is just… information right now. Okay? Just one step.”
“Just one step,” you repeat, like you’re testing the shape of it.
His thumb shifts lightly against your hand, careful, reassuring. “Yeah.” The words sit between you, quieter now. You both let the silence settle. Your breathing evens out a little more, your shoulders lowering inch by inch, like your body is finally catching up to what your mind is trying to process.
His hand is still there, steady against yours. Not holding tight, not claiming, just present. Close enough that you can feel it if you need to. And you do.
“You need to stay for monitoring,” he says gently, voice slipping a little more into something professional, but still soft, still him. “Just for a couple of hours. Given the fainting earlier, we need to make sure everything stays stable. And we have to check a few other things, just to be sure,” he finishes gently, smoothing the sentence as it comes together.
He glances at you, like he’s checking how it lands before continuing. You nod, a small, quiet motion, your eyes still on him. “Okay,” you say softly.
“It’s just routine things,” he adds, softer again. “Blood pressure, heart rate, maybe some blood work. Nothing invasive unless we have a reason,” he adds quickly. “And we’ll talk you through everything before we do it.”
You nod again, a little more firmly this time.
“Okay…” A small breath leaves you. “That sounds… manageable,” you admit.
There’s the faintest hint of relief in his expression, not because the situation is easier, but because he seems to care a lot about your reaction.. “Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s the goal.”
“Thank you for being so nice to me,” you say quietly. The words come out softer than you expect, but they feel important to say.
He stills for just a second, not surprised exactly, but like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says gently.
You shake your head a little, your fingers shifting faintly against his. “I know,” you murmur. “But still.” Your eyes meet his again, steadier now. “Thanbk you for not making this feel worse,” you finish softly.
The words hang there for a second, fragile but honest. He doesn’t answer right away.
You can see the moment it lands, really lands, in the way his expression shifts. Something quieter, more affected than he’s been letting himself show.
“I’m really glad to hear it didn’t,” he says finally, voice low, but a sheepish smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, small and a little self-conscious, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with being seen like that. His gaze dips for a second before coming back to you, even softer now.
Your fingers move slightly against his again, a small, unconscious motion, but you don’t pull back at all. There’s a pause. Then, more quietly.
“If everything looks good, you should get discharged around the time my shift ends, so if you… I don’t know, uhm… maybe we could go grab something to eat after,” he says quietly, almost as if testing the idea out, letting it hover between you. “If you want to.”
You blink, caught off guard, but the thought warms your chest in a way nothing else has in hours. “Yeah,” you manage, voice small but steady, “I’d like that.”
A small, genuine smile spreads across his face, softening the tension you didn’t realize had been holding you so tight. “Okay,” he says, letting the word linger, careful not to rush it.
Your fingers brush against his again, just slightly, and he doesn’t pull away, instead of that ,his thumb brushes lightly over yours in a small, steadying motion. The room feels a little softer, the air a little warmer, and for the first time in hours, the tight coil in your chest loosens just enough for a small, real breath to escape. And for now, in this little moment of time, that’s enough. He’s on your team.
