i’m also just a girl

a link to all my fics about being the only girl in the outsiders gang

˖ ࣪⭑Curtis Sister˖ ࣪⭑

A link to all my fics about the eldest and hottest curtis brother

˖ ࣪⭑Darry Curtis˖ ࣪⭑

A link to all my fics about the cutest english teacher whose arc was done so dirty

˖ ࣪⭑ Max Medina ˖ ࣪⭑

A link to all my fics about your favorite inspector at the scotland yard

˖ ࣪⭑ Greg Lestrade ˖ ࣪⭑

A link to all my fics about your favorite space dork

˖ ࣪⭑ Ryland Grace ˖ ࣪⭑

A link to all my fics about your favorite gray man

It wasn't like he was blind without them, but he would get blinding headaches when he didn't wear them for extended periods of time, and, like most glasses wearer's, his vision would gradually degrade from not wearing them.

Y/n was used to her husband and his terrible habits when it came to his vision. Many times she would wake up to the sound of something falling in the kitchen.

"Ry, are you okay?"

"Shoot!"

She rounded the corner to find him in the dark kitchen trying to crack an egg into a pan, glasses long forgotten on the counter. He was mostly successful. Only a little bit of the egg whites spilled from the side of the pan onto the stove. Y/n rolled her eyes and picked up his glasses.

"Y'know, some people wear these so they don't spill egg on the stove," She teased as she opened the arms and slid them carefully over the ridge of his nose. The lights might have been off, but the warmth of Ryland's face gave up the fact that he was blushing.

"Well," He started quietly stumbling through an apology. "On average you sleep through noises that are significantly louder than me running into the counter. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. If you go back to sleep now, you can still maximize optim-"

His words were cut off by Y/n pressing a soft kiss to his slightly chapped lips. He leaned into the feeling, letting out a quiet noise when she pulled away.

"Wear your glasses, dork."

It was also very normal for him to come home with tape somewhere on his glasses.

"Y/n! You'll never guess what I found out!" He was rushing through the apartment, dropping his things somewhere between the door and the living room where Y/n was sitting. She took in his figure, noticing how his glasses had white tape on the bridge over his nose, and another clear piece holding one of the lenses in place.

"That it's time for new glasses?"

"No! Well- technically yes. But that's not important!" Y/n listened to him ramble on and on about how his research paper he had been writing just for the fun of it was going to get published in an academic journal.

"Really? That's amazing!"

"I know! The only thing is that I had to use a fake name. Last time I tried publishing as myself, it was rejected."

Y/n bit back a smile. "You're sure it wasn't the fact that the paper was just a smear campaign on every professor you didn't like back in college?"

Ryland paused, not wanting to answer the question, and changed the subject. "So you think I need new glasses?"

Picking out new frames was always fun. She would make him try on every single frame in the store if they had the time.

"Babe, I am a middle school teacher, I cannot buy a pair of Tom Ford glasses." He complained as he tried on what felt like the millionth pair. Y/n simply laughed at the giant frames that made his face look tiny. "Are you enjoying yourself?" He asked, sarcasm saturating his tone.

"Very much so, thanks for asking," she teased right back, handing him a pair of rimless square frames. He rolled his eyes, taking off the previous pair of glasses and replacing them with the new pair. They were held together by a gold bridge and supported by gold arms with clear plastic cushioning on the ends.

Ryland heard Y/n take a sharp inhale. He tore his eyes away from the mirror and glanced over at her.

"You okay over there?"

"Those are the ones, Ry."

"Really? You don't think they're to-"

"Those are the ones, Ry."

He could feel the back of his neck heating up under her gaze as he looked back into the mirror. He looked like a dork.

His thoughts were cut off by Y/n leaning in and whispering, "Dr. Grace, you've never looked so attractive."

The tips of his ears went pink and he whipped his head around to look at Y/n so fast he was sure his neck would hurt tomorrow.

"You can't- I mean! I don't think- You don't really… I just-" He broke off his own rambling with a shaky exhale. "Really?"

Y/n nodded slowly, beaming up at him. "Honey, those glasses can never come off." There was something in her tone that made him open his mouth.

"Glasses stay on?"

"Glasses stay on."

For the most part, the glasses stayed on.

Through the late nights of grading, and the crazy experiments he conducted in class, they remained on his face.

Even when he was approached by a woman holding up the paper that train wrecked his scientific career.

Even when he was flown out to a boat in the middle of the ocean.

Even when he was crying on a roof trying to grapple with the awful decision placed in front of him.

The glasses remained on his face.

When he was tackled to the ground, his body thrashed around. He pressed his face into the ground in a pathetic attempt to get away from the needle that was getting injected into his neck. The glasses dug in, bruising his face slightly.

Y/n was at home, reading the latest letter from her husband when she got the knock on the door.

On the other side was a large man in a black trench coat. His expression was neutral, and all he said was "Mrs. Grace? You're needed at the launch site."

Y/n didn't have to ask. Ryland had kept her well updated. She just assumed that he wanted her there to watch the rocket get shot up into space.

So now she sat in the medical office on the base, Eva Stratt in front of her explaining why Ryland wasn't meeting her at the launch.

"Let me see him! That's my husband! I need to see him!" The words left her throat in a desperate plea. One final attempt to somehow prove to herself that this could not be happening. Surely there was another Ryland Grace out there in the world.

Stratt allowed for her to see his comatose body right before they hooked him up to the body bag they were sending him up in.

The area around his closed eyes were red and puffy. There were still trails of dried tears running from his eyes down his face. He had dirt under his nails. There were small purple marks where his glasses should have been resting.

Y/n held his unconscious body in her arms, her own tears landing on his face and following the trail left by his.

"You can't do this!" She choked out. Her breath was uneven. She couldn't let go of his strong shoulders, they were still warm from thrashing around on the ground, an attempt to get away. To get back home.

"Come on, Ry! Wake up! Look at me! Please!"

Stratt didn't miss the growing fear and distress in her voice. She nodded for the two guards to remove the soon to be widow.

"Where are his glasses! He can't see without his glasses!"

Two sets of arms started pulling her away. She didn't have anything in her to fight them off.

"Put his glasses on! Put on his glasses!"

"Mrs. Grace, your husband will be remembered as a hero." Stratt said, monotone and emotionless. There was something behind her eyes, however. Something that communicated that this was the worst thing she had done yet. But Y/n was too busy yelling and crying to notice it.

"He can't see without his glasses!"

Ryland was very grateful that he was visiting her classroom and that she wasn’t visiting his. Her room was a stark contrast to his. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, his desk was cluttered and trashed, and things fell down regularly. Here, there were paper lanterns hanging down, but that was all. They were evenly spaced and gave the room a cozy feel, not a trapped in low budget space feel. Everything had a place. Her desk was cleared, at least the top was. He had no clue if the drawers were in the same condition. The classroom was organized from the row of backpacks hanging on the wall to the cabinet filled with toys. It was structured, warm. 

However, nice as the classroom was, that was not the best part of this arrangement the two schools set up. Working with Y/n was the highlight of his school year. There was just something about her. Maybe it was the fact that she always had a tupperware filled with baked goods for him when he brought his class to visit. Maybe it was the fact that she always smelled like vanilla and jasmine. And maybe, just maybe, it was the way she taught her students. The way that she could help one student understand a concept using props and hand motions and then turn around and help another by turning it into a game. She had a passion for helping them get from where they were, to where they were going. It was written all over her face. 

This was what Ryland thought about as he walked his eighth grade homeroom over to the elementary school. The morning fog was still thick and a slight breeze sent a chill down his spine. The buzzing chatter of his students was making the grey sky seem a little lighter. He loved that they were just as excited as the kindergarteners were. 

They made it inside the elementary building and the warmth immediately seeped into his bones, welcoming him like the embrace of an old friend. He navigated his class through the now familiar hallways and stopped outside a door that had been decorated with small laminated ducks, each one bearing the name of a kindergartener in the classroom. He turned to his gaggle of students. 

“Remember, go in quietly and sit on the floor near your kid.” He said, making eye contact with the students who loved to go in squealing and hug their kindergarten partner. 

“Yes, Mr. Grace,” the class echoed. 

Ryland knocked on the door. He suddenly felt nervous. This had become the new normal since the first time Y/n opened the door. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat to no avail. He wiped one sweaty palm on his jeans and ran the other one, shakily, through his tousled hair. His stomach knotted, he felt like an idiot. 

The door opened, and there was Y/n. She was wearing dress pants and an oversized sweater. Her hair was falling naturally. The smell of her perfume was wrapping him up like he just stepped inside after being out in the cold too long, which technically he did. His breath hitched quietly and he hoped she didn’t hear it. He felt the small smile creeping onto his face and there was no point in trying to fight it. 

He didn’t get to bask in the feeling as long as he wished to, the overly excited five year olds started babbling behind her. She smiled at him. What kindergarteners? 

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, like she was whispering a secret for his ears only. 

The small smile broke into a full blown grin. “Hey,” he whispered back. Y/n opened the door fully so Ryland and his class could enter. The two teachers stepped aside while the students entered the space and situated themselves. As he entered the room, his eyes settled on her desk, finding a tupperware sitting on it, a pink sticky note on top with his name on it. He could feel the tips of his ears match the color of the sticky note. 

“My kids have been excited all week. We had to make a countdown paper chain on Monday,” She said, beaming up at him. 

Ryland let out a small chuckle. “Mine too. They try to play it off and act cool, but they’ve asked me once a week when we’re coming back.” Y/n laughed and both teachers got back to what they were actually supposed to be doing. 

The schedule was simple enough. First was penmanship. The eighth graders had to help the kinders write a three sentence story. Y/n stood in front of the whiteboard, pink marker in hand. 

“So if Mr. Grace is my partner,” She said, looking at the group of fifty or so kids crammed into the room. “Then he and I are going to come up with the story together! It can be about anything!” She looked over at him. “For example, I might write, ‘Mr. Grace is a good teacher.’” She wrote the sentence on the board. Her lettering was smooth and elegant, only in the way that teachers can have. She glanced over at Ryland expectantly. 

“And I might want her to write, ‘Miss Y/n is a great teacher.’” He hoped that it wasn’t obvious that he was trying to elevate her. The smile and roll of her eyes told him he was unsuccessful. She wrote it anyway. He moved to stand next to her. 

“After that, we might say, ‘They make a great team.’” She said, and the smile she gave him went right to his stomach. He had to snap his eyes anywhere else or he feared he would forget himself and make a really dumb move in front of the students. He felt his neck heat up and he was sure he was beet red. Y/n noticed. Her gaze drifted back to the students. “Are there any questions?” She asked. 

A hand shot up instantly. Y/n nodded for the student to ask his question. “But, Miss Y/n! Our papers have a big square on top of our writing lines!” Y/n smiled at the urgency of the question. 

“They do! Good job, Jeffrey, I almost forgot! At the top of your paper you have a blank space. You and your buddy are going to color a picture that goes with your story.” 

Another hand went up. “Miss Y/n, you didn’t draw a picture.” 

The middle schoolers chuckled, noticing the way their teacher was avoiding looking at Miss Y/n. One of them raised their hand. “Yeah, Mr. Grace, you have to help Miss Y/n color a picture of the two of you!” 

He wanted to die. He hated how bad he was at being subtle. He was rescued when Y/n let out a laugh. “You guys are right. Tell you what, while you guys write, Mr. Grace and I will draw a picture on the board.” 

The students got to work as Ryland uncapped a black marker. He started drawing a stick figure. It was lopsided, and the eyes weren’t evenly spaced out, but Y/n assumed it was his best efforts based on the way his brows knit together and his tongue poked out slightly from between his lips. 

He looked over to where Y/n was finishing her drawing. It was very obviously him. From the glasses to the cardigan he was wearing, the dry erase drawing was very evidently Ryland. He was even giving a thumbs up. He glanced back at his drawing. Not terrible. Not great. He picked up the pink marker she had been using earlier. He drew a flower in the stick woman’s hand. He took a step back and admired his work. Y/n did the same. 

“We really do make a great team,” she said, turning to look up at him. 

His brain short circuited. She didn’t even compliment him. Why was his brain offline? Think of something! Say something! Say anything! She’s looking right at you! Say something! Say something now!

“Like ribosomes and protein synthesis.” Not that! Idiot. 

But the panic subsided as Y/n let out a huff of laughter and her body involuntarily leaned into his. It was brief, a slight graze of her shoulder against his. Yet it was all he could focus on. He stilled as it happened, trying to memorize the feeling instantly. He spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out if his arm tingled from the force of impact or if his brain was experiencing a minor chemical imbalance. His internal debate subsided as Y/n instructed the students to turn in their work. 

The rest of the morning passed by in a flurry of raised hands and tiny confused sighs as math worksheets were handed out and completed. There was a breath of relief when Y/n announced it was time for recess. He shrugged his cardigan off and onto the chair as he pulled his blazer back on. Y/n led the group down the hall and outside as Ryland manned the end of the line, ensuring no wandering or straggling. 

This time, the fresh air felt less inviting, like it was stripping the atmosphere of all the warmth and depth that Y/n’s classroom supplied. It smelled Earthy and sharp. Normally it would be one of his favorite things in the world. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to be inhaling her scent. Her classroom scent, that is, or so he told himself. His inner lament was silenced when a soccer ball went flying into his left foot. 

“Mr. Grace!” A chorus of students yelled his name and ran over to him. A tiny boy with a mop of dark curly hair peered up at him through thick eyelashes. His hands were clasped near his chest as he started to speak. “Mr. Grace, will you play with us?” 

Ryland felt something profound tug at his heart strings as the boy looked up at him expectantly. 

“Sure, but only if we beat these middle schoolers, deal?” He stuck out his hand, the soccer ball now pinned under his foot. 

The boy, Miles, shook his hand and giggled out, ‘deal’. 

“Kinder versus middle school!” was all Ryland shouted before kicking the ball towards a five year old and running towards the goal, guarded by one of his own students. 

Y/n watched from the sidelines as Ryland weaved, not so elegantly, between the students. He was constantly stumbling over his own feet, and his glasses kept sliding down his face. However, Y/n also saw the way he passed the ball to her students every time. The way he  would steal the ball from an eighth grader, pass it to a little kid, only to have the ball stolen by a middle schooler again. She noticed the way he fell backwards and landed on his back in order to avoid lightly bumping one of her students. She watched him pause the game to help a girl tie her shoe. He had never looked so attractive. He was squatting down, her yellow shoe resting atop his knee. His glasses hung around his chin and his hair was tousled and sweaty from running. The way he smiled, watching as the girl ran back to the game once her shoe was properly tied again. She noticed the way that the water ran down his hair to his cheek to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. Wait, water?

Y/n’s train of thought was cut off by a splash of rain hitting her forehead. Oh great. Before she knew it, five year olds all around her were losing their minds. She pulled her sweater tighter around herself as the rain picked up. Ryland was by her side in an instant, shrugging his blazer off and, awkwardly, draping it over Y/n’s head, an attempt to shield her from the rain. Y/n smiled despite herself as she watched him concentrate. A whistle blew and all the kids quickly got in line as Y/n led them towards the classroom. Ryland, soaked to the bone, stood at the end of the line, waiting for one kindergartener to catch up after he ran back into the playground for his water bottle. 

The group was buzzing as they re-entered the classroom. Y/n gave instructions for the kids to hang up their coats and find a seat on the rug. Ryland stood next to Y/n, who was finally pulling the blazer from her head. “You didn’t have to do that,” She whispered, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

“Yes I did,” he breathed out. Y/n tried to hand him the blazer, but it was quickly draped around her again, this time, over her shoulders. She smiled as he rubbed the fabric up and down her arms. There was a faint smell of clean linen and stale coffee. It was uniquely Ryland, like the scent only existed for him. She had been mostly protected from the rain, and she didn’t really need dried off, but she let him do it.

His glasses had little drops of water on them, sliding down the lens and onto the floor. His hair was completely soaked, dripping down his face steadily onto his clothes, which had been thoroughly drenched. Yet here he was, drying her off. The whole world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them as Ryland pulled the blazer off of her and wrapped his knit sweater around her. The sleeves were too long for her, but she pushed them back slightly, freeing her hands. The soft fabric brushed his arm as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, Y/n waited with baited breath. 

“Miss Y/n?” A tiny hand pulled on the sweater and Y/n reluctantly pulled her eyes away from Ryland’s. 

Ryland felt his mouth shut quickly, suddenly very aware of where he was. He looked over at his students, who were smirking and looking away. Because that's what he needed, a class of middle schoolers noticing his awkward crush on the nicest woman in the world. 

He tried looking anywhere else. The pattern of the floors was suddenly riveting. His gaze snapped back to Y/n as she turned on a movie and told the class to watch quietly and eat their lunches. He turned the lights off and made his way to the back of the classroom, sitting on a tiny table. Y/n sat next to him, tupperware in hand, pink sticky note still on top. She handed it to him wordlessly, the air around them full and comforting. He opened the container as Y/n started eating her lunch next to him. 

“Banana bread?” He whispered excitedly. “You didn’t!” 

Y/n smiled, and she was overjoyed that the lights were off and he wouldn’t be able to see the way that her cheeks flushed. “Of course I did. You said it was your favorite.” Ryland leaned back in the chair slightly and started eating quietly, eyes trained on the students in front of him. 

He let his hand settle on the table beneath him, slowly letting it drift closer to Y/n’s until his hand was ghosting hers. Y/n didn’t look away from the kids as she carefully shifted so her hand was pressed against his, trying to get him to just take a hint already. 

He let his fingers delicately trace over her knuckles before hooking his pinky under her hand and flipping it gently so it rested in his. It was slow, and a little clumsy, but it was also warm. Solid. 

Ryland could feel the quickening thump of his heart against his chest. His throat was dry and he was suddenly very nervous that his hand was going to start sweating. 

The thoughts were subdued when Y/n brushed her thumb over his knuckles, trying to memorize every ridge, every valley. He looked down where they were joined together. A small smile graced his features and he went back to watching the kids. 

Lunch was over too soon in his humble opinion. In reality, they had actually gone fifteen minutes over because Y/n didn’t want to let go of Ryland’s hand. Only two more hours before he had to leave, and he tried to push the thought away, like not thinking about it delayed the inevitable. He took his place at the front of the room as Y/n settled her students into their seats. 

“Alright you guys! Who’s excited to learn about space?” Every little hand shot into the air. 

He uncapped an expo marker and started asking questions. “Who knows what is in the middle of the solar system?” A middle schooler started whispering into her kindergartener’s ear. The five year old jumped up frantically, waving her hand in the air. 

“I know! I know!” 

“Tell me, Amaya!” 

“The sun!” 

“Good job! Yes! The Sun is in the middle of our solar system! Everything goes in circles around it.” He drew a sun on the whiteboard. “Alright, Amaya, I need your help now.” 

Amaya looked over at Y/n for reassurance. After receiving a nod of approval, Amaya walked to the tall teacher. 

“Okay. Amaya, you are the sun. You’re gonna stand right here.” He gave her a high five as she stood where she was told to. 

“Who knows what planet is closest to the Sun?” 

There was more whispering. Then more voices shouting out ‘I know’ and ‘Me! Me!’. 

“What is it, Jack?” 

“Mercury!” 

“Good job! Come on up!” Ryland added another circle to the board. “Okay, Jack. You're gonna go in a circle around Amaya, and you’re the fastest planet in the solar system! So go! Faster! Faster!” The class erupted into giggles. 

“What comes after Mercury?” He didn’t have to wait this time. “Which planet is it, Claire?” 

“Uh, Venus?” 

“Venus is right!” Claire didn’t wait for permission before walking to the front. “Okay Claire, you have to walk in a circle too, but you’re very slow,” He said, dragging out the last part of the sentence. Claire started marching in slow motion around Jack. Laughter again. 

He continued on until he had an entire solar system of kindergarteners running around the space. Y/n watched as he laughed with the kids and inevitably started to ramble about how technically Max, the Earth stand-in, was moving slightly too fast for this example to be realistic. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Ryland glanced over and shot her a grin. 

He finally settles them down and returns everyone to their seats. Y/n watched him for a moment longer before remembering the coloring sheets in her hand. 

They sat together at her desk once the kids started coloring together. “I don’t think they’ve ever had that much fun during science,” Y/n said, her voice sincere, with a hint of something more. God, Ryland hoped he wasn’t imagining it. 

“I don’t know about that,” He said, his gaze flicking quickly to her lips and back up to her eyes. Y/n noticed. Her cheeks heated up and her eyes shifted to the ground, remembering quickly that they were still working. 

Ryland wanted to die. He looked up at the ceiling and wished that it would fall on him. He was saved from the awkwardness when a voice called his name. 

“Mr. Grace,” A teary eyed Amaya approached him with her coloring page in her grasp. He was moving before he realized it, crouching down so he was eye level with her. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He held his palm out and let her grab it with her small hand. She sniffled and Y/n felt her breath get caught in her throat at the interaction. The way his eyes scanned Amaya for something wrong. The way he subconsciously made her feel seen. The way he knew to hold out his calloused hand. It all caused something to bubble under the surface. 

“I messed up my drawing,” she mumbled, showing him the paper. Ryland looked at the page and then back at the small girl. 

“Messed up? I don’t see anything wrong!” He said, embellishing his confusion slightly. 

“Saturn isn’t supposed to be pink,” She sniffled again and let out a small, sad sigh that made Ryland want to tear up a little. 

“Well you know what?” He asked, looking at the girl holding his hand. 

“What?” 

“I think pink is the best color anyway. I think that Saturn looks better in pink than any other color.” 

Amaya cracked a small smile. “Pink is your favorite color?” 

Ryland beamed back. “Well, I don’t know, orange is pretty cool, but pink is too.” 

Amaya giggled and let go of Ryland’s hand, bouncing back to her seat. He stayed crouched on the ground, watching her go back to her seat for a while longer. 

It was at this moment that Y/n subconsciously noticed how strong his shoulders looked through his still damp shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right places. She shook her head as he stood up, like it would remove the thought from her brain. 

“You’re really good with them, you know.” Her voice was quieter. It sent a warm tingle down Ryland’s spine. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. 

Y/n giggled and looked back at the students. He opened his mouth to try again. 

“Well, statistically speaking, it’s easier to induce dopamine at that developmental stage.” He noticed the way her lips curved into a smirk and her eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. “Their baseline for excitement is much lower than in adults, so small achievements tend to produce disproportionally strong reactions. So like,” He took a breath, realizing he was still staring at her lips, and moved his eyes to meet hers. “High return on minimal input situation.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and laughed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “That was a lot of words to say that I was right.” He smiled and pressed his shoulder into hers. 

They sat together until Y/n went up to give the next instructions. Her eyes kept wandering over to his frame, sitting in a tiny, blue chair meant for a five year old. The older kids helped their kindergarten partners put their things away and start their reading work. 

Y/n started picking up markers that had fallen on the floor. Ryland followed suit. He stopped at Amaya’s seat, noticing how Saturn was bright pink with orange rings around it. He smiled softly and went to pick up the orange marker at the same time that Y/n did. Their fingers brushed, and at first Ryland pulled back, startled by her presence, letting out a quiet gasp. 

Y/n let out a small giggle, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. He rolled his eyes at her laughter, but smiled despite himself. They cleaned up quietly, enjoying the last moments together. 

“Alright, kinders! Let’s say bye to our middle schoolers!” Y/n said as the eighth graders lined up with their bags. 

“Bye!” The class shouted. The middle schoolers waved and filed out of the room, Ryland hesitated outside the door. Y/n stood in the doorway, wanting to see him as long as she could before closing the door. 

He turned from Y/n to his class. “Start walking to the bus, I’ll meet you there. Gotta ask Miss Y/n what grade you guys should get.” The class groaned but started walking anyway. 

He turned back to Y/n. “I uh,” what was he doing? This was a terrible idea. “I, well, you,”

Y/n smiled and he completely forgot whatever it was he was trying to spit out. In a moment of foolish bravery, his mouth moved faster than his brain. 

“Would you want to go out with me?” He breathed out. 

Y/n smiled, looking at the ground, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked back up at him, cheeks flushed. “I’d love to.” 

He let out a sigh of relief. There was something about the way she looked at him. The way her eyes flitted down to his lips and then back to his eyes. He forgot himself for a moment. His lips went crashing into hers. It was a little clumsy, and a little rushed, but his lips were soft, and molded nicely with hers. 

He pulled away, breathless, eyes a little wild. Y/n leaned against the door, not registering the students behind her talking and coloring. 

“I‘ll see you later,” he mumbled as he walked backwards, eyes still trained on Y/n. He stumbled only twice before he turned around and walked towards the school bus waiting for him in the rain. 

He was startled as he climbed on board and was greeted with applause. 

“Yeah! Get it Mr. Grace!” 

“Finally did it!”

“You wanted her so bad!” 

“It was like an awkward nerdy soap opera!”

He told her that he worked security for a discrete company. That he had a strange schedule. That he traveled a lot for work and it was unpredictable. He told her that sometimes trips take a little bit longer than he expected. When he would show up at her apartment, covered in cuts and bruises, he simply told her that the job had gone sideways, or a training session got a little too heated. Apart from his job, his shady past, and his awful childhood, he was honest with her. These were the only lies he told her. 

Fitzroy knew about his agent’s predicament. Six didn’t say anything, but it was evident. He was far more careful on jobs. He was more calculated. More risk averse. He wouldn’t take the shot if there was any chance of collateral. He was different. Fitz only warned him to be aware of the risks. 

He knew that he was putting everything at risk. He was putting himself in harm's way. If anyone ever found out about her, they could track her down, use her for leverage, and he would have to choose between taking the bait and doing his job. He was putting the agency at risk. If she found out the truth, would she be able to keep it secret? He trusted her with his life, however, people become unpredictable when they learn about something significant. Worst of all, he was putting Y/n at risk. There were plenty of people who wanted to kill him. They wouldn’t hesitate to use her, or worse, to get to him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to her. 

But she made him feel so… he didn’t know the word for it. It was a foreign feeling. He wasn’t Six when he was with her. He wasn’t this highly trained, skilled assassin who killed people for a living. He wasn’t expendable. He wasn’t a weapon. 

He was normal, at least that's what he told himself. He found himself doing things around her apartment often. Changing batteries in the smoke alarm. Fixing the cabinet door that kept falling off the hinge. Filling her car with gas. Putting the dishes away. He liked it. It made him feel useful. 

His favorite thing, however, was being with Y/n, shocker. Whether she was reading on the couch and he was sitting next to her, or she was holding his hand tugging him through crowded streets in the city as he pulled a baseball cap low to cover his face. It didn’t matter. He found himself laughing far more frequently than normal, which wasn’t a lot but to him it felt almost excessive. He couldn’t get rid of the small smile that crawled up his lips when he was with her. 

He loved her. That’s what it was. He didn’t say it, he wasn’t sure how, but he showed it best he could with his actions. And he knew that she loved him. He knew it after he knocked on her door at nearly one in the morning, cuts all over his face and arms. 

The cuts on his face were minor, but the gash on his right arm would be too difficult to fix with only one hand, and there was no way he was going to a hospital. He had no alternative. She opened the door, and she looked exasperated, but her expression softened when she took in his figure. 

“Oh, Court,” She whispered. She grabbed his hand and led him inside. She stitched him up without hesitation. She never pressed for details, knowing he likely wouldn’t divulge them anyway. She finished up as he let out a small grunt of pain. His eyes were shut as he regained control of his breathing. By the time he reopened them, she was in front of him, a box of bandaids in hand. She tilted his chin up so she could get a better look at him and went to work. 

He studied her face as she cleaned him up, muttering small apologies when she cleaned the cut with an alcohol wipe. Her eyes were tired but there was something else seeping through the exhaustion. It was deeper than how she normally looked at him. He was sure it was the same look he gave to her. Love. She loved him. 

She smoothed down the last bandaid and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. He leaned in to the touch subconsciously. He snaked his un injured arm around her middle and let his head rest against her stomach as she ran gentle finger tips down his back. He could have stayed in that moment forever. But as he had learned long ago, nothing good can stay. 

He was returning from a job. He had gotten out relatively unscathed. The farmers market was in town and he knew that she was going to drag him out to it. He arrived at the apartment, ready to feign annoyance about being pulled through a market, but something was very wrong. He heard a crash from inside and the door was open, the frame was damaged, like someone had forced it open. Shit. 

He could hear scuffling feet and the sounds of muffled yelling. He went in without hesitating. In the kitchen were two men, one holding Y/n by her arms, the other covering her mouth with his hands. 

“Shut up, lady! We want you alive, but the plan can work with you dead if you’d like!” The one holding her arms said, his voice low and dangerous. 

Both men were so focused on restraining the woman that they failed to notice the looming shadow of the Sierra agent. Six swept the legs of the one holding her mouth, and shoved him into the counter before he hit the ground. The offender slammed his head on the counter and fell unconscious on the floor. 

“Not another move! I swear I’ll kill her!” The other one yelled, now welding a knife in his hand, his other arm around Y/n’s neck. Y/n looked at Court, her eyes pleading. Six took a step back. 

“You weren’t expecting this, were you Six?” Six felt his jaw set as he subtly glanced around the kitchen. The man holding Y/n was talking too much to notice that Six was reaching for the knife in his back pocket. “It’s a shame, really, that the agency didn’t protect her.” He continued. “I mean, with CIA level resources you’d think that they could manage a stronger door for her apartment. You didn’t think you could keep the secret for this long di-” 

His words were cut short as Six threw the knife at the cabinet, the handle ricochetting off the door and lodging in the base of the kidnapper’s skull. His arm loosened around Y/n, but as he fell he nicked her with his knife. It was tiny, hardly noticeable, but Court saw it. 

She was still frozen in place, trying to make sense of everything happening around her when he crossed the room to inspect her arm. This was not her Court. This wasn’t the man who let her lay on top of him on the couch. This wasn’t the man who changed the batteries in the smoke detectors. This man was different. Calculated. Swift. Not Court. 

“Minor scrape,” He mumbled, and he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the box of bandaids. He handed it to her and retrieved his knife from the dead man’s head. The dead man who was bleeding all over her kitchen. 

Y/n’s eyes followed Court as he grabbed a chair and wedged it under the front door handle. His eyes kept darting around, looking at the windows, the doorways, anywhere that someone could jump out and attack. After inspecting the entire apartment, he reappeared in the kitchen. 

“Okay, we have maybe three minutes before we need to get out of here. Go pack a bag quickly, only things you need.” He said. His voice was different. Colder. Sharper. 

Y/n silently obeyed his orders and packed a duffle bag with clothes, the book off her nightstand, and her wallet. She left her favorite perfume on the bathroom counter. Her jewelry was abandoned in the box on her dresser. Her records remained on the shelf. Pictures left behind scattered throughout the house. Court grabbed the duffle from her hands and slung it over his shoulder. With his knife in hand, he led her out of the apartment and to a car with tinted windows. 

The drive had been mostly silent. Y/n had been quietly crying and trying to figure out what was happening. Court didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t keep lying to her. Not anymore. But he also couldn’t tell her the truth. After nearly an hour of silence, Y/n spoke up. 

“Who are you? Really.” She asked, her voice was quiet and fractured. It stung. 

He inhaled sharply. “Sierra Six. I work as an operative for the government.” He didn’t elaborate. Y/n didn’t ask. The silence was swallowing him whole. The rest of the ride was uncomfortable and heavy. 

Court parked the car in front of a large house. He said nothing as he climbed out of the car. Y/n sat there, staring at the dashboard. He watched her for a moment before closing the driver door and approaching the front door that had already swung open. Y/n watched as the man she thought she knew shook hands with an older man. Court- Six, gestured to the car and talked for what felt like forever. In reality it was only a minute. 

Soon, Six was returning to the car. He pulled her bag out of the back seat and opened her door. She made no move to exit the vehicle. He chewed his gum nervously and waited before opening his mouth. “C’mon.” That was all he said. It wasn’t as cold as before, but it wasn’t an option either. Reluctantly, Y/n climbed out of the car and followed him to the front door. 

The following weeks were terrible. He knew she was angry. Who wouldn’t be? He was expecting yelling, shouting, and her throwing things at his head. That would have been preferable to what actually happened. Instead of yelling, she was quiet. She spoke only when spoken to, and that only applied to Claire and Fitzroy. When he spoke, he received nothing. However, he usually didn’t even get to open his mouth before she left the room. 

She couldn’t even look at him. On the rare occasion that she did, she looked at him like he was a stranger. She looked at him like she had no clue who he was. Which, to be fair, she really didn’t. He hated himself for what he had done. He wished he could take it back, wished he could-

“Would you stop staring at her like a kicked puppy?” Claire’s voice cut through his spiral. He looked over at the girl with a look that would normally shut people up. However, Claire didn’t notice or care. “It’s actually really embarrassing for me to be around you when you’re acting like this.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I do not stare after her.” 

“Yes you do.” 

“Do not.” 

“Do too.” 

“Do-”

“Children.” Fitz’ voice cut through the room. “Stop fighting.” 

“Look, Six, I’m just saying man up and fix it!” 

“It’s not that simple Claire,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Sure it is, just apologize for being an idiot and lying to her.” Claire was talking with that voice that all teenagers use when they’re convinced they’re right. The only issue was, Claire was right, kind of. Before he could argue, Claire left the room. 

Court huffed and spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about how he could fix this. He was trained to kill. To cause pain. To destroy. He had no clue how to fix things.

 It was late when he finally found Y/n. She was laying on the couch, blanket pulled up around her shoulders. Her eyes were closed so Court assumed she had fallen asleep. It happened pretty frequently before. They would be laying on the couch, book in hand, Court laying underneath her. Her eyes would start to slowly close, the book would fall limp in her hand. He would sit there for a few extra minutes, lavishing in the closeness, the vulnerability. But that was gone now. Now there was a wall. 

He picked her up, one arm supporting her knees the other holding her shoulders. Her head fell into his chest and he felt something gnaw at the pit of his stomach, call it what you will, guilt, loathing. Court silently carried her into her room and set her down on the bed, pulling the blanket up around her. He felt stuck. Part of him wanted to leave. To give Y/n her life back, without him in it. He wanted to run out the door and never look back. That's what he was trained to do. But another part of him, a quieter part of him, wanted to stay. 

He wasn’t sure what made him do it, what made him open his mouth. Maybe just the fact that she couldn’t leave the room and ignore him in her unconscious state. Whatever it was, he started talking. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” He mumbled. His voice was rough. He started toying with the hem of his sleeve as he stared at the gray carpet. 

He almost stopped there. But Y/n didn’t move, so neither did he. “I shouldn't've put you at risk.” He felt like an idiot. “But I did.” He watched the steady rise and fall of Y/n’s shoulders as she slept. “If I could take it back, I would.” His voice grew quieter, softer. His voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. “I’m sorry.” 

The slow, muted footsteps out of her room let Y/n know that Court had left. She finally let the silent tears fall. It was killing him as much as it was killing her. 

The next morning, Court was walking around the premises. Every window was checked, every entrypoint inspected. He walked into the kitchen and found Y/n leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee. Y/n wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t as somber as she usually looked. His eyes swept over her figure and she made eye contact. She looked away and Court assumed she was leaving the room. That was the new normal, after all. He felt the shock cover his face, however, when Y/n turned back around and silently handed him a cup of coffee. She looked up at him, her eyes no longer holding sorrow and anger. There was a flicker of something. Not hope. Not understanding. It’s softer than any look he’s received from her the past few weeks. It's the first time her eyes aren’t drowning in hurt. 

“Thanks,” He mumbled, voice low and coarse. 

Y/n nodded her head and left the room, Court’s eyes following her until she was out of sight. 

Court found Claire sitting outside, pretending she hadn’t just watched the whole interaction from the sliding glass door. He sat down on the ground next to her, cup of coffee still in hand. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forearm across them. 

“Embarrassing,” Claire muttered with a roll of her eyes as she played a game on her phone. Court ignored her.

“Theoretically,” He started, unsure of how to ask what he was about to ask. “If I wanted to talk to her,” He was looking ahead, his gaze going everywhere and nowhere. “What would I say?” 

Claire set her phone down and looked at him, really looked at him. He didn’t seem like Six. In fact he hadn’t seemed like Six since he had shown up at the Fitzroy house. 

“You’re not very good at this whole boyfriend thing, are you?” She questioned, trying to rile him up. It didn’t work. His eyes stayed fixated on the clouds. “Well, if you already told her the truth, and you already said sorry,”  She trailed off, thinking of ways to help her older brother figure fix his relationship. “Have you tried talking to her like a real person?” 

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. “Yes.” 

“I don’t mean did you talk to her the way that you talk to people, I mean did you talk to her the way that a normal person would talk to another normal person? Y’know, feelings, all those things your brain doesn’t have?” 

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. 

“Just talk to her like she’s a person, not a mission objective.” 

“I don’t do that.” 

“Yes you do. Look, just tell her you care about her.” Claire was growing frustrated. He really was an idiot sometimes. 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Do you care about her?” Now it was Claire’s turn to give him the look. He knew the answer, but he didn’t know how to say it. 

“Yes.” 

“Then tell her. You don’t have to make it weird, y’know, like you are right now. Just say it in your own way.” 

“I don’t say things like that.” 

“Then start.” Claire said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. And to anyone else it probably was. “She made you coffee. She doesn’t hate you. She cares about you. Don’t screw it up.” 

Ryland couldn’t walk past Y/n without letting his eyes linger a little too long, or without immediately snapping his gaze to the ground and bumping into doorways. He felt as idiotic as the middle schoolers he taught. It was painfully obvious to most people that Ryland Grace was completely head over heels. Including his middle school students. 

“Mr. Grace,” A student started. Ryland was teaching seventh grade biology. “If mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, does that make Ms. Y/n the mitochondria of your heart?” Boisterous laughter erupted in the classroom as Ryland halted in his steps. He was grateful to be facing the board and not the students because they would certainly ridicule him if they saw how red his face was. He was torn between explaining how inappropriate that statement was and just taking behaviour points away. He hesitated too long. 

“Mr. Grace!” Another student yelled out. Oh no. “It’s like you’re a microscope and she’s a microorganism with the way you focus on her all day long!”

He turned and clapped his hands together. “Alright guys let’s get back on tra-”

“I bet you wish she was an enzyme and you were a DNA helicase so that you could unzip her genes!” 

Death. Death would be preferable to this conversation. 

“Jeff! Not appropriate!” He had lost them. 

“Mr. Grace is drawn to her like an electron to a proton!” 

Ryland huffed out a sigh and sat on his desk. He rubbed his temples and, after a moment, put his hand in the air to signal them to stop. The laughter died down after a minute. 

He took a breath, not sure how to address the class. “Look, guys, you- I mean-  I can’t- you can’t make jokes like that. It’s not appropriate. Now can we get back to the lesson?” 

He stood up and was about to resume teaching when yet another student opened her mouth. “C’mon Mr. Grace, we just wanted to have some fun!” 

“How is this fun for you?” 

“We already finished the quiz anyway! We’re ahead in the work!” 

“And I’d like to keep it that way,” He retorted. He was uncapping his marker when the whispers started. He groaned in frustration and turned around. He shoved the lid back on his marker, grabbed the stool that sat near his desk, and plopped it in front of his cluttered desk. “Class ends in five minutes. You have until then to talk.” He announced as he sat on the stool, his feet propped on the bars. 

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” One student asked. 

Ryland stared up at the fluorescent lights, wishing to be one of the likely burned alive insects trapped in them. “Because, we are just friends.” 

The class groaned. 

“Oh come on, it’s obvious!” One student shouted. 

“Yeah! Both of you like each other!” Another chimed in. Now that caught him off guard. Surely she didn’t like him back. However he couldn’t let the shock spill out onto his face. 

“Guys, sometimes men and women just want to be friends, that's okay.” 

“Sure, but you don’t want to be friends.” 

The bee. He wanted to be the dead bee that was closest to the light that killed it. One little zap. 

“I think you should ask her out.” 

A chorus of yeah’s echoed through the room. 

“What’s the worst that happens?”

“The worst that happens?” He snorted. “Worst case scenario would be that I give everyone an F in this class.” 

“That’s a risk we’re willing to take.” Before anything else could be said, the bell rang. The door opened and the kids poured out of the building. 

Ryland was walking down the hall towards the exit when he saw Y/n exit her classroom. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her figure. She smiled as she saw him. He was nearing her classroom and replaying everything that was said in his last class period. 

Y/n opened her mouth to say something, but a student ran into her, sending her tumbling towards the ground. Y/n braced for an impact that never came. Her fall was cut short by one nerdy science teacher reaching his arm out and catching her. He lifted his arm until she was upright. She was catching her breath as Ryland looked into her eyes. They were prettier than he remembered. He suddenly felt very brave, a rare occurrence for him. In fact it was this same bravery that typically ended with him flat on his face. With his hand still on the small of her back, he looked into her eyes and mumbled, “You must be a spliceosome, cause you make my life’s exons come together perfectly.” 

Y/n giggled and felt her cheeks heat up. “Why, Mr. Grace,” She teased, and Ryland immediately thought he misread the situation. He was doomed. “Are you flirting with me?” 

He hesitated. “Yes?” He felt hot. His hand was sweaty. Could she feel how sweaty his hand was through her shirt? He hoped not. 

Y/n smiled up at him. “Took you long enough.” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I was beginning to think I would have to spell it out for you. Like with very small words, and maybe a few diagrams.” He smiled as his body relaxed. 

I Love You So ⋆⭒˚ court had no idea how much he loves being wanted