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𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: just some separate nsfw scenarios w/ the big three i.e ryland grace, sierra six, and holland march
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: ryland’s warnings: somnophilia (pre-discussed so consent is there) | six’s warnings: exhibitionism (makes sense with the plot i swear), possessiveness | holland’s warnings: bondage w/ a belt, themes of an age-gap, smoke-swapping (hehehe)
𝐀 / 𝐍: im pretty torn on if i wanna post full-fledged fics for other rygos characters, so consider this my soft (rather, hard) launch mwahahah
ᯓ✦∘˙ RYLAND GRACE . . .
“Goodnight, Ry.” You leaned over, momentarily out of his grip as you flicked the bedside lamp off; darkness quickly swallowing the whole room as you settled back into his embrace.
His head was laid gently against your shoulder, hugging you from behind as he began peppering tiny kisses against the exposed skin, eliciting a pleasant sigh from your mouth as you settled down, ready to drift off into sleep. It wasn’t until his kisses became slower, more sensual, that you realised what he was trying to initiate.
“Ry.” You spoke sternly, a tone like you were scolding him.
“Hm?” He hummed innocently, pulling himself back from your neck as he began to fiddle with the hem of the pyjama shirt you were wearing.
“I’m tired, honey.” You sighed deeply, feeling a little deflated for rejecting the man. It wasn’t often that Ryland initiated sex, maybe once a month he made the first move himself, probably in fear of being shot-down like he just had. “Listen, wake me up before you leave for work, okay? We can sort something out.”
“Hey no, It’s okay you don’t have to—“ Ryland seemed to stop himself mid-sentence, imagination probably trailing off to the most wonderful places as he realised just how hard he was; a problem that would keep pestering him until he was able to get his release the way he wanted. “I’ll wake you up in the morning.”
The last part came out a little embarrassed, making you sleepily chuckle, now drifting off into a deep sleep.
Ryland had taken it upon himself to get up a little earlier that morning, allowing himself longer than usual in bed with you; Ryland wasn’t so much a fan of quickies, he liked to take his time, staring down at your face while he pleasured you. He could stay there forever.
Mindlessly, his fingers began fiddling with the hem of your underwear; pulling it and letting it gently smack back against your skin as he waited to see if you’d stir awake from the motion, sighing deeply when you didn’t. He didn’t really want to disturb you in that way, shaking you awake so you could have sex with him, something about it felt wrong to him — like everything was all about him, and he never wanted it to be that way.
He pondered for a moment, wondering how he could make it about you before his fingers paused against the hem of your underwear, an idea quickly coming to light. His fingers gently tucked themselves inside your underwear, flexing his wrist slightly to allow more precision as he pressed two fingers against the most sensitive part of you.
He shuffled upwards slightly, head coming to rest on your shoulder like it did the previous night; his fingers now softly circling, lips kissing up your neck. He noticed how your breathing seemed to speed up in your sleep, letting out a tiny whimper that caused his mouth to drop open, astounded at the effect you had on him just from making such a small noise.
He felt you growing wetter underneath his touch as you finally began to stir awake, a moan of his name leaving your lips.
“This is new.” Ryland could hear the smile on your face, peering over at you to catch a glimpse of it as you instinctively leaned back into him.
“Do you like it?”
He watched as you began to nod incessantly, mirroring the smile you were wearing perfectly as he shifted his focus back to his movements, intent on having you fall apart beneath his touch.
“Wanted to wake you up all nice and gentle like you deserve, baby.” His voice was raspy, feeling how when he circled over a spot your back arched up into him in a silent piece of reassurance he was doing a good job.
His fingers slowly began to speed up their circling, enjoying how you twitched into him, louder moans of his name now falling from your lips — repeating his name like a mantra, over and over again until his head started to spin.
“Mm, turn over. C’mere.” Ryland placed a strong-hand against your shoulder, pushing down on the skin to get you to lay flat on your back, quickly manoeuvring himself on top of you.
His lips caught yours in a passionate kiss, removing his hand from inside your underwear to slide the garment down your leg, discarding it near the bottom of the bed somewhere; his hand now trailing back up to your thigh as he sat upwards, settling himself inbetween you.
His hands gently steadied your legs over his shoulders, using his grip on the limbs to pull you closer to him as he begun lining himself up. Your hair splayed out majestically against the white-pillows, messing up in all the ways he enjoyed.
He entered you with a gasp, carefully pushing himself as deep as he could go before his posture faltered for a moment; feeling how your walls squeezed around him, shuddering at the greeting.
Ryland moaned out in a mix of desperation and relief as he begun thrusting in and out of you, intently watching every twist of your face, how your eyes were squeezed shut, mouth hanging open as noises slipped out every so often.
Wanting more contact, your hands begin gently grabbing at the air while you tried to reach him, eventually giving up with a whine. Ryland leant down closer to you, accidentally pushing himself impossibly deeper with a guttural groan.
He watched how your head shot back instantly, one of your legs spasming involuntarily on his shoulder as you let out your loudest moan yet.
“Geez.” He seethed through gritted-teeth, eyes shut as he cocked his head in pleasure, feeling your fingers now threading through his messy locks.
He acknowledged how you begin bucking your hips at him, a silent begging for him to resume his pace. And who was he to say no?
With the added pleasure of your fingers tangled in his hair, Ryland began thrusting just like before, his eyes locked on yours, which were now looking up at him in pure bliss.
“Ry— I’m really— I’m gonna—“
“I hear you, baby. Come on, let me feel it.” He encouraged in a tone that made your head spin, orgasm hitting you like a truck as he talked you all the way through it, barely even audible over the sounds of your repeated moaning.
Ryland finished as soon as you did, the squeeze proving all too much for him to keep it together. He pulled out of you slowly, carefully bringing your shaking legs to return to the comfort of the mattress as he collapsed next to you — his chest heaving.
“Feelin’ loud this morning, huh?” He joked, turning his head to face your annoyed expression.
“You better look the other way before I smack you in the face.”
ᯓ✦∘˙ SIERRA SIX . . .
“No, we’re not doing that, follow me.”
Six’s deep, authoritative tone echoed through your ears despite the overwhelming chatter of the crowd. His hand was wrapped tightly around your wrist, tugging you over to a dimly-lit corner of the room, growing further and further away from the target you were assigned to be uncomfortably close to by now.
Six was protective, he never wanted you to be in the line of danger, but most of all — he wasn’t a fan of sharing.
The agency had instructed you to seduce the target by any means possible: flirting, touching, nothing seemed to be off-limits to gain further insight into the mystery man. They hoped that you’d do just enough for him to trail after you upon leaving the party, allowing you and Six a perfect ambush.
Six was deployed as a fail-safe, a strong presence looming close, just in case anything were to go south with the mission.
However, for an agency that prides themselves on intel, they certainly hadn’t realised the sexual nature of your relationship with Six. The long nights in dingy hotel rooms, screaming his name until the sun came up, until your voice had given out — words coming out like a broken whisper by the time he was satisfied.
Six leaned suavely against a nook in the wall, a doorway space, but he leant on the leftmost wall; strategically placing himself in-line with the target’s vision as he held up two fingers, motioning for you to come closer to him.
He offered you a small nod of reassurance as he shifted one of his legs to extend outward, his combat boot planted firmly against the hard-wood floor whilst he flexed the muscle of his thigh. Six watched your expression carefully as he snaked his hands around your back, pulling you to hover just above his thigh.
“Do you trust me?” He spoke lowly in your ear, voice gruff and raspy as he fiddled with the hem of the short-dress the agency had provided for you, rubbing the silk material gently between his fingers as if it were a compulsion.
“Always.” All the oxygen had already left your body, breathless as you realised what he had planned, how he was going to get the target’s attention. In front of all these other unsuspecting party-goers who would catch quite a sight if they were to look over.
“Put your head on my right shoulder. He’s by the bar. Make sure he sees you looking at him.”
You obliged swiftly, laying the side of your cheek to rest against his shoulder as your eyes settled on the target, currently nursing a whiskey the bar staff had just handed him.
Six’s hands trailed from your back to your hips, quickly flipping your dress up for a moment as you settled against his thigh. As fast as he flipped it up, he flipped it back down, letting the material fall gently against his knee as your dampening underwear began to soak the harsh material of his jeans.
Whilst your head lay gently on his shoulder, strategically blocking his face from vision; his head was craned towards you, lips lingering just inches away from your ear.
Six guided your hips in a slow rhythm, pulling you up and down against his thigh as a string of small moans began falling from your lips at the friction — your body gently twitching into him.
The target’s eyes began to wander aimlessly around the room, scanning for nothing in particular until his eye-line began to trail in the direction of you and Six. If he continued following his current direction, his eyes would settle on the two of you, mainly you.
Quickly, you flinched away before his eyes could reach, trying to make it as subtle as you could when you absentmindedly happened to glance over at him whilst grinding down against Six’s muscular thigh, mouth agape ever so slightly.
In the moment that Six began bouncing his leg, you felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of your head, as if trying to melt straight through the bone in your skull. A louder moan fell from your lips, flipping your hair in a performance for your eyes to fall directly on the target, meeting his perverted gaze in feigned surprise.
A small smirk was tugging against the corner of his lips as you smiled coyly, making sure your eyes stared dead into his, locked in a gaze of seduction. Your left hand, out of vision, began to tap twice against Six’s side in an attempt to alert him that the target was looking.
“He lookin’ at you?”
You tapped twice again as confirmation, listening as he hummed in response, now muttering all sorts of husky praises in your ear to turn you on even more; in concordance, contorting your facial expressions in a way he knew would captivate the target. His words, mixed with the flexing of his thigh, pushed you further over the edge — the familiar knot beginning to tie itself in your stomach, now desperately chasing your high against his jeans.
“I bet he wants to touch you so bad, but he can’t, can he?” Six muttered in a condescending tone, teeth grazing against the soft skin of your earlobe as he pushed you impossibly further onto his thigh. “Cause you’re all mine, and you know it.”
Your eyes began to flutter closed, the feeling in your stomach growing more intense as it seemed to rock through your whole body.
“Look at me when you cum. It’ll drive him crazy.” Six instructed, feeling how your hips stuttered against his thigh, how your breathing became even more ragged by the second, trying to keep up with your own orgasm.
Finally, you offered a knowing smile to the target before pulling back to face Six, who now had his head leant against the wall behind him as he watched you come undone over his thigh; his hands on your hips not stuttering for even a second as your orgasm rattled through you, riding it out both metaphorically and physically.
Six allowed you a couple moments to recover before carefully loosening his grip on your hips, allowing you to get your bearings as you stood up slowly.
“Leave through the door next to him. I’ll be right behind you.”
Six watched as you nodded, easily sauntering through the crowd of people while honed-in on the target, who now came to stand up as you walked by.
Six was entranced, watching how your weight shifted from one hip to the other; strutting like a model, like this whole place was your runway — subtly offering a quick, lingering touch against the target’s hand as you walked outside.
Six smirked, watching how the target trailed close behind you like a lost puppy; eager for just an ounce of your attention.
In that moment, he realised he wasn’t all that different to the man.
ᯓ✦∘˙ HOLLAND MARCH . . .
“You sure you can handle me, old man?” You teased as Holland carefully walked you back toward his bed, the back of your knees coming in contact with its frame — toppling you back into the plush mattress.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll do just fine, sugar. Thanks for your concern.” He spat sarcastically, crawling himself on top of you as he leant down to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva and kisses wherever he went; your hands travelled gently down the front of his body, working on unbuckling his belt.
With an internal cheer of relief, you pulled the belt through its loops, ready to throw it somewhere on the floor until Holland harshly gripped at your wrist, your grip loosening at the contact.
The material slipped through your fingers as Holland smoothly took ownership of the belt as he retracted away from you for just a second.
He dangled the belt just beside his face, occasionally shooting a glance at it before glancing back to you, eyebrows suggestively raised in a silent question. He watched as your eyes darkened, a small smile now playing at your lips while he shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and complete arousal.
You offered your wrists out to him, already placing them just how he wanted them — both wrists now flush against each-other. The belt jingled quietly as he worked on wrapping it around your hands, quickly tugging on it to make sure it was tight enough to resist your attempts to break-free. Though, you didn’t particularly want to be free of the belt, at least for now.
Holland’s large hand enclosed over yours as he leaned over you again, pressing your two hands into the wall just above his headboard.
“Keep ‘em there.” He demanded, now working on undressing every inch of you, not just with his eyes, but physically too.
Your clothes were soon discarded along his bedroom floor, strung out in a way that felt almost poetic. Holland leant over to his bedside table for a moment, seemingly fiddling with something before holding a cigarette between his lips.
“Seriously? I’m naked on your bed and you’re thinking about cigarettes?” Holland flicked his lighter open, the flame gorgeously lighting up every inch of his face in a warm, comforting glow before returning the lighter to the bedside table; cigarette now lit.
He brought two fingers up to the cigarette, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly as he stared down at your impatient state.
“You ever smoke before?” He ignored your previous question, proposing another one.
“It’s the 70s. Everyone’s smoked before.” Your sass seemed to enlighten something within him, his free-hand snaking its way up your leg to settle in-between your thighs.
He gently ran a thick, rough finger through your folds — watching as your hips involuntarily bucked up into his touch, giving into you immediately as he pushed two fingers inside of you at once. Your breath hitched, a noise caught in your throat as Holland began pumping his fingers in and out of you.
He watched in a sense of amusement, noticing how you struggled against his fingers, trying to spit some sort of sarcastic remark that proved unable to leave your mouth.
He took another drag from the cigarette, an irresistible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his fingers never even faltered inside of you, in fact only growing faster by the second.
“Quiet now, I’ve noticed.” He pulled the cigarette from his lips proudly, cocking his head to watch as only small whispers of pleasure left your lips. The feeling he drew out of you was too much for your brain to even register, barely even letting a moan slip past your lips at the sudden assault on your senses.
Holland kept puffing on the cigarette until it was almost done, just watching as your body contorted, getting off so perfectly on just his fingers while he absentmindedly smoked at the same time. In fact, the sight of him turned you on even more.
Taking a final drag, he outstretched his arm to stub the cigarette out in the ash tray upon his bedside table. He finally leant down to hover his face above your own, tapping gently against your cheek; a signal to open your mouth.
All too willingly, you obliged as he grew impossibly close to you, his lips gently brushing against your own as he blew the smoke directly into your mouth — enjoying the scent of tobacco now filling his senses in all the right ways, watching how you inhaled the smoke before breathing it out again in a large sigh, his fingers curling themselves inside of you.
“You’re bad, you know that?” His free hand now came to caress your cheek, his knuckles grazing softly against your heated-cheeks, tinted a soft red colour.
The extra stimulation sent you reeling, still trying your best to keep your hands up as your arms began to ache in a way that was impossible to ignore. The sooner you came, the sooner he’d release your hands from the belt.
Your hips desperately bucked up against his fingers, riding them as he continued his relentless pace, feeling that familiar knot sitting deep, unavoidable in your stomach. Your moans progressed in their volume, now whimpering and whining in a way that dangerously inflated his ego.
In that moment, a shriek left your mouth; the dull ache in your arms, the movement of your hips, the pace of his fingers all became too much as the metaphorical coil inside of you snapped. Your hands accidentally smacked hard into the wall as you came, a force that would definitely leave a bruise when you woke up the next morning.
Holland smiled down at you proudly, his hands working on undoing the buckle of the belt, letting your arms now fall free either side of you as he gently massaged your hands — trying to soothe where you’d hurt yourself, wincing slightly as he did so.
The mix of fading pleasure and pain seemed to make you dizzy, eyelids softly fluttering shut as your head sank further into the pillow; enjoying the warmth, the cushion of the material behind your head.
“You’re stayin’ the night, I assume.” Holland chuckled, his hand coming to annoyingly ruffle in your hair; creating knots you knew you’d have to untangle in the morning.
nook rivalry (ryland grace x gn!reader)
summary: when your little piece of heaven in the library is threatened, you take it personally aka your relationship with ryland has a rocky start
wc: 3.6k
cw: enemies to lovers trope with slightly arrogant asshole pre-teacher!ryland
a/n: so sorry this request took so long dear anon who requested it a billion years ago! It took quite a while to find an idea that I liked and even now, it uhhh feels like dookie :’) making ryland my enemy felt like making a field of flowers my enemy
You liked to think you were a pretty levelheaded person.
You made attempts to not let the little, mundane things in life bother you- things that wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Little blips to your day that were out of your control weren’t anything to lose sleep over.
However, Ryland Grace was an exception to your rule.
You didn’t know who he was or what he studied, nor did you care to find out.
In general, you were pleasant with everyone you crossed paths with and your first time meeting Ryland Grace wouldn’t have been any different from seeing any other random grad student if he hadn’t immediately pissed you off. To his credit, he didn’t even know he had done something to irk you and it hadn’t been his intention to be a thorn in your side- not at the beginning at least.
If you hadn’t already been having the worst day of your life (woke up late, missed bus and denied scholarship application, to name a few of the events that morning), maybe the two of you could’ve hit it off and been fast friends. He was probably nice enough and besides occasionally being a smartass, he had a good head on his shoulders. Smart, confident and easy on the eyes- all things that pointed to a person you could get along with.
So how had he immediately put himself on your shit list?
Well, he was sitting in your spot.
No, the little nook in the University’s library did not have your name on it, nor did it actually belong to you.
But you’d been sitting there, in the same sunny little spot of the library that you’d come to call the closest thing to heaven you’d experienced during your doctorate studies, every day since you began your research. After extensive lab work, you’d disappear into the almost always empty corner of the library to type up your findings for hours at a time.
No one had ever been in your nook before. Until Ryland Grace decided he wanted to sit there too.
You’d already had a day from hell so stumbling up to your spot midafternoon only to find that someone else had already claimed it with all of his stuff immediately infuriated you.
He seemed to be around your age, most likely working on his masters or PhD like you were. A spread of papers, books and packets were strewn over the desk surface, no apparent rhyme or reason to their organization. The guy was tapping away at a laptop where a huge spreadsheet of data was displayed, completely ignorant of your presence until you cleared your throat.
Any other day, you would’ve grumbled about it but found a different area to plant yourself for the night. But not that day. You were too irritated and too tired to let this dirtbag take away the last scrap of peace you would get until the sun set.
The blonde haired intruder jumped at your pointed grumble, pulling a pair of wired earbuds out of his ears and looking you up and down from his seat. You most definitely looked like a hundred miles of bad road but you couldn’t have cared less.
“You’re in my spot.”
The quirked brow he gave you had you seeing red.
“Pardon?”
“You’re in. My spot.”
He seemed at a loss for words, pointedly looking past you where you knew a slew of other perfectly empty desks sat. “Uh… can’t you go sit somewhere else?”
You ground your teeth together. “No.”
Gesturing to all of his stuff on the table, he shrugged in a half-assed apology. “Sorry, I’m pretty comfortable here and I’m kinda busy, so…”
The stare off the two of you had for several seconds was charged with tension. He wouldn’t back down and you didn’t want to either, but he had the advantage. He had already claimed your nook and if you went and complained to one of the library staff several floors down, they would look at you like you were crazy. Every spot in the library was first come first serve, you had no special claim to this specific spot.
So you moved. To a table very close to the one he occupied. And spent the better part of your evening glaring daggers at him.
He’d look up occasionally, meet your gaze and go back to his studies, like he wasn’t bothered at all. It sure bothered you that he was so nonchalant about everything. You could only watch with a sneer as the sun slowly set, bathing your perfect little nook in warm, golden sunlight and in turn making the messy jerk look ethereal while you were stuck in the library’s shadowy interior.
You’d been the one to leave first. It was late, you were exhausted and you had a 10 minute walk home in the dark. The stranger didn’t seem to be ready to leave at all, dutifully typing on his laptop and occasionally shuffling through the mess on the table for a notebook or sheet of paper marred with scribbles.
He’d looked up when you stood, giving you a smug grin that nearly had you flying into the booth to wring his neck. Unfortunately, there were laws against that so you just settled for a middle finger and left.
You thought that would be the end of it.
A one off encounter that you’d fume about for weeks and a man who you’d never see again. The university was big and hopefully you’d made your point that the spot was yours so he’d find somewhere new to study.
When you walked up to your spot the following day in much higher spirits, your good day shattered when you saw the familiar fluffy haired head over the back of the booth. He’d come again. And deliberately sat in your spot.
You decided right then and there that Ryland Grace was the bane of your existence.
For two weeks the man hogged your little piece of heaven. Try as you might to come earlier and claim it yourself before he could, he was always there. Did he ever do anything besides study? Did he eat? Did he sleep? Surely he didn’t spend the night at the library, but you wouldn’t put it past him to hide when the library staff shut the place down and stay until morning. The jerk would probably do that to be petty.
You could’ve found another spot. Surely there was another booth a floor up that was the exact same layout and would get just as much sun. But you refused out of principle. You wouldn’t let this asshole get his way. He wanted to sit in your spot? Fine. If your glares weren’t enough to deter him, you’d turn to another method to smoke him out.
The shocked face the man gave you when you slid into the booth opposite of him one day was worth every drop of fury you’d endured for those couple of weeks. His look of distress when you shoved all of his things to his half of the desk, leaving your half clean, was priceless.
“Hey! Why??”
“You want to sit in my spot? Fine. We’ll share.”
You began unpacking your things while the blonde tried to straighten out his. “You messed up my system!”
Neatly setting your own books on the desk and opening your laptop, you laughed incredulously. “That was your system?”
His scowl was searing. “Yes. I don’t expect you, of all people, to understand my method of madness.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
You’d parted ways very angry that day.
The next day, you did the same thing: sat opposite of him and pushed his things to his side. And the next. And the next. And the next. He slowly started to learn to keep his things on his half of the desk to save himself the trouble of ‘reorganizing’.
One time, you were surprised to find you’d beat Ryland to your nook and nearly jumped for joy. Finally! Your persistence must’ve paid off and he’d found somewhere else to plant himself. You were all smiles- up until a thick book was dropped onto the table, scaring you half to death, and that stupid messy mop of hair plopped into the booth with a smug grin. Said mop of hair then proceeded to give as good as he got; shoving your things from his side of the table back to your side.
Thus began your slightly hostile relationship with the man you eventually learned was molecular biology doctorate student, Ryland Grace (you read his name on one of the papers that snuck across the invisible line on the table).
For the most part, neither of you acknowledged each other during your joint study sessions- any conversation was clipped and tense. You didn’t try to learn anything about him and he made no effort to learn anything about you. In fact, you weren’t sure he even knew your name which was fine by you.
While you rarely conversed, there were small things you began learning about Ryland just by observation alone.
Number one, while he was studying molecular biology, he seemed to have a specific interest in the stars; life in regards to space and the possibility of life outside of our planet. You knew as much because he had this annoying habit of grumbling while he worked- speaking out loud and working through his thoughts verbally.
He also had a smorgasbord of space and science related stickers on the back of his laptop you occasionally stared at when you were trying to think. NASA, planets, beakers, science puns and the occasional fox sticker stared at you every day. You weren’t sure why the foxes were thrown into the mix but you weren’t about to ask.
Ryland couldn’t ever seem to sit still. He was always bouncing a leg or tapping a pen. The one time you got after him for it, he only did it more so you never brought it up again.
You also noticed something that Ryland didn’t seem to even know about himself. It took a couple of days to work up the willpower to actually ask about it.
“Do you have contacts?”
It was rare that you spoke to him, so Ryland looked up from the notebook he was writing in with a blink of surprise. “Huh?”
“Contacts. Y’know, the things in your eyes that help you see? Or glasses?”
“No?” He seemed truly flabbergasted.
You hummed and sat back in your seat. “Looks like you need them.”
“Wh-”
“You’re always squinting at your laptop so I was wondering if you have some but are so stubborn that you refuse to wear them. If you don’t, it might be worth getting your vision checked. I can’t imagine your eyes and brain appreciate the strain you put on them every day.”
Ryland didn’t speak to you the rest of the evening, which wasn’t too odd, but then didn’t show up in the library for a week. You wanted to say you loved the extra space, but you begrudgingly realized the table felt too big with him gone. You didn’t want to say you missed him, per se, but maybe somewhere adjacent.
When you saw Ryland after a week of absence- outside of the library for the first time- you had to do a double take.
It was early in the morning- so early you could barely stand on your own two feet, which was why you were standing in the ever growing line at one of the cafes on campus for a cup of brain fuel.
You weren’t paying attention to who you stood behind in line, absentmindedly blinking at the slew of texts you received from a friend about a huge frat party happening that weekend that you weren’t planning on attending. A familiar notification sound jolted you out of your tired stupor.
Ryland had a unique chime that played any time he got a notification. It was the satellite phone jingle from the 3rd Jurassic Park movie. You suspected Ryland was a huge nerd about science fiction media but he’d probably rather die than admit that to you. In and of itself, the sound wasn’t that annoying but you’d heard it so often that it had seared itself into your brain and ‘Pavlov’s dogged’ you into feeling annoyed when you heard it.
Sure enough, a familiar set of shoulders stood in front of you, all covered by a cream sweater.
“Ryland?”
The science student turned on his heel. He seemed just as surprised to see you as you were him. It felt like seeing a wild animal, seeing Ryland outside of the library. You were surprised in turn, to find a new addition to the man’s outfit. Gold rimmed glasses sat on his nose.
Ryland’s ears quickly became tipped in red.
“Oh. Hey.”
He seemed embarrassed, like he’d been caught red-handed.
“Nice glasses.”
“Thanks…”
Your interactions were always awkward but this felt different. “Farsighted?”
“Yep.”
“Knew it. They fit you though, if that’s any consolation.”
“Thank you.”
Coffee suddenly didn’t sound appealing any more- not if you had to endure one more second of this horribly uncomfortable encounter. Your regular chats together weren’t always pleasant but they weren’t this odd. What changed? Was he angry that you’d been right and pointed out something he himself hadn’t noticed? Was he embarrassed that you’d proved him wrong? Was he that egotistical?
You stomped off without another word.
-
There was a hot, steaming cup of coffee with your name on it sitting in front of Ryland the next Monday.
You hadn’t expected to see him at all in the library anymore, not after your last altercation, so you didn’t get a chance to turn and flee before he spotted you standing a couple of paces away, giving you a crooked smile.
You were too proud to run away now. You feared you’d look weak if you did. And Ryland Grace was the last person you wanted to look weak in front of.
So you pressed on, pointedly not looking at the scientist and pretending he didn’t exist. Ryland watched you the whole time, You could feel his stare and you wanted to slap yourself silly when you felt your cheeks heat up.
When you made no move to talk to him after you settled, Ryland nudged the coffee closer to you with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat.
You pursed your lips and kept your eyes on your notes.
“I feel like we started off on the wrong foot.” His voice was cautious, like he was talking to a cornered animal. “I’m sorry for being an ass when we first met. I’d had a rough day and I know that’s no excuse but it’s the truth. I was feeling stubborn.”
This was the most he’d ever said to you in one go. You peeked a glance.
God did those glasses suit him. They made him look softer, somehow. Maybe they made his eyes bigger? Yeah that was probably it. Big eyes, like an alien.
“Can we start over?”
He stuck a hand over his laptop and held it out to you. A handshake. His fingers were trembling. Did you make him nervous? Your confidence took a nice little boost from the thought alone.
You didn’t hate Ryland. Not really. As much as it pained you to admit, you enjoyed his company and had missed it while he was hiding from you. He just annoyed you sometimes with his snarky comments. But even those weren’t that bad. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance?
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you carefully clasped a hand in his and gave him one firm shake.
His ears bloomed red again and he held onto your hand a little longer than you thought he would.
“Yeah, ok cool! Didn’t think you… would actually accept my offer so this is awesome. Your coffee order, I think I got it right? I’ve been peaking at your coffee cups for a little while to read the labels. Is that creepy? I didn’t mean it in a creepy way, I just wanted to make sure I knew what you liked if I ever got you anything.”
This was a new side of Ryland- unsure, stammering and sweet? Maybe he’d always been this way and you just hadn’t seen it.
You didn’t know how to feel about it.
-
Being ‘friends’ with Ryland lasted about a week.
All too quickly did you regularly find yourself hidden in a far corner of the library between the endless shelves of academic literature, kissing each other senseless. Or making out in a quiet study room. Or whispering weak protests against his shoulder when he laid you back in your shared nook to suck a mark on your neck.
Turns out, Ryland didn’t hate you. Never did. Except maybe for a second the first time you got after him for sitting in your spot but other than that, he was just smitten (and terrified) of you which was why he kept coming back. He was still arrogant and a smart ass, usually when you asked him a question related to his field- like you were supposed to know what the boiling point of liquid helium was- but you found yourself enjoying his quips.
It was just another Wednesday when your relationship shifted.
You had Ryland pressed up against a line of shelves, cradling his head in your palms and soaking up the feeling of his glasses brushing over your cheeks while your lips slowly worked against his.
The library was silent at this time of day, especially being in such a far off corner of it, so the only sounds you could hear were the creak of the shelves when Ryland pressed too far back into them, your mouths, and your breath. It was your favorite pastime when you were tired of writing essays.
When Ryland pressed his thumbs into your hip bones, you pulled away an inch to give him space. His glasses were smudged from your skin and barely hanging onto his nose. His stupid t-shirt (a navy blue top with a ringed planet graphic and the words “Jupiter? I hardly know her.” stamped below it) was rumpled and riding up on his navel, allowing you a glimpse of his happy trail.
“I start a new job on Monday.” He breathed, eyes jumping between yours.
You pulled back even more in surprise. Ryland kept his hands on your waist so you didn’t go too far.
“Really?”
“Mhm. It’s a part-time lab technician job. The pay isn’t great but it’ll help boost my resume once I get my doctorate and I need the extra income anyway.”
You beamed. “That’s great! Are you going to be able to juggle school and work, though? Will it be too much?”
Ryland’s eyes fluttered when you ran a thumb over his cheek. “I should be ok. But…” He hesitated. “I won’t have time to come here anymore.”
Oh.
Neither of you put a label on… whatever it was the two of you had together, so you never had a reason to meet up outside of your unspoken joint study hours. Ryland stopping his visits here meant you wouldn’t get to see him.
Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders as you tried to put on a nonchalant face. This was just a hookup- a little fling that probably never would’ve worked anyway. Ryland would continue his life and you would continue yours. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did to find out you would rarely, if ever, see the prospective scientist after Friday.
“I’ll miss my desk partner,” you smiled, hoping it wasn’t obvious how sad his words made you.
One side of Ryland’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Yeah, me too.” He seemed awfully nonchalant about the whole thing. You kicked yourself for being so blinded by the handsome ass that weaseled his way into your life. Ryland fiddled with the hem of your shirt and straightened it out a bit, tilting his head to gesture down the aisle.
“So… should we go back to our spot and hash out our schedules, then?”
Now you are confused. “Our schedules?”
“Yes? To find times that work for both of us to meet up? Like… between labs and such. Or in the late evenings. Or weekends. Or you could stay the night at my place- uh, unless I read this thing wrong?” He let go of you to gesture between your bodies, beginning to fidget on his feet. “Did I read this wrong? If I did, forget everything I said because it was all just a funny joke-”
You flew onto your tiptoes and flung your arms around his neck, only slightly shoving him into the shelves behind him to claim his mouth. Ryland made a noise of approval and wound his arms around your torso to lift you into him.
Schedule swapping would have to wait a little longer and you offhandedly hoped that there were no security cameras this deep between the stacks of books because if someone was watching them, they wouldn’t enjoy what they were about to see.
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Ryland who notices when you start feeling overlooked in conversation/hangouts with multiple people and kisses you temple and squeezes your hand, asking a soft "what do you think, hun?" Or "you okay, sweetie?" Or "y/n loves ____" ect ect
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You and Ryland have a small…incident, leading to a broken bed that a very curious Rocky has to come and fix.
𝐀 / 𝐍: short fic/drabble type thing. there’s no description of smut in this…but it’s implied in the concept ig ++ pretty suggestive so i’ll put the 18+ banner on
“You’re staring at me.” You announced groggily, eyes still closed yet your boyfriend’s gaze burned into your skull; piercing through bone and settling in your frontal lobe.
“What are you gonna do, sue me?” His response coerced you into slowly opening your eyes, lashes fluttering elegantly as you did so. “I don’t know how good the legal representation is here.”
His voice was gruff, but he looked wide-awake, all bright-eyed and ready for the day ahead. His glasses sat askew on his nose, loving eyes peering over them; his fox cardigan was pulled over the top of his clothes, indicating that he’d likely been on a walk already.
Instinctively, you shuffled closer to him; laying your hand against his chest, head eagerly coming to meet its placement. Your leg lifted over his body to cage him in and shove him further onto the other side of the bed, a motion provoked by the feeling of being far too close to the edge on your own side.
All of a sudden, you felt yourself tumbling onto the floor — taking Ryland with you as your body thumped off the ground, causing Ryland to let out a yelp from underneath you. His hands shot to your hips, steadying you on top of him so you wouldn’t continue rolling across the harsh-floor.
“I forgot about that.” You admitted embarrassingly, feeling how Ryland’s hands now caressed up and down your hips to your waist, smiling up at you before he cocked an eyebrow.
“You forgot about the best night of your life?”
You laughed at his outburst, hands coming to playfully steal his glasses from his nose to which he protested, a small pout playing at his lips as you held them above your head — swinging them like a pendulum, enticing him to come and get them.
“Oh, you break the bed once and now you’re mr cocky, is that it?” You teased, narrowing your eyes while you looked down at him, watching as his expression twisted into something you rarely saw from him; a confident kind of mischief.
A few moments passed between the two of you as cogs seemed to turn inside Ryland’s head.
“No.” He spoke simply with a shrug, shooting upwards to sit you in his lap; hands coming to harshly tug at the bottom of your thighs to pull you closer to him. He bit down on his bottom lip at the friction, letting out a brief noise of struggle.
A small yelp left your lips, followed by a giggle as you settled into his lap; watching how he leaned in closer, eyes scanning all over your face.
“Technically, it’s Dr.” He smiled cockily, bringing a hand to travel up your arms to retrieve his glasses, settling them back onto the bridge of his nose as he pushed them up with a single finger.
Before you could get too carried away, there was a hurried knocking on the door — causing Ryland to gently lift you off him, standing up tall and kindly offering you a hand to get up aswell.
Fearing his already-inflated ego, you swatted his hand away jokingly whilst rolling your eyes, scrambling up from the floor as Ryland left the room for a moment, coming back in with Rocky trailing just behind him in his xenonite ball.
“Good morning, humans of Erid!” Rocky announced energetically, clicking his claws. “Grace come to me early, say needed fix—“ He seemed to trail off as he noticed the odd-silhouette of the bed with his limited vision, unnaturally caving to one side, sheets and pillows now discarded over the floor.
Ryland wasn’t paying too much attention to Rocky, only staring at you with a knowing look that made you nervous, knees almost buckling with desire.
“I see problem.” Rocky sounded out, rolling over towards the broken bed, seemingly inspecting the break. “This is made of Eridian strongest material. How this happen, question? Eridians made to withstand great force!” He continued, turning back in his ball to face you.
You suddenly felt scrutinised by the alien, feeling like you’d just been accused of a heinous Eridian crime you didn’t know existed — and Ryland was no help, his previous cocky demeanour shifted into a wave of apprehension and embarrassment when Rocky began questioning the ‘how?’ of the situation.
Immediately, a smirk fell on your face noticing how Ryland turned sheepish, an idea popping into your head to tease him even further for his ego-fuelled activities from minutes before.
“Well Rocky.” You began, crouching down to match his height as your hands steadied themselves against your knee caps ready to explain the whole process to the unsuspecting alien.
You practically felt Ryland freezing up beside you, the air in the room shifting.
“Sometimes when two humans love eachother very much, they get this feeling.” You looked to Grace for a moment, watching as he seemed to turn red in the face, silently begging for you to stop; but you wanted to see how far you could take it.
“Feeling!” Rocky repeated in confirmation, evidence that he was hanging on every word.
“It’s a very strong feeling, an urge to—“
“Can you just fix it? Rocky. Please.” Ryland sounded out urgently, his hands coming to gesture aimlessly in the air, before his hand came to aggressively press against his forehead in frustration.
A smug expression overcame your features, standing up proudly with your hands firmly pressed against your hips in a sassy stance as you turned to Ryland.
“Grace have attitude problem! Grace need human-sleep-box fixing. Maybe then will be nice to Rocky.” The alien seemed to grumble, begrudgingly following behind Grace on his adventure of apologetically picking up the discarded sheets and pillows.
You smiled obnoxiously at the two, leaning against the wall whilst letting out a pleasant sigh of contentment as your plan had worked.
Although, Ryland didn’t allow much room for you to revel in the blissful, prideful moment — immediately tossing a pillow to bounce off your chest, softly falling to the floor as he mouthed sarcastically.
CW: Literally none, this is tooth rotting fluff, you might wanna die
Word Count: 2,577
Summary: You don’t have a car and find a help wanted add posted by Karin asking for someone to date Lars to get him out of his shell in exchange for a car. Your first meeting with him goes unexpected.
A/N: This is completely inspired by @finnestra’s post about the ad, which made me laugh so hard I had to just write it myself. This is also my first One Shot I’ve ever written, so apologies! Please comment if you want more parts to this because I absolutely will do it don’t threaten me with a good time.
The winter air flowed through your lungs with a harsh bite as you inhaled, threatening to freeze your lungs solid. When you exhaled, a thick fog of condensation fell from your lips and twirled away into the dull gray sky. You shivered and drove your hands deeper into your coat pockets; your fingers quite literally felt like they were going to snap off if they were exposed to the cold for any longer. Your heavy snow boots stomped through the slush below your feet as you hurried home.
You’d been making dinner for yourself in your cozy little cottage when you realized you were missing a key ingredient for your recipe. So, with a sigh, you’d pulled on all your winter gear and braved the freezing outdoors to hurry down to the small supermarket down the block. The whole journey had you deeply questioning your life choice of not buying that cheap old sedan you’d seen in the newspaper a few weeks ago.
Unfortunately, working as a barista at the town’s local coffee spot hadn’t proven to yield much money, at least not enough to afford transportation. Fortunately, it was a small area and everything needed to survive was within walking distance. It just meant you had to suffer.
Your stomach gave a panicked jolt as your foot slipped in the snow and the grocery bag in your arms fell to the icy ground with a muffled thump. Once you felt confident that you weren’t going to fall, you let out a curse and bent down to pick up the paper bag before the food inside could be ruined beyond repair. As you straightened, a paper flying in the wind caught your eye. It was stapled into a phone pole before you.
On the damp page was a large black and white photo of a shy looking man. The photo looked like it had been taken without his knowledge, as he sat at a kitchen table engrossed in a small puzzle, his eyes downcast. He had carefully combed brown hair and a mustache on a slightly round face, and was clad in a brown sweater with a white shirt and tie peeking up above it. You had to admit, he was quite cute in an innocent sort of way.
Below the photo were big black letters typed in all caps:
NEED A CAR? “DATE” MY BROTHER-IN-LAW
Below that, smaller text:
He’s smart. But socially very shy. “Date” him and bring him out of his shell. In exchange, we’ll give you a 2004 Buick Regal. Clean, rust-free, 40k miles.
A small laugh bubbled up in your throat at the hilarity of the ad. You wondered how the brother-in-law in the photo felt about this.
You then frowned, eyes scanning over the words detailing the car.
A free car, basically? You wouldn’t have to suffer on freezing walks anymore while letting out every curse in your vocabulary. And he was cute. You could deal with shy; you talked enough for two people according to previous failed dates.
Glancing around to see if anyone was near, you quickly snatched the ad off the pole and shoved it into your wet grocery bag.
What could go wrong?
You stared at the old computer monitor before you, biting a lip between your teeth. A drafted email blinked up at you on the screen, waiting to be sent off into the void. All you had to do was press send. It read:
Hello,
My name is (Y/N). I saw this ad and was very interested in the car you mentioned, as right now I do not own one and have to walk everywhere (which is the worst thing imaginable in the winter). I’d love to discuss the arrangement further, if possible. Let me know.
Kindest regards,
(Y/N)
Blowing out a raspberry, you hit send and quickly stood up to get away from the screen. You hoped they replied quickly, as you had a shift at the coffee shop the next evening and the weather report predicted a raging snowstorm rolling in.
You paced restlessly in your small kitchen, wiping down the counter and putting away dishes. About thirty minutes later, your computer gave a small ping, signaling an incoming notification. You nearly tripped over your own feet to sit down in front of the monitor and opened the new message sitting in. your inbox.
Hi (Y/N),
I have to be honest, I’m a little shocked someone actually reached out. You’re right, the weather here is awful right now, and it sounds like we could really help each other out.
My brother-in-law’s name is Lars. He is very shy and it’s like pulling teeth to get him to talk to anyone, but you sound nice enough.
Do you work at the local coffee shop? I feel like I may have heard of your name around town. If I’m thinking of the right person, I think you’d be great getting Lars to open up. Just one thing, he hates being touched physically, but really is the biggest sweetheart.
Are you available to come by tomorrow around noon? You can meet Lars and take a look at the Buick.
Sincerely,
Karin
He didn’t like physical touch? Well, that wasn’t a problem. You never kissed on the first date anyway. You quickly sent a reply off, asking for the address and letting Karin know you’d be there at noon the next day.
The next day, you stood in front of a white garage next to the main house, its paint peeling and in desperate need of a touch-up. You’d just come from meeting Karin, where she told you a little bit about Lars and showed you the car. She insisted on you meeting him alone, as he would absolutely loathe Karin if he found out about the ad.
You knocked on the door softly, taking extra precaution not to sound too urgent. There wasn’t an answer for a minute or so, but you did see a curtain twitch in the window.
Just when you thought about turning back to head back to the main house, the door cracked open, wide enough to only show Lars’s eyes and nose through the opening. You smiled softly at him.
”Hi, Lars, right? My name is (Y/N). I ran into Karin and she was telling me about you, thought we’d get along well.”
Lars didn’t move. In truth, he had definitely seen you around town, walking in the slipper snow to and from the local coffee spot. He’d always secretly thought you were pretty and wanted to stop and give you a ride, but chickened out every time. After all, why would someone looking the way you do ever want to bother with someone like him? He couldn’t believe you were standing at his door right now. It was too good to be true.
”D-did Karin put you up to this?” He spoke softly, still not opening the door wider.
You shrugged. You didn’t want to lie to him, so you settled on a half-truth instead. “A little bit, yes. But I also thought you sounded really nice and…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. “I thought you could use a friend.” You found yourself genuinely believing the words flowing from your mouth. You smiled at him again, hoping to put him at ease.
He said nothing. Usually he hated when people tried to get close to him, like they pitied him and wanted to feel good about themselves. But for some odd reason, he wasn’t feeling that familiar spark of irritation he usually did.
You mistook his silence for anger and laughed in embarrassment, shuffling a toe in the snow. “Ugh, I’m sorry. This is rude, just showing up like this. We can just forget this ever happened if you want and I’ll give you free coffee for the rest of your life to make up for it.” You were rambling, the way you always did. It was the thing that seemed to make dates no longer interested in you. You began to turn to leave.
”Wait.”
You looked back over your shoulder and Lars opened the door wider. Your eyebrows rose up in surprise. He was tall. Very tall. His head almost brushed the top of the doorframe. And his hands, God his hands. He had one planted on the doorframe, as if he were holding himself back from running after you. It was huge, like a bear paw. He was wearing a flannel over a thermal undershirt with jeans, looking every bit like a lumberjack straight out of a novel.
He breathed heavily into the cold air, a puff of steam blowing out before him, and glanced up at the main house before returning his blue eyes back to you. You faced him again.
“Do you maybe…want to come in for some tea?” He smiled slightly under his mustache and shifted nervously on his feet.
Heat warmed your chest at that smile. You were positive it was the cutest one you’d ever seen on a man. “I’d love to.”
He looked down shyly and shuffled back to make room for you, and you entered the small garage apartment. As you passed him, you caught a faint whiff of woodsmoke mixed with some kind of earthy cologne.
Suddenly, he was removing your coat from your shoulders gently, taking extra care not to brush the skin on your neck. He hung it reverently on a nearby hook near the door, next to his own coat. The sight of them next to each other felt strangely domestic. You blushed at the chivalrous act and smiled up at him in thanks.
The tips of his ears turned pink and he nodded once before heading to the small kitchenette to prepare tea, shuffling a bit like a penguin. The sight was very endearing in a cute way.
Before moving any further into the apartment, you removed your snow boots and carefully set them on the rug next to the door. Lars watched you with fascination.
You’d cared enough about his space to remove your shoes. No one had ever really done that, Gus and Karin included. It was such a small gesture, but it made his heart thump in an unfamiliar way.
You took a look around the room, noting the single twin bed in the corner with a small blanket folded neatly on top of it, a black wood furnace that burned heartily, the small table with two rickety chairs, and a modest bookshelf stacked with different books, their spines facing out.
It was a cozy space, simple but clearly catered to the tall man’s personality. He clearly liked things neat, something you both had in common.
Lars was at the counter, clumsily steeping two teabags into mismatched mugs. His hands shook slightly, likely from nerves. After all, from what Karin had told you, this was completely unfamiliar territory for Lars. You felt your heart bloom with warmth that he was letting you into his space. It was intimate.
”Is it okay if I look?” You asked, pointing at the bookshelf. Reading was a massive hobby for you, and you were eager to learn more about Lars’s personality based on what was on the shelf.
He nodded, watching you carefully.
You perused the spines, eyes traveling down each spine. There were a lot of religious books, which didn’t surprise you. Karin had told you how Lars never missed a church devotional each Sunday. There were also some old fantasies, westerns, poetry, and even a couple of books on birds. On the top shelf, some of the book collection was broken up by small carvings of birds, whittled from wood. Your eyes brightened.
”These are beautiful. Did you make them?”
Lars nodded shyly, then, “Yeah.”
You examined the furthest one on the left, instantly recognizing the feathers’ formation and the beak. Your father had been an avid birdwatcher before he passed away and had always taken time to teach you about the different birds he observed while you sat on his lap as a child.
”This is a Goldfinch, right?” You asked with a smile while pointing at the carving in question.
A pleasant warmth rolled through Lars. You were talking to him about. his interests like he was an actual person and not just someone to try and help. And you knew birds. His heart did that funny jump again.
“You know birds?” He asked the question quietly.
You nodded enthusiastically and told him about your father, beginning to ramble about the memories associated with him and the birds. Lars listened with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving you and the way your eyes lit up when you talked about the subject. He realized he loved watching your hands gesture through the air as you talked.
He wanted to make you do it more.
Leaving the cups of tea to finish steeping on the counter, he approached you and the shelf slowly, testing each step for signs that you would shrink away. Again, you were startled at how much taller he was; your head only reached the bottom of his stubbled chin. His scent washed over you again, and you quietly inhaled it without thinking, as if you could hold it inside your lungs forever.
He picked the carving of the Goldfinch up carefully — it was tiny in his hand — and held it out to you. You smiled and took it, making sure not to brush his fingers with your own. As you examined the figurine more closely, he stared at you, taking in the way your hair fell over your cheeks and the smattering of freckles on your nose.
He abruptly longed to reach a thumb out and brush the hair away, which wasn’t like him at all.
”You can keep it, if you want,” he said with a small smile.
Your eyes widened. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly take it. It looks too beautiful here, next to the others.” And you meant it. You carefully placed it back in its spot, shifting it exactly the way it was so that the weak sunlight shining in through the curtains could illuminate its feathers.
Again, Lars marveled at the respect you displayed for his personal possessions. As you hummed, satisfied that it was in the right place, he suddenly reached a thumb out and lightly, oh-so lightly, brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear.
He internally braced for pain and panic, but it never came. At least, not as intensely as it usually did when he felt touch.
Your vibrant eyes locked onto his, a blush spreading across those lovely freckles. Your heart pounded in your chest, racing like a prize horse. He was looking at you so tenderly, like you were his most treasured possession. No one had ever looked at you like that, and it startled you.
You inhaled sharply but quietly, and slowly rose up onto your tip toes. Your lips hovered over his cheek for a moment, waiting for him to jerk away. When he didn’t, you gently brushed them against his scruff, featherlight.
Lars went rigid at the fire on his skin. Not the painful kind, but a kind full of warmth and comfort. He felt like the sun itself had just kissed him.
And, for the first time in his life, Lars Lindstrom found himself wanting more. Wanting your touch. Wanting you.
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I can’t stop thinking of this fic I read long ago about reader being touch starved and I mean like crazy touch starved that they lean into whatever touch they get. It could be fingers barely touching and they’ll lean into it, wanting more. So for my request, I was thinking that reader is crazy touched starved bc they’ve been lonely most their life and they try to get close to grace as much as possible since it’s just him and the reader in the ship. They try to be super nice bc let’s just say that they didn’t get along back at earth but it was more like grace didn’t like reader bc of idk you can make that up. Reader is trying super hard to get him to like them just so they’ll have a chance of getting a hug or just get closer to him.
But once grace finally somehow like touched them like a hand on their cheek, reader places their hand on his and leans into it and starts to cry😼 not ugly cry but like pretty when you cry by Lana type of cry. Imagine looking up at grace with his hand on your cheek with red glossy eyes and wet cheeks. Reader just happy that they finally get to feel something and by something I mean finally get to feel the feeling of touch.
Could be one sided where it’s grace being mean but not mean mean and reader is quiet and closed off but is still trying, also does this count at angst? Idk but I typed too much…
Thanks for coming to my TED talk👅
anon i see your vision and in this very second i am mustering up a plan in my google docs 🫡
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You hate parents evening, the whole event just blows. But hey, at least you got to meet the cute teacher your daughter chirps on about when she gets home.
𝐀 / 𝐍: Reader (gender neutral) has a daughter, i left the daughter un-named for imagination purposes + one of the teachers is a meanie. enjoy <3
The classroom was dim, tables and chairs strung out across the length of the room; lined up in a uniformed fashion.
A teacher sat at each one, holding different papers up to the parents as they discussed test scores, participation in class and an assortment of general school-related happenings. The room reeked of coffee, the strong smell penetrating your senses like an unwanted guest.
You hated parents evening. Of course, you recognized its importance — but, sometimes it just seemed like a mandated excuse to berate every child within a certain radius; telling them they’re too behind, that their work is not good enough or, that they needed to stop being so distracted when the content was taught in the most agonising, non child-friendly, boring ways that you could possibly fathom.
It was your first parents evening at Glover Cleveland Middle School, so it was particularly nerve-wracking being in a room full of unfamiliar faces, a small pit of dread pestering your stomach.
After seeing a few different teacher’s, your nerves seemed to ease, most assured you that your daughter was doing really well. From what you could grasp, she was a hard-worker, always eager to learn. Sure, she would get distracted chatting to her friends from time to time, but the teachers weren’t too concerned about this behaviour, realising the importance that she forms good relationships with the students around her while she adjusts to her new environment.
However, the second to last teacher was a completely different story.
”I have her paper here somewhere, it’s in the urgent pile.” He seemed to shoot a look at your daughter, an unfriendly, antagonising glint in his eyes as his fingers sifted through the array of tests. “Ah! Here we are. Let’s take a look at this.” He licked his finger, beginning to flick through the sheets of papers stapled into one big clump.
Slowly, you craned your head towards your daughter. Her hands were placed firmly in her lap, her fingers coming to tangle in between one another, head-down as embarrassment overcame her; like a huge wave crashing against the sand of a beach. Instantly, you straightened up in the chair, the biological protective instincts kicking in after witnessing the poor girl’s nervousness.
“I mean, some of these answers are just ridiculous. You surely know that these are wrong.” He almost sounded amused, humiliating your daughter right in front of you — he was laughing at her like she was dumb, like she’d just told you the sky was yellow.
The anger bubbled beneath your skin, trickling through your bloodstream as you attempted to keep calm. In your own state of rage, you hadn’t realised the teacher at the end of the row had finished with his previous student, beginning to eavesdrop on the unpleasant conversation happening next to him.
“I-I’m sorry, I-… I didn’t know…” Your daughter sniffled quietly, her voice was up from it’s usual octave.
You felt your heart shatter in your chest, breaking off into a million tiny pieces as your daughter began to slouch, her shoulders coming down in defeat. He’d really upset her.
From what you could gather, this wasn’t the first time either — even when he only just began to talk, she’d already assumed her vulnerable position, as if preparing for the upset she would feel before anything even happened.
“I find it hard to believe that you’re sorry when you’re not even looking at me.”
That was your last straw.
”With all due respect, I don’t know if you think that embarrassing my daughter is going to help her learn. But I can assure you that, as her parent, that’s not the way to go about it.” Your tone was firm, protective as your daughter shuffled closer to you in her chair, silently thanking you for sticking up for her as her head gently laid against your shoulder; her eyes were still pinned to her feet, dangling and swinging her legs.
The eavesdropping teacher seemed to smile a little, elated that someone had finally called the teacher out on his awful, condescending manner. No wonder most kids weren’t doing well in his class, he was clearly the problem in all this, not the kids he’s spent the last hour berating as if it was their fault.
”I understand where you’re coming from. However, I am trained to teach these kids. As far as I’m aware you are not—“
His words left you speechless, mouth almost dropping open in response as he fired back. His tone was just as condescending as ever, talking to you as if you were less than him, talking down to you; making you feel like an ant, the danger of being stomped on at any moment. Apparently, his god-awful attitude translated to fully grown adults too.
“So I’m not sure that you can—“
”Alright, time’s up.” The sudden voice warned, a hand coming to smack a little too firmly against the teacher’s back. Your eyes followed the length of the arm, covered by a dark grey blazer, falling on the mystery teacher at the end of the row.
His blonde hair was slightly tousled, waving in all sorts of directions. His glasses sat askew on his face, resting just underneath his chin in a way that somehow didn’t strike you as strange when it definitely should have. His arm dropped from the other teacher’s back, coming to position his glasses at the tip of his nose before pushing them up a little as he averted his gaze toward you, falling briefly on your daughter’s head still resting softly against your shoulder before returning back to your face.
“Would you two like to come to my classroom just down the hall? I swear it’s no trouble at all. I have you next anyway.” He offered with a smile, instantly putting your restless state at ease, seemingly helping your daughter’s too as she lifted her head up; now sitting up straight to look at him.
Before you could open your mouth to agree, she did.
”Yes please, Mr Grace”
He nodded at her in response, collecting the papers chaotically strung across his desk, tucking them into his arms in a sweeping motion as he waited for the two of you to stand up.
The name was familiar. You’d be stood over the stove, cooking up whatever you could find in the fridge that night, hearing pattering footsteps as your daughter arrived home from the bus. She would run into the kitchen, instantly coming to wrap her arms around you as you set down the wooden spoon, squeezing her tightly. ‘You’ll never guess what happened today!’ She would sing. Mr Grace this, Mr Grace that, she’d continue on as long as you let her, excitedly sharing her day with you as she talked him up.
He was clearly her favourite part of the school day, a pretty significant thing when lunch time existed.
Your daughter shot up first, legs trailing after the teacher who now stood by the door. You trailed just behind her, watching in awe as she happily galloped towards the man who now held the door open for the both of you, an equally adorned look on his face at how she had perked up.
“Race you to the classroom?” He proposed, a mischievous grin on his face as your daughter turned to him in shock.
”We’re not supposed to run in the halls, Mr Grace!” She attested for a moment, though clearly enthused by the idea of racing her teacher, body already beginning to bounce up and down in anticipation.
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Anyway… last one there’s a rotten egg!“ He suddenly exclaimed, taking a huge stride forward, watching as your daughter sprinted off down the hall; small giggles echoing through the space as she turned the corner.
Although, Mr Grace didn’t chase after her, only slowing down to walk beside you as he laughed to himself.
“I take it you heard that whole thing back there?” You prompted, still suffering embarrassment from how the teacher had spoken to you, your eyes falling to watch your feet travel along the carpeted-floor.
”Yep.” He breathed out. “He’s been talking to everyone like that all night. I don’t consider myself confrontational but it gets to a point where you just can’t take it anymore. I’m sure you understand that, parental instincts and all.”
He tried to lighten your mood, slightly nudging against your shoulder in an awkward manner, a small laugh leaving your lips.
“Are you a parent, Mr Grace?”
”Oh, please just call me Ryland. And no—not in the literal sense anyways.”
His response seemed to make your heart flutter, every ounce of stress being siphoned from your body the longer he walked beside you, the equivalent of a lit fireplace on an extremely cold day, snuggling beside it for warmth. He clearly cared about the children he taught. Maybe it was the single-parent instincts screaming at you to find an appropriate partner, but you were sure that he just got a million times cuter than he already was; showcasing the love and care that he puts into his occupation.
“Well, Ryland, thanks for sticking up for us.” You spoke sweetly, turning your head to look at him, feeling a light blush creeping up onto your cheeks as he was already staring straight at you.
“Gah—“ He wafted his hand against the air, shaking his head. “You didn’t need me. I was just trying to prevent a WWE smackdown from happening right before my eyes. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it of course.”
You giggled.
His hand came to fall against your lower back as you approached a corner, silently prompting you to turn down into the next hall as you paced ever so slightly in front of him.
His hand felt like magic against your back, the area growing warmer underneath his brief contact. It had certainly been a long time since anyone had touched you, goosebumps prickling against the skin covered by fabric.
There was a burning softness in your ribcage, you hadn’t desired a man’s presence for years now, but you had a feeling Ryland changed that with just the simple touch of his hand. He guided you. Something about that was comforting, like he could help lead you through life — one step at a time.
Upon turning the corner, your eyes fell on the cheering girl, standing proudly next to the classroom door. Ryland’s hand dropped slowly from your back. The absence of his touch was recognised immediately, your brain repeating his name like a mantra, calling out for him.
When you reached the classroom, your daughter giggled incessantly.
”I win! You’re both rotten eggs!” She declared at once, moving aside while Ryland pushed the door to his room open, signalling for the both of you to move inside.
She followed suit, sitting at the table closest to his desk; Ryland began to lift a neighbouring chair, setting it down next to where your daughter sat as he pulled it out for you to sit.
“So, how do you think you did on the test?” He walked over toward his desk, laying the papers out and scanning through the name’s written across the front page, in search of your daughter’s.
“I think I did— well umm…I don’t-“
”No no, you were saying something then. It’s not a trick question, just want to hear it from you.” He soothed her immediately, grabbing a paper between his fingers as he moved to stand just before you, hand coming out to firmly plant itself against the desk; leaning slightly.
“I think I did okay.” It was clear that she wasn’t too sure of herself, whether that be because she really wasn’t sure how she did or whether the humiliation from the previous teacher was still hanging over her, caught in his miserable grasp.
Ryland smiled widely as you looked up at him, his gaze shifting to you for a brief moment. He looked excited, glancing down at the paper and back up to you again.
Slowly, Ryland leant down, strategically turning the paper so you could get a sneak peek before he broke the news to her. Upon looking at the score, your eyes shot back up to him. He met you with a look of apprehension, as if to say ‘Be cool. Don’t give it away.’
You obliged, nodding slowly in an attempt to fight the smile threatening your lips as your daughter’s eyes eagerly burned into the side of your head. A big 46 / 50 was scribbled across the top of the page, a smiley face drawn just underneath it — it had gold stars for its eyes and you suddenly found yourself wanting a gold star from him too.
As quick as the thought appeared, you shook it away, squeezing your eyes tight before Ryland set the paper in front of her.
She gasped sharply, holding up the paper and inspected it closer. The smile threatening your lips was now displayed at full-view, turning in your chair to watch her excitement. “No way!”
”Yes way. You got the highest out of everyone. That’s gotta feel pretty good, right?” He quizzed before craning his head towards the door, seeing another one of his students peering in.
Your eyes followed the direction of his, settling on your daughter’s friend who had obviously come looking for her after you had left the main room.
“You wanna go show her?” Ryland smiled knowingly, gesturing his head over to the door.
Instantly, she shot up, excitedly rushing over to the door to swing it open; greeting her friend while waving the paper around in her face. The door gently clicked shut, leaving you and Ryland alone as he sauntered back to his desk, opening one of the draws before closing it shut again.
However, not before grabbing a sheet of something, secretively holding it behind his back as he walked closer to you.
“She’s a good kid, you know. One of the best I’ve ever taught. Kinda bummed out she’s not gonna be in my class anymore after vacation. Must be a reflection of the parenting at home.” He complimented, stood over you in a way that made your stomach flip, feeling almost dizzy as you glanced up at him.
“Oh—Thanks, that really means a lot. It’s just uh…me at home, so…” You trailed off, unsure why that last part actually left your mouth.
Of course, your body wanted him to know that you were available but your head should’ve filtered out that thought with your daughter just outside, like the many other questionable thoughts you’d had about him since the meeting.
“In that case, I think you deserve one of these too.” Ryland hummed sweetly, revealing what he was hiding just behind his back — a sheet of stickers. Gold stars.
A smile broke out across your face, mouth slightly agape as you tried to find the right words to respond. In all honesty, the charming man had registered you completely speechless, the pit in your stomach only seeming to worsen the longer he loomed over you, teasingly swaying the sheet between his fingers.
“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” Your voice was quiet, kicking yourself slightly at just how obvious you sounded, immediately avoiding his gaze as he gently peeled off one of the stars with a chuckle.
”Good.” He spoke simply, placing the sticker down on the table just in front of you. Your fingers scrambled to the desk, gently lifting it off the table to stick it against the fabric of the shirt you were wearing, finally looking back up at him.
“Well, I’d better let you two get back home.” He announced, his eyes falling on the proudly-worn star as he backed away slightly for you to stand up.
Carefully you rose, feet feeling as if they couldn’t plant firmly enough to hold your balance, akin to the impossible task of walking on water. Surprisingly, you only stumbled a little on the way out of the room.
“Oh hey, listen— um…” You begun just before you reached the door. “Do you have a piece of paper?” You span around on your heels, watching as Ryland hummed; grabbing a stray piece from off his desk, swiftly grabbing a pen and bringing it over to you.
You thanked him, immediately turning around to rest the paper against the wall to steady your writing, scribbling down your phone number on the paper while Ryland smiled just behind you, realising what you were doing.
In any other situation, Ryland would’ve completely panicked, wanting to take your number but being too afraid of the controversy of dating one of his student’s parents. But, he realised that technically, he wouldn’t be her teacher for much longer — a matter of weeks in fact.
“This is uh… in case you need to talk to me about her.” You span back to face him, offering the paper out to him as you rocked back and forth on your feet in apprehension. “Or— not her…” The last part was quieter, trailing off softly as you met his gaze again, a wave of reluctance crashing over your face.
”Well, we could talk about ‘not her’ over dinner sometime, would you like that?” He moved closer to you, reaching over at the doorknob just to the side of you.
“Yeah, that sounds— sounds good!” You enthused as he carefully opened the door with a smile whilst you moved out of his way, eyes falling on your daughter still excitedly cheering over her test score.
She rushed over to your side, handing the paper back to Ryland.
“I’ll see you guys another time, thanks for coming in.” He offered the two of you a wave, still watching as you trapsed down the length of the corridor.
Secretly, you turned your head for one last look at him; finding him already staring at you.
It made you flinch slightly, snapping your head back around to look where you were going, beginning to distract yourself by making conversation with the parent next to you; talking about nothing in particular.
However, her individual words seemed to blur into one-long incoherent word that you didn’t have the capacity to focus on, the available space in your brain accompanied by the envisionment that your year was about to get a lot more interesting.
‘Times Ryland mindlessly used his sleeper strength to fix things for you without batting an eye.’
Ryland doesn’t think of himself as strong: he never used to go to the gym because the one time he went, he slipped straight off the stair master and never went back.
Of course, aboard the Hail Mary and on Erid, it’s a different story: Ryland woke up from the coma in decent shape, found that being in even better shape helped you two to navigate space life much easier, and started doing a home workout routine once a day, or jogging along the coast. Muscles for Ryland were not an aesthetic choice; it was just practical to be able to move heavy stuff when you’re one of two people on a space craft (though, once he gets word that you really like looking at his thick thighs and biceps, he starts putting extra work into the more visible muscle groups).
You first discovered your penchant for his strength when you were struggling to move one of the heavy supply crates in the sleeping area. You huffed and puffed, pushing with all your body weight against the box. Ryland walked in mid-conversation about Eridian atmospheric models, still talking animatedly. He stopped short when he saw you panting: you'd always been to proud to ask for help.
“Oh, here. Let me get that." He reached down with one arm, gripped the side of the massive metal crate, and lifted it effortlessly onto the shelf while continuing to talk.
“—and that’s why Rocky thinks the methane levels might spike next cycle. What do you think?” His bicep flexed and his shirt rode up, revealing a fantastic V-line as he adjusted the crate’s position with one hand.
You just stood there, staring, heat rushing to your face. Ryland finally noticed your silence. Blinking innocently behind his glasses, he furrowed his brows.
“Y/N? You good?”
You nodded and closed your mouth, a little dazed.
“Yeah! Sorry. Just— you’re really strong. That box was like... thirty kilos.”
Ryland looked genuinely surprised. “Am I?” He glanced at his arm like he’d never considered it before. “Huh. Anyway, about the methane…”
Later that week, you were trying to reach a book that had fallen behind the small library corner you and Ryland had built in the sleeping area of the ship. It was a bit pathetic since you hadn't been given many books: it was mostly made up of instruction manuals and physics textbooks, but nonetheless, you made it cosy.
Ryland walked past on his way to the lab, but froze and back-tracked, unsure what you were doing. He leaned against the doorway for a moment, amused by your lying down on the floor, groaning and trying to grab the book that had fallen down the back. Finally, you stopped and dropped your head onto the floor, sighing in defeat.
"Ryland! Ry!" you shouted over your shoulder, hoping Ryland would hear you from the lab, where you thought he was.
"Need some help?" he replied, arms folded over his chest. You almost jumped out of your skin.
"Grace! Don't sneak up on me like that!" you huffed. "And yes, obviously, I need some help, please."
Ryland obliged, smiling, and strode toward you. He placed one hand on the side of the tall bookshelf and lifted the entire thing a few inches off the ground so you could grab the book trapped underneath.
You peered up at him as he towered over you: his bicep strained visibly against his sleeve as he held the heavy piece of furniture, lightly huffing in effort. He looked down at you; you continued to ogle up his shirt, effectively lying between his legs.
"Uh, Y/N?"
"Yeah?" you replied, still admiring the view up his shirt.
"This is pretty heavy."
Your eyes snapped up to his.
"Right— sorry." You grabbed the book and rolled out from under the shelf, cheeks burning. Ryland set the shelf back down gently and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"I'm gonna just... I'll be in the—"
"Yeah."
You both walked away briskly, unsure what had transpired.
Once you'd finally recovered from that indiscretion a good few hours later, you returned to the lab. Ryland, of course, had forgotten all about it, too immersed in his work.
"There she is!" He scooted his wheelie chair back and plucked the goggles from his face. "Wanna help me with this? New paste! Might not taste like—"
"Dogshit?" you asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Yeah," he nodded, "might not taste like dogshit."
You laughed: it was so rare to hear Ryland swear, but you loved to make him blush.
And so you got stuck in helping to reorganise the samples, until one of the large diagnostic machines froze up. Ryland walked over to where you were smacking the machine, half-listening to him explain the new nutrient formula to you.
“Oh, stupid thing, it keeps jamming,” he said, interrupting himself. He squatted down next to you, gripped the side of the heavy machine with one hand and tinkered with the underneath, muscles shifting under his shirt and jeans as he repositioned it perfectly without so much as a strained groan.
"Try it again?" he instructed, peering up at you over his glasses.
You fought to follow his instructions instead of just ogling him for a moment more.
"Uh— yeah, s'working now," you stuttered.
"Awesome. So, like I was saying, if we adjust the nitrogen ratio by point zero three percent, we should see better growth in the—”
God. You wished he'd cotton on, already.
You were enormously relieved to land on Erid, having been sharing such a close space with Ryland over the past few years. You thought you'd finally gotten away from your perversions, that your fantasies about his thick biceps were just the product of spending too much time with him. Sadly, that was not the case, and his strength continued to be one of your biggest weaknesses.
On one such occasion, you and Ryland were moving supplies off of the Hail Mary and into the biodome. You realised that you’d overpacked the large, garden-refuse style bags, and were now fighting to lift even one up.
“Fuck! Ow,” you cried out: you’d dropped the bag on your foot, leaving you hopping on the spot and cussing in pain. Ryland exited the spaceship, one big bag slung over his shoulder, and headed back down the Xenonite tunnel to the dome. He caught sight of you hopping and immediately furrowed his brows.
"Oh— ouch. You ok?"
"Yeah, sorry. Just dropped this fucking heavy bag on my left foot—"
Before you could finish, Ryland took the bag from you in the arm already carrying one, tucking his arm through the carrier handles. Then, without a second guess, he scooped you up with the other arm, carrying both you and the heavy bags like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Ryland," you moaned, "I can walk.” You protested weakly, face burning as you felt the strength in his bicep supporting you against his side.
“I know,” he said, completely oblivious to how affected you were. “But you looked hurt!”
Weeks later, you couldn't take it anymore: you'd taken to openly ogling him whenever he did something remotely related to strength, accepting your fate in the most pathetic way possible.
During a walk near one of the cliff faces in the Biodome, a heavy branch had fallen from a nearby 'tree' (or what Eridians had scrambled together to resemble a tree— to their credit, it looked like the real thing) and blocked the path. Ryland was in the middle of excitedly telling you about a new theory when he noticed.
“Oh no, hang on a sec,” he said. He reached down with both hands, gripped the trunk, and rolled it clear off the path. His bicep bulged under his sleeve as he casually moved the heavy obstacle aside and set it down, much as your eyes bulged in surprise. No matter how many times you'd seen Ryland exert his strength, it always amazed you: he just didn't seem the type.
He wiped has hands on his jeans, barely throwing a glance over his shoulder as he kept walking up the path, talking like nothing had happened.
“...which is why I think the atmospheric nitrogen might actually be—”
You stopped in your tracks, unable to contain yourself any longer.
"Would you stop doing that?" you hissed.
Ryland turned quickly, tilting his head with an adorably concerned expression. His eyebrows were stitched together in worry.
“Huh? Did I say something?”
You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face.
"No, Ryland, sorry. It's just—" you paused, suddenly embarrassed. "You are like— built. Like you do all these things, like picking me up and throwing a tree trunk off the path—"
Ryland scoffed, interrupting you.
"It was hardly a trunk—"
You continued, ignoring his logic.
"—and it's distracting! You don't even seem to know that you're like... freakishly strong, and It's driving me crazy!" You ceased your barrage, suddenly out of breath. Had you actually just told your only surviving crew-mate, and only human friend for the foreseeable future, 'distracting'? Ryland, too, didn't move; he blinked down at you.
Finally, he spoke.
"Are you... objectifying me?"
You paused, worried he was serious, until he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Because, I totally get it if you are."
"Oh my god!" you shouted, laughing in relief. "You are literally the last man left on this planet: do not get cocky!" You slapped his upper arm until he grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder fireman-style. You squealed, thrashing against his back.
"The last and most handsome man on this planet," he smirked.
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Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next (Part 2).
Pairing: Ryland Grace x Fem!Reader. Read Part 1 here.
OMG it's happening, guys! And I also finally have a title for it!
Warnings: None unless I've missed anything. Pure fluff. Idiots in love, mutual pining, all that jazz. God they're both so stupid (affectionate).
When you woke up it took you a minute to fully process where you were, the lamp on your nightstand illuminating your surroundings as you slowly realized you were on your bed, but didn’t remember how you got there.
The apartment was quiet and you wondered what time it was. You noticed your phone on the nightstand and had a quick look at it.
6:30am.
You were surprised you had managed to sleep through most of the night for the first time in a couple days.
Then you remembered Ryland.
You got out of bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes before padding your way to the living room, the laminate floor cool under your feet.
Some random tv programme was silently playing on the TV and you couldn’t help the soft “oh” that made its way past your lips when you noticed Ryland asleep on the sofa, one arm across his chest as the other hung off the side of the sofa, glasses crooked and halfway up to his forehead.
It had been a good while since the last time you’d seen him like this. Though this time, a certain kind of softness bloomed in your chest as you took in the scene before you.
You moved as carefully as you could and turned off the TV first, making sure you didn’t wake him up as you crouched beside his sleeping form and took his glasses, placing them on the coffee table. Then properly covered him with the throw the two of you had been sharing a few hours prior, allowing yourself a minute to just look at him.
Truly look at him.
Ryland had this easy way about him, a comforting presence that always put you at ease whenever he was around. You always considered that the reason you were so drawn to him in the first place when you two first met.
And lately, more often than not, you’d catch yourself thinking. Thinking about stuff that you hadn’t really thought about before.
Noticing.
The way he always made sure you were stocked up on your favourite tea, how easily he moved around your place and the way he knew exactly how you liked your coffee.
How you’d automatically melt into him when he hugged you, and the way he’d always know if something was wrong without you saying a single word.
Normal stuff friends do, you kept telling yourself. But lately, something about it felt different. Something had shifted, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
You’d become aware of him in a way you hadn’t been before.
And then… there it was. Clear as day, and mocking you, like it couldn’t it could believe it had taken you so long to see it for what it really was.
“Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, I fell in love with you.” Your voice was barely a whisper above the sounds of the city slowly waking up outside your window.
Your hand had a mind of its own as it moved before you could stop yourself, brushing a few stray strands of blonde hair off his forehead, his brows furrowing slightly before relaxing again and making you wonder what he was dreaming about.
A sad smile pulled at your lips as you let out a heavy sigh, fully standing up and making sure he was properly tucked in before making your way back to your bedroom.
To a bed that now felt bigger and emptier than it ever did before.
—
The next few days passed in a blur of bad weather, slowly easing back into routine and comfort movies every evening to wind down before bed.
Ryland made sure to regularly check on you, asking how you were feeling, stopping by to bring you food when you didn’t have the energy to cook for yourself, and just generally existing in your space the way he always did.
“Uh, of course I'm staying hydrated? What kinda question is that?” You say walking around your kitchen island, holding your phone against your ear with your shoulder as you open a new gallon of milk.
“Water. Not coffee.” He says with a sigh. “Are you drinking enough water?” He adds, making you stop in your tracks as you were about to pour some milk into your freshly made coffee.
“There’s water in coffee” You say, and you can hear him chuckle softly.
“You’re impossible” He huffs out, and now it’s your turn to laugh. “I’ll see you shortly.”
Your front door opened as you walked into the living room. You were met by a smiling Ryland, a grocery bag in each hand, as he closed the door with his foot before making his way to where you stood in the kitchen and placing the bags on the small kitchen island.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He replies, pulling you into a tight hug and you melt against him. “You smell of eucalyptus.” He pulls apart slightly, shooting you a quizzical look. “New shower gel?” At that you can’t help but laugh.
“Since whe-.” You stop mid-sentence when you notice him trying not to laugh. “No. It’s VapoRub.” You explain, pushing his glasses back up his nose, amusement never leaving his beautiful face. “I’m still a tiny bit congested.”
“You do look a whole lot better than you did a few days ago.” He gently touches your forehead with the back of his hand before gently moving to your cheek, his thumb grazing your soft skin as he checks your temperature. “Will you allow me the privilege of cooking you some dinner tonight, m’lady.” He says, curious blue eyes scanning your face and you can feel a blush starting to creep its way up your face.
“M’lady?! I know you’re old, but man…” His hand shoots up to his chest, eyebrows raised and feigning offence at your words. “Quit clutching your metaphorical pearls.”
He let out a laugh, warmth spreading through your chest at the sound of it, as you tapped his chest lightly and rolled your eyes at his buffoonery.
The rest of the evening went on as it usually did when you two were together, soft music playing over the speakers as you helped him cook dinner.
You had done this so many times, it felt like second nature to both of you. He knew where you kept everything, and you knew exactly what he’d need even before he could ask about it.
The problem wasn’t that anything had changed, cause it hadn’t. Not really.
The problem was that now you knew.
Knew what the tightness in your chest meant when he smiled at you. Knew why quiet moments with him felt different from quiet moments with everyone else. Knew why going home sometimes felt like leaving.
You sat on the kitchen island, looking at him as he finished up cooking dinner. Watching him. Seeing him. The light above the stove illuminating his features, glasses hanging halfway down his nose, that beautiful nose of his. Muscles unintentionally flexing under the fabric of his t-shirt as he moved. That stupid t-shirt that looked far too good and far too tight on him. Your gaze lingering on his biceps longer than intended.
You laughed at something he said.
Immediate, automatic. His attention shifted to you without thinking. Which would have been fine.
Except now he was thinking about it. The familiar sound of your laugh and how it stopped him in his tracks. And that was probably part of the problem.
Familiar meant unnoticed, it meant accepted without question. Familiar meant he couldn't remember when he'd started memorizing things.
Your apartment stopped feeling unfamiliar years ago. Somewhere between late nights and takeout containers and knowing which cabinet held the good mugs. Somewhere between I'll stay for an hour and watching sunlight move across your living room floor.
Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped noticing it happen.
His eyes met yours and you smiled softly.
And he felt something tug at his heart.
“Come here.” You say, as he turns the stove off. Pulling him to stand between your legs and wrapping your arms around him, your head on his chest.
He hesitated for a second, he wasn’t really sure why, before wrapping his arms around your back as he felt you melt into him. One hand moved up to the nape of your head, fingers tenderly threading through your hair, chin resting atop your head.
Nothing had changed. Not really. It had just naturally morphed into whatever this was. A sort of something you’d both been dancing around for longer than either of you could remember.
You were just finally noticing it.
He kissed the crown of your head tenderly as his hand moved to cup your face. You pulled apart slightly, looking up at him. Getting lost in the blue of his eyes.
“Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, I fell in love with you.” His voice was barely a whisper and you stilled at his words, heart skipping a beat. And he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.
You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out as everything hit you all at once. Every look, every smile, every lingering touch.
You let out a shaky laugh as your own hand came up to cup his cheek.
“I love you.” His thumb gently traced your bottom lip as he spoke, eyes never leaving yours as you leaned into his touch.
And then he kissed you. He kissed you slow, and sweet, and deep. And you let him.
Soft lips on yours, the hand on your jaw holding you close as you sighed against his mouth. The tension in your body finally breaking as you melted under his touch. Fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his head, pulling him closer without thinking, until the world around you disappeared.
He kissed you for what felt like forever, and you almost whined when he pulled apart, already missing the feel of his lips on yours.
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve dreamed of doing that.” He rests his forehead on yours as you both catch your breath. His hands cradling your face, thumbs tenderly grazing your skin, neither of you wanting to fully let go.
You couldn’t help but laugh again as you realised. He had heard you.
You looked up at him, standing between your legs, a content smile on his face as you gently pushed his glasses up onto his head.
“You heard.” You simply say.
“I did.”
A pause stretched between you.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to risk finding out I’d imagined the whole thing.”
“Oh, you sweet, silly, beautiful man.” He chuckled at your words before letting you pull him into another kiss.
His hands found your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel him smiling against your lips before he started kissing his way down your jaw and to your neck, his stubble tickling your skin and making a shiver run down your spine. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he found that sweet spot where your neck met your shoulder, teeth teasingly grazing your skin.
“Dinner’s gonna get cold.” You managed to say as his hand found its way under the hem of your top, his touch hot on your skin.
He laughed into the crook of your neck.
“Dinner can wait.” His breath tickled your ear as he spoke. “I’ve more important things to take care of right now.” Lips found yours once more before you could say anything else.
You let out a surprised yelp when he picked you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his hips, and you couldn’t help your laugh when you realized he was carrying you towards your bedroom.
Needless to say, neither of you cared about dinner anymore.
—
You woke up to Ryland’s arm loosely draped around your middle, rays of sunlight dancing across the side of his face as the curtain moved in the morning breeze, and casting an ethereal glow on him.
For a moment you almost felt like you were dreaming. But his arm pulling you closer as he hid his face in the crook of your neck made it clear that you weren’t.
His hand tenderly squeezed your hip as he finally stirred awake, causing a soft blush to creep its way up your cheeks.
“Morning.” You say softly,
“Morning.” He replies, his voice heavy with sleep, leaning into your touch with a content hum.
You have no idea how long you stayed like that. Just enjoying each other’s presence, his thumb absentmindedly tracing random patterns on your hip, your fingers running through his hair.
You noticed his breathing even out again and for a moment you thought he’d fallen back asleep.
He eventually stirred again, stretching one arm above his head and letting out a groan that made you chuckle softly.
“I’ll go make us some coffee.” He says as he slowly lets go of you and sits up.
As he properly stretched both of his arms above his head this time, you allowed yourself to shamelessly stare at him. The morning light bathing the expanse of his skin in a warm glow.
“Staring is rude.” The amusement in his voice is clear and you bite back a smile as he looks down at you over his shoulder. “You gotta stop doing that.” You shoot him a quizzical look.
“Staring?”
“No, biting your lip.” He explains leaning on his arm next to you, his thumb gently pulling your lip from between your teeth.
A shiver running down your spine and goosebumps blooming over your skin at the intensity of his gaze.
He pulled you into a slow kiss before reluctantly letting go of you and getting out of bed, slowly making his way around the room, muscles flexing as he leaned down to pick up his discarded t-shirt and pull it over his head before walking out the bedroom and into the living room.
You stayed there for another moment, staring at the door he'd disappeared through before finally dragging yourself out of bed.
The apartment felt the same.
Same morning light spilling through half-drawn curtains. Same quiet hum of life outside your window. Same coffee table cluttered with traces of him you'd long since stopped seeing as temporary. You'd spent so long trying not to look too closely at what this was.
At him.
At the way he'd carved himself into the quiet corners of your life so naturally you hadn't noticed it happening.
Until now.
Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, something had changed.
Or maybe it hadn't.
Maybe you were both just finally seeing it for what it had always been.