Luna

Come pick me up after work pls? I get off at 4pm Ill explain later, but act like im your girlfriend

Jason Todd was a reliable man. Especially when it meant getting to act possessive over you, even if you were only friends. For now.

He steps inside the small cafe, the man behind the counter looks up to him.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

“My girlfriend,” Jason responds.

“I’m sorry, I don't know who that is.” 

The guy looks annoyed but straightens up immediately when Jason leans forward and tells him your name.

“She’s your girlfriend?”

Jason leans back, crossing his arms. “Got a problem with that?” He's satisfied when the guy shakes his head and leaves to get you.

It doesn't take long for you to appear and get around the counter. Your coworker's hands rest on your shoulders, his face far too close to yours.

He whispers something to you and tries to turn your face away, nose scrunched up.

“Im better, I swear. All this time you had a boyfriend but still gave me the look. I know you want me.” His smile is thin and his hands wander lower, stopping at your waist.

Jason steps forward, not hiding how displeased he is, and pushes the man away from you. 

Jason catches your eye for half a second. You give the tiniest nod. 

“Hey babe.” He pulls you in close and kisses you. It was just a quick kiss, nothing crazy, but you can see your coworker's face twist with anger.

“Planned a surprise date. Let's go.” Jason gives one last, threatening look toward the guy, then leads you out the cafe, his hand replacing the other man's around your waist.

You don't look back, too uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Thank you. My god, he's such a creep. Wouldn't leave me alone so I had to invent a fake boyfriend. But he thought I was lying. Anyway, not anymore. Sorry for pushing this onto you.”

“No problem. Next time he tries anything I'll feed him to the pigs.” 

“Next time, huh? You're gonna pick up your pretend girlfriend every time now?” You laugh but he didn't seem amused. He was still holding you close, his arm around your waist tightening ever so slightly at the thought of your coworker putting his hands on you again.

“Fuck that.” He searched for his car keys in his pocket. “I'm taking you on that date.” He opened the door so you could get in, but you didn't. “If you want to?”

You smile. "I'd like that."

Jason's grin is almost immediate.

"Good."

He opens the passenger door with an exaggerated bow. "Your surprise date awaits."

“You're such a dork.”

He must have heard the wheeze anyway, because then he pads into the living room. “It’s alive,” he smiles, in a fun little voice, and it feels fitting because you imagine this is probably what Frankenstein’s monster felt like upon being shocked into life. “How are you feeling?” You let out a groan. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I put a glass of water and some ibuprofen—which is better for hangovers, by the way, and definitely don’t take any Tylenol—on the table.”

Aw. You hadn’t noticed that yet, mostly because opening your eyes and moving them around to look at stuff kind of makes you want to die. “Thanks,” you croak out. He helps you sit up, then, and dear lord, your head feels like it is about to explode. You pop the ibuprofen pill in your mouth and take a very long chug of water. “What’s that smell?”

“Breakfast. I’m cooking it. Well, it’s more like a late brunch, at this point.”

Wow. “You, like, never cook.”

“I do. Sometimes.” You lift up an eyebrow as you take another gulp of water. “Okay, ouch, first of all, and second it’s just bacon and eggs, so, not that hard to screw up.”

The smoke alarm starts going off.

“Crap, okay, I’ve got this all under control—” Ryland rushes back into the kitchen. “Go take a shower—ouch, that’s hot, ow, why did I grab that—this should be done by the time you’re out.”

You slowly stand and attempt to ignore the headrush. Despite the smoke, the food smells so good, and your stomach growls. You’ll have to make it a quick shower, because you’re not sure how long you’ll even be able to stay upright while having nothing in your stomach.

The creature that stares back at you from the mirror looks ghastly. Your makeup is entirely smudged around your eyes, there’s a line of drool trailing from the side of your mouth, and it is possible that a bird snuck in during the night and tangled up your hair to make a nest. You try to take off the lingering makeup and brush your hair out as quickly as you can before hopping into the shower. In a perfect world, you would do your full routine, but the smell of the bacon is starting to make your mouth water.

Oops. You forgot to grab clothes before you went into the bathroom. Whatever, the bedroom’s right there, and it’s not anything Ryland hasn’t seen before, so you walk out stark naked. While you’re pulling some clothes on—you steal one of his shirts, and then a pair of sweatpants for good measure—he calls from the kitchen, “I saw that, by the way. Nothing gets past me.”

“You should probably focus on not setting something on fire.”

“Hey, some of the greatest scientific breakthroughs were the result of setting something on fire. Also, it’s done. So.”

You walk out into the kitchen, expecting him to still be in there, and your plate to be on the counter, but you find neither. He must have already brought it into the living room, and, wow, you would like to kiss this man senseless right about now.

The bacon is only a little bit burned, but it is still delicious, and you munch on it happily while sitting next to him on the couch. He throws on a random video, something about water volcanoes on one of Jupiter’s moons, and when you’re finished eating he takes your plate and empty glass into the kitchen and returns with more water.

You sigh contentedly. “You’re kind of the best, and I love you, like, so much.”

He smiles and presses a kiss on the top of your head. You fold yourself into his side when he sits down again, and his arm reflexively winds around your shoulders. “Love you too. Feeling any better?”

“Some. The food helped a lot. My head still hurts a little, though.” You shift so you can nuzzle into his neck, which means that you’re basically half on top of him, and you have to put his glasses back on his face so they’re not in the way. “Sorry I got back so late,” you murmur against his skin. “And fell asleep on the couch.”

“It’s—you’re fine. Fun night? With your college friends, right?”

“Yeah. And, I mean, I’m kind of regretting about half of the drinks I had right now, but I had a good time.” You’re still pressing your forehead into him, because it actually feels really nice, dulling the throbbing in your head.

The arm around your shoulders tightens a little. “I feel like we’ve been over this before. You cannot be inside my skin. It’s not possible. And I like my skin. Very important organ. I can’t just open it up for you.”

You smile and keep nuzzling. “I’m not, even though that hurts my feelings. It’s making my head hurt less.”

He hums, and you can faintly feel it buzzing in his throat. “Probably the endorphins. Physical human touch releases a ton of it, it’s why it’s so important for skin-on-skin right after a baby is born.”

“I see.” You move, then, and clamber onto his lap so you can essentially smush your entire face into the crook of his neck. His hands slip under your shirt—well, his shirt, technically—and rub soothing paths on your back. You adjust your position a little, and then: “Oh. I haven’t even done anything.”

Ryland huffs at that. “That is completely and utterly not true. You’re on top of me, first of all, and you’re wearing my clothes, and you smell like your soap. So that’s, like, three things that you’ve done right there. I’m sure I could come up with more.” You roll your hips, slowly, still pressing your face into his skin, and he clears his throat. “We don’t—you should rest. It will go away. Probably. At some point.”

“But what if I would really, really like to. Just. Maybe not too vigorously.” His fingers flex against your back. “Also, I feel like you’ve told me at some point that orgasms are great for pain management.”

“This is very true,” he chokes out, because you’re still moving your hips into him. “More happy chemicals. Like, a lot.”

“So. Really. You would be helping me out.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” His hands move, then, from your back to your breasts, so his fingers can trace lazy circles on the buds of your nipples. You sigh happily and mouth at his neck, still rutting against him. “Hm. I have an idea.”

You grin. “Uh oh. That’s, what, two just this morning?”

“Very—funny—” The exhale he lets out is a little shaky, because you’ve started lightly grazing your teeth against his pulse point. “Are you going to ask me what the idea is?”

“I feel like normally you just share them, but, alright, I’ll bite. What’s the idea?”

“It’s about maximizing skin-on-skin contact.”

“Isn’t that kind of—already what sex does?” You’ve found a good spot with your hips, where the hard length of him lines up with you perfectly, and to be honest, you’re kind of thinking that you might be fine with just doing this.

“Well, yes, but this would be even more.” He matches the rhythm of his fingers with your movement, and you whimper into his neck. “I’ll take that as a yes? To the idea?” You nod, even though he hasn’t really told you what the actual idea really is. “Great. First step is that we take off all of our clothes.”

You lean back, then, and the dull throbbing returns to your head a little, but you ignore it and lift up your (his) shirt to pull it off. “This is already shaping up to be a fantastic idea. You’re two for two today, really great record.”

Ryland doesn’t say anything, not yet, because he’s looking down at your newly-bared skin. “Okay, slight addition to the plan, this is only a small detour before the actual idea,” and then he’s dipping his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You moan softly and wind your hands into his hair, rocking your hips again. He lets out a groan when you tug, just a little, and then he’s reluctantly pulling away from your chest. “Sorry, I have to—I’ve gotta stay on the rails, here, or else I will just do that all day.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I don’t doubt that. But we still haven’t finished step one.”

He helps you out of your (his) sweatpants, and then your underwear—there is another short detour here—before he takes off his own clothes, and he is so excited about this idea of his that he accidentally kicks the coffee table because he’s rushing. This does not deter him, and he lies down on the couch and pulls you on top of him. “Is it time for step two?” You ask, sighing as he wraps his arms around you. The feeling of your bare chest completely pressed into his is absolutely wonderful.

“This was technically step two. Sorry. I narrated it in my head. Step three is…” He shifts you down a little, moving his hands to your thighs to help you spread your legs on either side of his hips. “Can you…?” One of his hands comes up to smooth your hair before hovering, palm up, by your face. You spit into his hand. “Little more.” As you gather more saliva and let it drip onto his palm, you wonder if he actually needs this much, or if he just likes watching you do it.

Apparently you’ve given him enough, because he moves his hand away, and then he must be spreading your saliva along his length, if the way his breath catches in his chest tells you anything. Finally, he squeezes your side, and you lift your hips so he can slowly, carefully, lovingly slide inside you.

You sigh as you settle, all the way down on the base of him, and, yeah, you’re pretty sure that the skin-on-skin contact has been maximized. Your head doesn’t hurt at all, really, although in all fairness this isn’t even on your radar at the moment, because you’re too busy savoring the way his cock feels inside of you, the press of your breasts against him, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Step three,” you mumble into his neck, “has been my favorite step so far. What’s next?”

Ryland shifts a little underneath you but otherwise doesn’t move. “That’s it. We have successfully executed the idea.”

“Oh. You could have just—I know what cock warming is, Ry.”

“It’s about the suspense.”

“Sure.” His hands draw up your back, then, and he squeezes his arms around you, drawing you in even closer. “And you’re positive that you’re going to be able to just sit there and not move.”

“One hundred percent.” You grin and clench around him, and his hips twitch. “Okay, well that’s just not fair.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“…You can keep doing it, though. If you want.”

The two of you just lay like that, for a while, and he manages to stay still the whole time, even as you periodically tighten your cunt; at first, you were sort of worried that the appeal would start to wear off pretty quickly, but it hasn’t, not at all. In fact, you are fairly certain that this might be the wettest you have been in your entire life.

Then he does this—this thing, where he’s moving, but he’s also not, but somehow you can feel him moving inside of you. “What. How are you,” and you have take a second, because the sensation is kind of incredible, and scratch your earlier thought, now you are the wettest you’ve ever been. “How are you doing that.”

You can hear him smiling when he speaks. “I have pelvic floor muscles, too, you know. I think it’s the, um, the. Sorry, it’s a little difficult to—to recall detailed human anatomy, at the moment.” He falls silent, save for his heavy breathing and your quiet whimpers, and enough time passes that you think the train of thought has completely left him. “The ischiocavernosus muscle!” He blurts. “That’s it, that’s what I’m using at the moment.”

“Awesome. Tell your ischiocavernosus muscle that it’s doing a really great job. Also, I think I’m going to sit up now, because I would really like to be able to touch myself.”

“I think we can add that as a step, for sure, I’ll just—” He helps you sit up, then, and his fingers go to your chest, without you even needing to ask for it, while yours dip down to circle your clit.

It’s—there’s no resistance, your fingers simply glide smoothly over the bundle of nerves, and that combined with the sensation of the peaked buds of your nipples being rolled and circled by his fingers already has you swiftly approaching the edge. “Oh, oh, that’s—I’m already—you were right, this is an amazing idea, I would like to do this all the time, please.”

He smiles up at you, and you are struck in that moment by just how much you love him, how beautiful he looks like this, blue eyes wide and shining behind his glasses, the flush of his face spreading to his rising and falling chest. Neither of you are moving, still, except for your hands, but then he does the fucking thing again, the move-but-not-a-move, and apparently that just does it for you. Your thighs squeeze against his hips, and he steadies you while you tremble and cry out, still moving his fingers, right up until you finally collapse back down onto him.

“I think,” you whisper after a minute or so, still on top of him, still clenching around him every once in a while, “that was probably a new record. For how fast I’ve gotten there.”

“And the headache?”

“Nowhere to be found.”

He hums and presses a kiss into your temple. “You might want to take another shower.”

You raise yourself up, just a little, so you can look at him, confused. “We’re not done, though? You still haven’t—”

“Nah. This was for you. Pain management, remember?”

Yeah, that’s not happening. “Okay, but what if semen also has medicinal qualities. Like, if you come inside me, my headache definitely won’t come back.”

Ryland huffs through his nose, almost in disbelief, but you can feel him twitch inside of you. “It doesn’t, but—we can pretend that it does for the next five minutes?”

You lower yourself back down, laying your head on his shoulder and sliding your hands around his biceps as he grabs your hips. “Five minutes? That’s pretty confident of you.”

“Probably,” he groans, because now he’s moving, actually moving, and you practically mewl against his skin at the feeling. You squeeze around his cock, timing it with when he’s all the way inside of you, and a delightful little sound flies out of his mouth. “Scratch that, not probably, definitely, you are—have you been doing kegels, or something, hah, it’s honestly impressive.”

“Please,” you beg quietly into his throat. “Please come inside me, Ryland, I need it so bad, need you to—to—put a baby in me.”

He chokes at that and starts moving faster. His fingers are digging into your hips, bordering the line on being painful, but it’s not, and you are delirious at the effect that you have on him. “Oh, my gosh, you can’t—you cannot just say that to me, I’m—I’m so—”

“Yes, please, so good, you’re so good.” You’re basically chanting into his skin, now, saying whatever words occur to you in the moment without really thinking about it. “Love the way you feel, it’s so good, so fucking deep, need you to come inside me just like that.”

He does, then, with a broken whine, and you shudder against him at the sound, at the feeling of him, and neither of you move, still, even as he starts to soften and his breathing slowly evens out from its earlier heaving.

“Screw the shower,” you murmur. “I think I could fall asleep like this.”

“Same. I might have—I stayed up a little, last night. I wasn’t sure what time you’d be home.” His fingers are drawing slow lines up and down the length of your spine, until his hands settle, splayed on your back.

Your eyes slide shut as you nestle into him. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.” His words are already starting to slur a little. “Just sleep better when I’m with you.”

to be fair, he had warned you and rocky beforehand that he might get emotional, but you hadn’t expected full-on waterworks.

“wait, wait— this bit,” he whispered urgently, grabbing your arm while pointing at the projector, his temple touching yours. “this is one of the best scenes in cinema.”

“ryland, we're still on the opening credits.”

then, the second julia roberts appeared on screen, he went still. like completely frozen you weren't sure if he was even breathing. then he made a sound. something between a gasp and a sob that tried and failed to stay inside his body.

“oh my god,” he whispered. “that’s her. that’s her.”

you blinked, eyebrows meeting in a knot. “you mean julia roberts?”

he didn’t even look at you. “she’s incredible. do you— do you see her? she’s perfect. julia roberts is objectively—”

by the time ryland moved his eyes from the screen and saw you raising your eyebrows, he stammered. “i— i mean— look, i’m just saying science should study her face.”

you chuckled, more entertained watching ryland's reaction than the film itself. you have always thought of him as the 2001, singin' in the rain type of guy. not notting hill. but you were not complaining.

that was one among many things. the other was when ryland hit pause approximately every six minutes to provide unsolicited facts about the film.

“that’s the real travel bookshop in london.”

pause.

“that line was improvised.”

pause.

“fun fact: hugh grant stammered because—”

pause.

“did you know—”

pause.

“ryland,” you said, nails digging into the outer layer of the popcorn bowl.

“yes?”

“if you pause the film one more time i’m ejecting you into space.”

he actually looked genuinely offended.

by the time julia roberts delivered the iconic line “i'm also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her”, ryland was openly crying. not just quiet sniffles but full, shoulder-shaking, nose-running tears. he kept wiping his face with the back of his hand, muttering “it's just allergies” while you handed him another tissue and rubbed his back.

in the meantime, rocky watched the whole meltdown with polite confusion, he made some noises that you have rendered as thoughtful hums.

the movie ended. credits played. ryland blew his nose one last time and sighed, all watery and content. "best rom-com ever made. nothing can beat it."

rocky was still seemingly staring toward the screen, then toward ryland, then toward you before his voice came through the translator.

“why male human make many mistakes, question?”

“because he’s british,” ryland muttered quickly.

you laughed.

rocky however, had accepted this as a scientific fact.

the lights had come back, fully lit. the ship humming around you. and rocky was in full interrogation mode.

"why grace face leak water during movie, question? is broken, question? or is this the love thing, question?"

ryland laughed wetly. "it's emotion, rock. humans cry when stuff hits hard. happy cry, sad cry, whatever. that ending…. gets me every time."

"rocky amaze," rocky said, though he sounded more puzzled. “rocky have many question. is okay, question?”

“yeah, buddy. sure, what are they?” you answered.

“why human female cry at end, question? she get male. happy ending. no death. why tears, question?”

ryland laughed again, still dabbing at his eyes. “because it’s beautiful, rocky. it’s about love winning against all odds. the vulnerability, the grand gesture—”

“grand gesture inefficient,” rocky interrupted. “human male could state intention clearly at beginning. save many minute of film. also, why all humans speak so fast, question? rocky understand only sixty-three percent of dialogue.”

you bit your lip to keep from laughing. ryland shot you a mock-offended look, but his puffy eyes ruined the effect.

he looked adorable like this, you thought.

rocky wasn’t done. “conclusion: human love is voluntary madness, question?”

“that is honestly one of the best definitions i’ve heard,” you said, nodding to no one in particular.

“thank.” rocky clicked happily. you grinned.

ryland leaned forward, still emotional. “human love is…. it’s…. it’s everything, rocky. it’s wanting to be with someone, protect them, make them laugh, share your life. it’s scary and messy and the best thing in the universe.”

rocky’s claws tapped thoughtfully against his carapace. “rocky understand. similar to eridian bonding. rocky miss adrian. adrian very good mate. strong claws. excellent at solving differential equations under pressure. adrian once fix life support during solar flare with only three limbs. very impressive.”

ryland nodded solemnly, still wiping his nose. “sounds like a keeper.”

“yes,” rocky agreed. “adrian best. rocky and adrian mate for life. very efficient. just chemical compatibility test and immediate lifelong commitment. much better than human method.”

you chuckled. the contrast between the romantic movie and rocky’s brutal take on human relationships was incredible.

“human female chose grace-movie-human because emotional resonance stronger than status hierarchy, statement.” rocky added.

“hugh grant,” ryland corrected.

“yes. grace-movie-human hugh grant.”

“that's not even—”

rocky went on, ignoring him, “humans perform strange mating rituals. walking in park. staring at each other during rain.”

“it’s a romance film, rocky. it exaggerates.” you said.

“incorrect.”

you frowned. “what?"

“i observe same behavior between you and grace.”

silence.

you blinked. ryland froze. you and ryland glanced toward each other, purely instincts, before quickly turning your heads away.

ryland opened his mouth, then closed it again. “what— what are you talking about, bud?"

rocky turned his head fully toward you and ryland. “rocky observe! both you and grace single. no mate. no offspring planned. wasteful. better to have partner for support.”

your throat suddenly went dry. “uh, rocky—”

“logical solution obvious,” rocky continued, completely serious. “you and grace should mate. immediate. grace cry at romantic film, has strong reproductive drive and emotional capacity. you laugh at grace crying, shows good humor compatibility. both breathe same air, tolerate same gravity. perfect match. rocky approve.”

your face went hot. ryland’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“rocky, buddy, that’s not how it works—” ryland started, voice cracking with leftover tears and sudden panic.

“why not, question?” rocky asked, genuinely confused. “human film show this. two lonely human. one grand gesture. mating happen. happy ending. rocky can help with grand gesture. rocky very good at engineering. can build large sign. or small explosive for dramatic effect.”

before you could say anything more, rocky lifted one claw.

“rocky have evidence for human love. evidence one: you save last black human drink for grace.”

“you meant coffee—?”

rocky interrupted you by lifting another claw.

“evidence two: grace give you extra dessert ration pretending accidental.”

“i mean— she loves pudding—”

third claw.

“evidence three: you touch each other many unnecessary times.”

your face went warm. ryland choked.

“we do not—”

rocky cut you off yet again. “correction. grace touch shoulder. arm. back. hair always.”

ryland made a strangled sound. “you remember that?”

“i remember everything, statement.”

“it wasn't even—”

rocky kept going.

“evidence four: when you sleep in command module during bad radiation storm, grace watch you breathe for thirty-seven minutes.”

ryland whipped around. “rocky!”

you turned to ryland almost immediately, faster than the speed of light.

“you watched me sleep?!”

his ears turned pink.

“i— i was checking if you were dead!”

your mouth fell open for a minute. “honestly i don't know if that's sweet or borderline edward cullen-type of creepy.”

“who is edward cullen, question?”

"nobody!” you and ryland answered at the same time.

“romantic,” rocky said as another part of his observation.

“that is not romantic!” you and ryland countered back together again.

“very romantic.” rocky said calmly. “why you two not mate, question?”

“rocky,” ryland sighed, head bobbing down while his hand rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right word to explain.

“you can’t just…. suggest that, buddy.” he said carefully, voice cracking just a little.

“why not, question?”

“because that’s not how humans—” he stopped, rubbed his face, then muttered, “oh my god, i’m being out-argued by a space spider.”

rocky, completely serious: “i am not spider. i am rocky.”

then rocky made delighted clicking noises. "you two are alone. no mate. you watch movie together. you make grace leak water. you bring grace extra blanket when he complain about cold. you tease grace when he talk too much about science. this is like movie. you should mate."

ryland looked like he wanted to crawl into the air vent. "rocky—"

"is good plan," rocky continued cheerfully. "you do the hug thing often. you say 'good job' to each other even when not necessary. on erid this means mating time soon. very obvious. why wait, question? humans like waiting too much. inefficient."

your face burned. you tried to laugh it off but this time it came out strangled. the little alien was absolutely not going to let this go. you never seen this kind of determination from rocky before, unless it was about the mission.

"rocky, buddy," ryland managed, voice cracking with a mix of horror and laughter, "that's not— i mean, we're friends. crewmates. get it? CREWMATES. CREW. not…. not mates. not romantic mates. "

"friends who leak water together over love movie," rocky countered, sounding proud of his logic. "friends who fix each other mistakes in calculations. friends who stay up late talking about home. this is romantic in movie. why not in real, question? you both single. no mark to hate here."

ryland groaned and buried his face in his hands. "oh god, not the mark thing again."

“who's mark?”you asked.

“nobody!” ryland answered, a little too fast.

“humans in film.” rocky continued. “they do bonding rituals. this is mating behavior, question?”

ryland choked. “what— no— rocky, no, that’s not—”

but rocky was already continuing, tone unchanged.

“male human watches female human. expression changes. heart rate likely increased. behavior similar to when you observe her.”

there was a pause.

you blinked. “m-me?”

“yes, yes, yes,” rocky repeated simply. “correct classification: bonded partner.”

"oh my god…. oh my god…. oh my god. rocky, i don’t have—”

“incorrect,” rocky interrupted. “you do. you observe her frequently. pupil dilation increases. voice pattern softens. you perform assistance behavior not required for survival.”

you slowly turned your head toward ryland.

he was now the color of a man who had just been scientifically outed for having feelings. he buried his face into his palms. you were willing to bet that his face was just as red as his ears right now. you felt your own heating up as well.

“i do not— i mean— those are just normal— i am a professional!” rylan tried to counter back again. so far you have nothing else to contribute but letting ryland to represent both your sides in this debate.

rocky continued, relentless in his analysis.

“you also share food. sit close. laugh at small noises she makes. this is mating-adjacent behavior.”

"we were trying to ration food—"

“and she reciprocates,” rocky added, now shifting attention to you. “you also exhibit proximity preference toward ryland grace.”

“you do?” ryland suddenly asked, sounded a little too enthusiastic. not at all what you expected.

both of their attention now were on you, and you stammered looking for the right thing to say in order to not make this worse.

“i— i mean—”

“conclusion updated,” rocky interrupted. “you should mate.”

“i haven't even said anything yet!” you countered back.

“rocky have seen enough.”

“rocky,” ryland said weakly. “my guy, please stop doing science at me. i mean us.”

“science is observation.”

“i am being observed incorrectly. i meant we."

rocky continued, undeterred. “also: grace cry when female human appears on screen. this indicate strong attachment response.”

“that was character appreciation!”

“you said ‘she is perfect’ twenty-seven times.”

“that was.… artistic commentary.”

“i mean rocky's right.” you added, shrugging. to be fair, julia roberts was an incredibly charming woman.

“you're making this worse!”

you held up both hands in surrender. “sorry.”

then you made the mistake of looking at him.

he looked back.

and immediately looked away again like he had been caught committing a crime.

“eye contact.” rocky said in a sing-song.

“please stop.”

you glanced at ryland. “he’s not wrong about that one. you do look at me a lot and i don't know why.”

that made him go very still.

the air between you shifted. like something that had always been sitting quietly in the room had finally been named.

ryland swallowed. “yeah,” he said, voice lower. “well. i mean. you’re easy to look at.”

you blinked before letting out a scoff. “huh. wow. okay.”

he immediately panicked. “that came out wrong. not like— scientific observation. not like rocky observation. just— human observation. normal human—”

“ryland.”

he stopped again.

“is this mating behavi—”

“no!” you and ryland said simultaneously.

———————

much later, rocky was curled up in his little ball, lights dimmed for ship-night, his breathing low and rhythmic.

asleep.

you and ryland sat nearby, watching rocky as both of you had promised to him since the first time you met. to be left alone with ryland after what went down in the projector room was as awkward as you had imagined without rocky's usual quips. neither of you had moved for ten minutes, pretending not to replay the entire conversation in your heads.

pretending like your minds were not going back and forth between two "what if he's right" and "what if he's wrong" questions.

what if rocky was right and maybe there was perhaps a little spark there between you and ryland grace? hidden to the two of you but undeniable to the alien?

what if this was just the result of being the only two people from the same species being 11 light years away from home?

perhaps it was the latter. perhaps it was nothing. like who cares if ryland watched you sleep during the radiation storm? you were the pilot, he was the scientist. you two needed one another for this mission, to survive. the coffee/dessert part? just the two of you being polite. the blanket? he was cold. watching movies together? well, who else were you supposed to see them with? and thank goodness rocky wasn't around yet to see you cry against ryland's neck while watching casablanca together. if notting hill was his undoing, yours would be that.

it was probably 10 minutes later when ryland finally muttered a simple “well.”

“well.” you repeated.

and more silence.

“that was…. something. earlier, you know?” he laughed nervously. "crazy."

“did not have a rock alien setting me up on my bingo card this year.” you said.

"i didn't even have "meeting an alien" on my bingo card at all.”

you snorted.

ryland smiled too before looking down. “but do you…. do you think.…”

“think what?”

he rubbed his neck, hesitating. he went quiet for a while before shaking his head. “nothing.”

you watch him momentarily. “ryland.”

he looked up at you, glasses low. his eyes uncertained, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him.

“did you watch me sleep during the radiation storm?”

a beat.

“a little.”

“a little? for thirty-seven minutes?”

“that number is way too specific.”

you laughed. “maybe rocky exaggerated that part.”

he smiled, then exhaled. “yeah, maybe.”

“but the rest of them are true.” you added.

the ship was quiet again. you looked at him. really looked at him this time. and suddenly he was no longer the awkward, rambling scientist who couldn’t sit through a movie without turning it into a commentary track. not the guy who got emotional over rom-coms and denied it. but the person who had been there through everything. who made you laugh when things got too heavy. who noticed when you were off before you even said anything.

“which part?” he asked, quieter now.

you hesitated, then forced yourself to meet his eyes. “the…. stuff about us. spending time together. looking out for each other. all that.”

he swallowed.

“that’s just…. normal, right?” he said, but there was uncertainty in it now. he didn't even believe what he said.

“is it?” you asked gently. “but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

he didn’t answer, so you kept going.

“you stay up with me when i can’t sleep,” you said. “even when you’re exhausted. you remember the smallest things about me. stuff i don’t even remember telling you. you—” you stopped yourself, then shook your head a little, smiling faintly. “you always make sure i eat before you do.”

he let out a quiet breath, eyes flicking down.

“you do things too,” he said quickly, almost like he needed to even the scale. “you— you check on me when i get too caught up in work. you bring me those stupid snacks i like even though they’re objectively terrible. you—” he huffed a small, nervous laugh. “you laugh at my jokes. that alone is, like, a huge indicator of something.”

you snorted. “your jokes are funny.”

“they are not funny.”

“they are to me.”

when your eyes meet again, something in his expression shifted. softened. the same way like it had earlier during the movie, but this time it wasn’t directed at a screen.

it was at you.

“….that’s the thing,” he said quietly. “it’s…. different with you.”

your heart skipped.

“different how?” you asked, just as quietly.

he hesitated, like he was choosing his words carefully, or maybe just trying to find them at all.

“i don’t—” he stopped, exhaling. “i don’t feel like i have to be ‘on’ around you. you know? like…. i’m not performing or over-explaining or trying to prove anything. i can just…. be.”

you didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that until he said it.

your voice came out softer than you expected. “you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“i know,” he said. “that’s…. kind of the point.”

a beat again.

he shifted closer. so close your shoulders touched. your breath hitched, stomach doing that stupid thing again. but neither of you moved away.

“can i ask something stupid?”

you didn't trust yourself to speak so you just nodded.

“if i kissed you right now….” he swallowed. “.…would that ruin everything?”

silence.

your lips parted but not words came out, eyes already flickering to his mouth.

“i guess there’s one way to test that hypothesis.”

he was the one who leaned first, crashing his lips against yours carefully, like one wrong move and everything would be ruined. then he stilled. his lips were softer than you imagine. you felt his hesitations, felt his contemplation, if he should pull away or keep going.

but then he finally moved. slow, testing the waters. you kissed him back, sighing into his mouth a little like you've been waiting months for him to do it. perhaps you had but haven't admitted it to yourself until now.

you felt his hand hover near your face before finally settling to cup your jaw, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you at all, while having his lips on you. like you were the most sacred things in the universe that he wanted to protect.

“excellent.”

“ARGH!!!!”

you flinched at the sudden interruption. ryland automatically jumped from his seat, holding your shoulder and hid behind you.

it was rocky.

and rocky was very much awake.

upright. watching. jazz hands wiggling.

“rocky!” ryland screamed.

“you were not asleep?!” you asked, voice high.

“correct.”

ryland yelped. “were you spying on us?!”

“no.”

pause.

“listening.”

“that IS spying, rocky!" you groaned.

“successful mating initiation.” rocky sounded smug, which should have been impossible for an alien spider.

“oh, jesus.” you hid your face in your palm while ryland slowly sat back down.

“adrian would be pleased.” rocky clicked proudly. “when is the wedding, question?”

"nope! no more questions from you! that’s it. movie nights are cancelled forever,” ryland said, pointing accusingly. “done. over.”

“incorrect,” rocky replied. “more mating films required for further study.”

“conclusion,” rocky continued, completely ignoring him, “mutual romantic interest confirmed. physical interaction increases bonding.”

“stop analyzing us like we're lab experiments!” you said.

“it is a lab experiment,” rocky countered calmly. "rocky will need to see the mating process now.”

“no!”

ryland looked like he was this close from ejecting rocky to outer space. pissed but in an adorable way.

"ryland, ryland. calm down. it's okay." you giggled, hand caressing his chest and kissing his cheek while he was still mock glaring at rocky, just to see something. he went red all over again.

rocky made delighted clicking noises.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Mr. Grace,” the class echoed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know! I know!” 

“Tell me, Amaya!” 

“The sun!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it, Jack?” 

“Mercury!” 

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

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

“Uh, Venus?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah! Get it Mr. Grace!” 

“Finally did it!”

“You wanted her so bad!” 

“It was like an awkward nerdy soap opera!”

He’d just been sitting down to record a video diary when the two of you were sure Rocky was fast asleep. You’d feigned disinterest at joining him, but as soon as he’d clicked the record button, you’d carefully begun to swan over to where he was seated at the computer. Ryland hadn’t noticed at first, but when your knees hit the ground in front of him, his eyes had gone wide in panic, and wider in anticipation when you started to mess with his fly.

When he’d trailed off his sentence your hands stilled on his dick, only to give him one very firm look with an entire dirty idea behind it: don’t stop doing the diary.

So here you are. Giving him head just below camera. And you think the restraint he’s having to show might actually kill him. His cock is in your hand at the moment, slathered in spit and rock-hard, and you’re stroking it with utter glee. His hands sink into the upholstery of his chair with such force that you can see his nails begin to make rips in it. You use a free finger to tap his so that his attention can be drawn to the unregistered reaction, and he balls them into white-knuckled fists instead.

“We are c-currently en route to Adrian to see if we can pick u-uh-uhhhh—”

You’ve started to lave your tongue up and down the thick vein on the underside of his cock. He forces himself back into his chair as if his spine has been superglued to it. Sweat begins to pebble on his forehead; you want to reach up and lick it off.

“Pick up, sorry, pick up the astrophage predator, everything is going smoothly so far…”

You smother a chuckle on his dick at that. Sure. Going smoothly, as you inch your mouth down him until he’s slowly swallowed up entirely. When you realise he isn’t talking, you glance up only to see he’s entirely focussed on the way your lips look around his shaft. You slap his knee to get him to concentrate.

“…andandand the ship checks are all fine, fuel levels are about what we expected…”

He’s babbling nonsense but it’s good enough for you. You speed up and, as a reward, grab one of his hands - you’re reasonably certain they’re off camera - and let him thread it through your hair. You’re sure the audio must pick up the breathy, fluttery sigh he gives out, but you’re long past caring.

Time to finish this sweet torture. You grab onto his thick thighs and move one of them so it’s slung over your shoulder and you can bury yourself in him properly. Ryland goes with a whoa! but doesn’t object. All he can do is try to babble out something which sounds even remotely like a sentence as his cock hits the back of your throat over and over, thick and hot and hard. His fingers stroke your hair like you’re giving him the most loving blowjob of his life and not like you’re trying to suck him completely dry on camera.

“Doctor Ryland Grace signing o-oh-OH-OHFFF!” he yelps as he fills your mouth with hot ropes of come. He bucks his hips a little so that his cock continues to slide against the soft, sweet plain of your tongue as he rides it out and you swallow every drop.

When you’re sure he’s done and there’s no more to take, you pull off of him with a wet pop and an empty mouth as you gulp loudly. He stares, enraptured, like the whole of his universe has narrowed to one fine point: you.

“We can’t possibly send this back to Earth,” he manages. You shrug.

“They sent us on a suicide mission. What else are we gonna do to distract ourselves?” you ask with a shrug, before leaning into the camera’s field of view properly. “Don’t worry, Stratt, I’m taking good care of him.”

You shoot a thumbs-down and hit save. She’ll have fun explaining that one to the governments of the world, you’re sure.

How does it feel to be part of a suicide mission?

Well, that was a question you never thought you would know the answer to.

That was, until you joined the mission Project Hail Mary

Since that day, you were constantly reminded of your unavoidable demise.

You were stuck on a ship, lost in space, with two members of your team already dead.

You had no one, except for your recently awoken coworker, Dr. Ryland Grace.

Knock, knock, knock.

The banging of the door to your room startled you awake, and you sat up quickly in response.

"Rise and shine!" Ryland exclaimed, swinging open the door to your dormitory that kept you away from the reality of your current predicament.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, letting your head flop back onto your pillow.

"Dr. y/n is awake, question?" You heard your new found friend, Rocky, ask from outside of the room.

"Hmm... Debatable." Ryland answered, making his way next to your bed, but not before flipping your lights on as he walked over.

You groaned again, covering your eyes with your hands in response to the painfully bright overhead light.

"Can't we all just sleep? For like... a while?" You asked, exhaustion lacing your body and voice.

Ryland chuckled at the question, "Afraid not, m'lady." he joked, gently placing his hands on yours and pulling them off of your eyes.

You squinted your eyes together at the light that you could no longer block out, and let out a deep sigh.

You felt the bed shift as Ryland took a seat on the edge, before looking down at you and lightly smiling at you as you opened your eyes again.

You felt your cheeks warm up and you couldn't help smile back.

You pulled one hand out of his and lightly smacked his arm, reminding him that you still didn't appreciate the interruption to your sleep, but you both remained smiling nonetheless.

He chuckled at your actions, then continued to watch you for a moment before speaking again.

"Good morning," He said quietly with a soft smile that made your heart ache, while his eyes continued to gaze over your sleepy state.

"Yeah, yeah, good morning." You responded, suddenly growing shy at the warmth in his voice and the feeling of his hand still laced with your own.

Though Dr. Ryland Grace could be a socially awkward idiot, you couldn't help but feel something ignite inside of your chest whenever he spoke to you. While it could have just been the comfort of having someone around, deep down, you knew that there was more to it.

Maybe it was the fact that the two of you had been stranded in space for a while, but the way his stupid face always seemed to light up when he saw you made it very hard to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

"Rocky and I have something to show you." He stated, breaking you from your trance and pulling on the hand he was still holding, helping you to sit up.

"Well it better be pretty amazing if you needed to wake me up for it." You joked, but you were already intrigued at his statement.

"Oh you'll be amazed," He winked. You let out a small chuckle and rolled your eyes at his never-ending attempts to make you smile. "Oh, and bring your suit." He said, making you raise an eyebrow in curiosity as he walked out of your room, shutting the door.

After changing into new clothes and tying your space suit around your waist, you made your way out into the corridor of the ship.

"Hello, y/n friend!" Rocky greeted you, bouncing around as per usual.

"Morning, rock." You smiled at the creature, or... whatever he was.

Ryland quickly swiveled his chair around at the sound of you, looking at you above the frames of his glasses.

"'Bout time." He stood, zipping up his space suit and signaling for you to do the same.

Just before you could enter the airlock, you noticed an odd glow coming from the window beside you.

You turned your head to see what it was that had caught your eye, and your mouth instantly dropped at the realization.

A neon green planet sat massively beside you, with pockets of orange swirls littering the surface, creating an absurdly bright, beautiful, sight.

You let your eyes widen at what you saw, as you turned to look at Ryland, who was already smiling at you.

"What the fuck is that?" You said in disbelief.

He simply chuckled and pushed his glasses higher up his nose, "I could tell you, or I could just show you." he shrugged.

Without responding, you scrambled to prepare yourself to exit the ship.

He did the same, but much more calm and collected than you seemed to be at the moment.

"Grace shows y/n Adrian, question?" Rocky asked, as Ryland nodded at him.

"That's right, Rocky." He responded, as you opened the airlock in preparation to leave.

"Excitement! Excitement!" Rocky bounced around at the response.

You listened to them before asking, "Adrain?" Your eyebrows threaded together at the new term.

Ryland looked at you and smiled, "That's what we named it." He grabbed your hand and lead you to the exit of the ship, after making sure that you were both strapped in.

You stepped out into the endless sky, hand in hand, as the bright green planet sat before you. Large, beautiful, and completely real.

You let out a long breath at the vision of the planet, letting everything else disappear around you.

You had never imagined that you would actually have success on this mission, and before Ryland was woken up, you had accepted that fate.

At home on Earth, your family frequently told you that it was stupid to go on a mission that you couldn't return from, but you knew that if your death could save someone, anyone, (especially the whole planet), it would be worth it.

Ever since Ryland woke up, you had already discovered so much more together than you ever could on your own.

From stumbling across the Blip-A, to finding a literal alien that you could communicate with, your life had changed in a matter of months.

All because of him.

And now, you had found a whole planet.

As you floated there silently with his hand in yours, you let your mind wander everywhere except for the literal ginormous orb right in front of you.

You thought about Earth, and the repetitive routine you used to follow every single day.

You thought about the day you were offered a position to assist with something they called 'Project Hail Mary'.

And finally, you thought about your family.

You missed them.

They begged you endlessly not to go on the mission, but you had your heart set, and they knew they couldn't change it.

You thought about the phone calls you would receive from them each week before you left.

You thought about the hugs they gave you every time you went your separate ways.

And you thought about the last hug you gave them.

The last hug you would ever give them.

Your chest tightened at the reminder, as your eyes stayed fixed on the planet in front of you. After a few minutes, Ryland spoke, quieting your thoughts.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" He questioned the silence, before turning to look at you and noticing the tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

"Oh shit, are you okay? Wait, stupid question. Um, What can I do? Should I have told you sooner?-" He began to ramble, before you cut him off by laughing at his nervousness.

"It's okay, Grace" You sniffled, looking at him properly for the first time since you had left the ship. "It's just... a lot."

He nodded and kept his eyes fixed on yours, "Yeah, I know."

You turned your head back to the glowing, swirling, planet.

It looked like unlike anything you had ever seen before.

Ryland's hand sat heavy in yours, in the most comforting, considerate way imaginable.

He always seemed to find a way to remind you that you aren't alone.

Even though, technically speaking, you two were about as alone as people could be.

Whether he was holding your hand, or letting you sleep next to him during a particularly difficult night, he was always there.

And you never wanted him to not be there.

You both floated there for what felt like hours, hand in hand, before you eventually spoke up again.

"So Adrain, huh?" You shook your head, smiling.

"Yeah, Adrian." He began, "We named it after Rocky's... lady rock." He tried to explain.

You giggled, and glanced over at him before looking back.

"Well, it really is beautiful." You said, allowing yourself to capture the memory in your mind as well as you could.

"Yeah, it is." He sighed, but his eyes had never left you.

He watched the light from the planet reflecting onto your eyes, and you had felt him grip your hand a bit tighter than before.

After a moment of peaceful silence, you looked at him again. He was still staring at you as if you were the best discovery he had ever made, completely disregarding the whole planet in front of him.

"Do you wanna go back in?" He finally spoke, and you only nodded at the question.

Once you had both made it back into the ship, you and Ryland both tied your suits around your waists, and you went to sit in front of the window that Adrian shone right through.

"Y/n like Adrian, Question?" Rocky said, once you had both settled back into the room.

"Y/n loves Adrian. Statement." You said, looking back at Rocky and Ryland, smiling.

Ryland's cheeks heated up, as he made his way to sit next to you in front of the window.

He took his place on the floor next to you, extending his legs in front of him and his arms behind him to hold himself up.

He looked at you in the eyes for a moment, before turning his head, saying, "Rocky, can you leave for a second?"

Rocky shifted his stance, before claiming, "One second over."

You giggled at the alien, as Ryland rolled his eyes and let his head fall back.

"No, like... oh my god." He said, running a hand down his face.

"Rocky, can you just give us a few minutes alone?" You ask, still smiling at the alien's confusion.

"Rocky leave for some minutes. Y/n and Grace talk." Rocky said, rolling out of the room.

You giggled as Ryland turned back towards you, shaking his head.

"That little guy will be the death of me." He sighed, before smiling and beginning to laugh as well.

You turned your head to face the window again, and this time, Ryland did the same.

After a few moments of familiar silence, he exhaled, "Honestly, maybe this wouldn't be the worst place to die."

You pulled your crossed legs up to your chest, hugging your arms around your knees. "You're not wrong."

"I'm never wrong." He joked before looking at you again, taking in your relaxed, yet melancholic, state.

"What's been bothering you?" He asked, concerned about your recent breakdown outside of the ship.

You sighed and looked towards him again, "I just can't really fathom it," You blinked back a few tears, "My family didn't believe in the mission. I just... wish they could know about everything we've done."

He slowly nodded in understanding, "They will know."

Your chest ached as you mustered up the air to speak, "They didn't want me to go."

Ryland swore he felt his heart break at the pain in your voice.

"I'm sure they didn't," he started, hearing you sniffle again. He placed a solid hand on your knee, "you'd be a hard person to lose." He looked down at his feet stretched in front of him.

You turned to look at his face while a familiar warmth ran up your spine, "You really think so?"

"I know so." He looked back up, finding your eyes as his began to form their own tears.

You tried to smile at him, but felt your mouth pull downwards into a frown. "I could say the same about you, Ryland."

He lets out a shaky exhale and shakes his head, trying to fight his own tears by looking out the window, "I don't really have a family."

"Well..." You started, trying to find the right words, "either way, I know that I never want to lose you."

Silence sat between the two of you for a moment, before he slowly turned his face to look at you again, a new softness capturing his features.

He lifted a hand to softly rest against your cheek for a moment.

You both began to pull towards each other, slowly closing your eyes and resting your foreheads against one another.

"I never want to lose you either, y/n." He said, allowing your breathing to mix in the small space between your mouths, before leaning in and slowly closing the distance between you.

You graciously accepted the kiss, gently pressing your lips against his and exhaling at the sensation of tension finally breaking.

He moved the hand resting on your cheek to the back of your head, gently grasping your hair to pull your face farther into his own as you opened your mouth more, allowing him to press his lips firmly into yours.

After another moment, you felt your tears coat your cheeks, while some made their way onto Ryland's face in the process.

You shifted your weight to your knees so you could wrap your arms around his neck. As you tangled one hand into his hair, you heard a light shuffling from the other room before you could pull apart.

"Grace and y/n done, Question?"

Ryland jumped away at the sudden interruption, his cheeks burning bright red.

You slowly moved away from him, biting your lip to fight back a smile at Rocky's impeccable timing.

"Yeah, uh... Yeah, we're done." He stuttered, scratching the back of his head with the hand that was just tangled in your hair.

"Grace is nervous. Why?" Rocky titled his head. You couldn't help but let out a giggle at the alien's unintentional teasing.

"Nope... I'm just... yeah, I'm good." He stood up and turned away from you both to hide his beat red face.

"Grace like y/n. No..." Rocky paused, making you both turn to look at him, "Grace love y/n, statement."

You couldn’t help but laugh, turning to Ryland, who was now rolling his eyes and shooing Rocky away with his hand.

"Shut up, you big boulder." He said, making you laugh even harder.

The night continued on with shared, intentional glances between you and Ryland, as Rocky observed and occasionally commented on Ryland's increased temperature or your quickened heart rate.

So... what was it like to be part of a suicide mission?

Well, when you had Dr. Ryland Grace and a mysterious alien friend... maybe it wasn't so bad.

You chuckled as he moved to lay his whole body atop of yours, placing his head on your chest and restricting your movements.

Without protest, you let your hands tangle in his hair and comb through his messy locks.

"You know, you have a big day today." You encourage.

With his face still pressed into your chest he let out a muffled, "What do you mean?"

He couldn't see your smile, but he could definitely hear it in your voice as you reminded him, "aren't you teaching the kids about relativity today?"

He let out a loud, frustrated groan into your shoulder and all you could do was giggle at his lack of motivation in the mornings.

He lifted his head up at your laughter, propping himself up on his elbows to lean over your face.

"Something funny?" He asked, though he already had a shit-eating grin on his face.

"No, not at all, Mr. Grace." You humored, but it is cut short as he begins placing sloppy kisses all across your neck.

"You know, I don’t think the little pebbles would mind me being late."

"Babe, you're literally the teacher." You grumbled as his stubble tickled your neck.

"Exactly." He looked back up at you again, "Gotta teach 'em to expect the unexpected." He said with a sly smirk spreading across his face.

You raised a brow at his words, but before you could question him aloud, he flipped you, causing you to let out a squeal as you were placed onto his lap.

He had accidentally snagged his beloved blanket on a nail today, the hardened rust ripping a few stitches, and the more he moved it, the more the yarn untangled itself, the delicate wave pattern coming undone.

Lars had cried like it was the end of the world until Karin recommended him this new tailoring shop in town, and that she had heard the owner was a very lovely and kind lady. He practically flew into his car, speeding down the road to find the cozy store tucked away in a quiet corner of the small wisconsin town, snow piling up on the roof.

Luckily, the lights were on, and the sign on the door read 'open'. This was his last hope.

The little bell above your shop door chimed, a cheerful sound that always made you look up from whatever you were working on with a smile. And how could you not? After years and years of dreaming and saving up, you were finally able to call this little nook your own shop.

So as a person stepped inside, you felt that familiar flutter of excitement. A customer. Your customer!

It was a tall, soft looking man, draped in a plush winter jacket and clutching something to his chest like it was a wounded animal. He was handsome, cute even. He had a fine-boned, round face and a dusting of chestnut brown sat atop of his head, his mustache matching the colour of his hair. His eyes were wide, pale blue, darting around the shop as if he expected a trap to swallow him up.

"Welcome in!" you said, setting down your scissors as you cut pieces from some burgundy fabric "What can I help you with today, sir?"

He shuffled forward to the register, his broad shoulders hunched. "I- uh, I need to get something fixed" his voice was soft, almost a whisper, and he held out the bundle in his arms. It was a blanket, baby blue, knitted out of thin and delicate yarn and clearly throughouly loved, but equally treasured to make sure it remained in tact.

You gently took it from him, noticing how he pulled back his hand before your fingers could touch his. You let the fabric slip between your fingers with a soft frown before you found a tear, the stitches jagged and ripped.

The man in front of you wrung with his hands as you assessed the damage. "I'll pay whatever you want, just...just repair it. Please" he practically begged you. You softly smiled at him, this clearly was no ordinary scarf. "Sounds like this is very important to you, if you want to get it fixed so badly" you said, your head tilting to encourage him to satisfy your curiosity.

His mouth stretced into a vertical line and he blinked harshly, two times, before he took a breath to answer "My mom made it for me...before I was born" he muttered, and you were about to say 'aww', when he continued, wiping any joyous expression off your face "She died when I was born, so..." he smiled gently, as if this wasn't a devestating fate at all.

You looked back down at the blanket in your hands. You could see the careful, even stitches of a woman who had poured all her love into every row. A mother knitting for a child she would never hold. It almost made you tear up, but you swallowed that down. "I can fix this" you said softly "It's a simple pattern and stitching, I'll make it barely noticeable. Give me about two days."

He lit up at your statement "Thank you" he breathed, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He patted down his thick jacket for his wallet "How much?"

You leaned forward and pressed your hand against his clothed forearm, and while he flinched for a second, the pressure of it was oddly...comforting? How were you doing that? "Let's see how it turns out first." You smiled with a little wink, and he seemed to relax a fraction.

Two days later he returned as if those 48 hours had him greatly distressed, like waiting for a sick loved one to come out of a complicated surgery. You seemingly had awaited him as well, smilling widely when his adorable, awkward nature filled your shop. "Ah! Mr. Lindstrom was it, right?" you pointed at him to which he nodded timidly. You had actually remembered his name days ago when he told you. He felt warm inside, but he blamed it on the heat from the lit fireplace in your store.

"Just give me a second!" you called out to him and he made himself comfortable on one of the plush chairs that surrounded the fireplace, watching you count through various letters before finding the letter 'L' on top of your shelf.

You climbed up, sorted through a few finished orders and custom pieces until you found his, the one labeled with 'Lindstrom', and retrieved it with a giddy smile. You didn't want to admit it, but you probably had never worked as diligently and careful as you had done for this piece. You just wanted to make it perfect.

He jumped up from his seat, brushing back his hair and dusting off his jacket as if this was a special event. You giggled softly at his antics. He was very intriguing, you had to admit.

You then handed him the repaired scarf. The tear was invisible unless you knew where to look, the yarn you had chosen a perfect colour match to the original one.

He held it up, craddling it in his big hands, his fingers tracing the spot, and his eyes went watery. Your heart clenched in your chest, fearing he didn't like it and you just ruined the precious memory of his mother. "You...don't like it?" you whispered and his head shot up, his round, teary eyes searching yours "Oh, no it's- it's perfect. Looks very good" he nodded with a jerk of his head, clearly not being great in showing his gratitude and excitement visually. But you didn't mind, you knew it meant a lot when he said it like that.

He went to wrap it around his neck like a scarf. It was a very cute way to still use and honor the blanket, even though he couldn't be swaddled up tighly in it anymore.

His hand dipped into his pockets then, reaching for his wallet "How much-" he started, but you held up your hand and shook your head. "It's on the house. I couldn't take money for something that is so dear to you, especially since it was a gift from your mom. I'm not going to make you pay for it now"

Lars just stared at you then, his soft pink lips slightly ajar, something shifting in his expression. A kind of awe, or maybe gratitude so deep it looked like pain, you weren't sure "You don't have to-" he said, shaking his head in disbelieve, but you just smiled at him. "I want to." you assured him, smoothing out the blanket over his chest "Really."

He swallowed, his cheeks glowing red under the dim light of your shop. He could barely feel your touch through the many layers of clothing he wore, but it made something in his chest flutter nonetheless "Thank you." he breathed, his ears starting to match the colour of his face.

As much as you would have liked, you were sure this wouldn't get deeper than that. He would leave, and you'd never see him again. Maybe a few glimpses around town, but that would be it.

And at first you thought you were right. A week passed with no sign of him. You tried not to let it affect your mood- he had just been another customer! And yet, you felt like there was more to him, and you wanted to see him again. No, you didn't just want to see him, you wanted to get to know him better.

Then one afternoon, he appeared again, holding the puffy jacket he wore last time under his arm. Timidly, he showed you a ripped seam under the arm.

"I was...uhm, chopping wood and moved a bit too much" he explained, blinking harshly. You laughed, and it surprised him into a half smile "You chop wood?" you asked then and he nodded, all shy and sweet. God, he looked very cute today, very cuddly with the many layers he wore. "Yeah, I'm pretty good at it" he said proudly, softly puffing out his chest as you took the jacket from him to assess the damage. "I bet you are" you smiled, counting how many stitches had ripped open.

He blinked, nodding at you, his heart beating faster in his chest for a reason he couldn't name. "You should watch me some time" he suggested, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

You looked up from the jacket in your hand to find him standing there all nervous, and it made something flutter in the lower parts of your stomach "I'd love to. But first, I gotta fix this jacket so you can really get back to it" you winked, opening a drawer to fish out a needle "It's an easy fix. Come, make yourself comfortable" you gestured to your cozy sofa next to the fireplace "It'll take ten minutes."

He just nodded and settled on your little couch, tensed, as if he wasn't supposed to be there, while you threaded a needle with matching yarn.

While Lars was busy admiring your simple shop and the fabrics rolled up on high shelves, you were able to take a better look at him. He was wearing a nice sweater, a shirt peeking out at the collar. It was a bit worn, lumpy at the shoulders, but he looked soft and warm and somehow out of place in his own skin. You almost wanted to coo.

"Do you have someone in your family who knits, then?" you asked while you worked, vaguely gesturing to his clothes.

"Uh, yeah, I had. My grandma knitted most of my sweaters. She died years ago though..." he told you, yet again like it was the most normal thing in the world, throwing you a tight lipped smile, while you could only watch in pity. He twisted his hands in his lap. "I like sweaters. They're cozy." he muttered, trying to lighten the mood.

You nodded at Lars, pulling your string tight before looping it back through the fabric "I can see that. They suit you." You smiled gently as he blushed at your compliment.

"I do custom work, you know." you shrugged, biting your lips in concentration. It was a good look on you, and Lars couldn't avert his eyes. "I could make you one that fits perfectly. Not that the oversized look isn't cute but I thought, maybe, you'd like a sweater that isn't all stretched and loose" you muttered, and you couldn't believe you just called him cute like that. God, you surely just scared him off!

His eyes grew wide "Really?"You turned from your work to look back at him, only to find him already watching you "Really. I'd give you a discount, since you're such a nice customer."

He blushed, the beautiful colour creeping up his neck. "That's- I don't know what to say." he admitted, munching on his bottom lip while trying to hide a bashful smile from you. You tied a quick knot as you finished stitching up the hole in the jacket, cutting off the excess yarn. "Say yes, and I'll take your measurements."

Lars was hesistant, mostly because he didn't want to flinch when your touch would ultimatively burn him and make you feel bad about it, but how could he say no when you looked at him like that?

He nodded gently and you got to work. The measuring was as delicate as you could make it. You had come to the conclusion yourself that he might not like to be touched by basically strangers, or maybe he didn't like to be touched at all. Either way was fine. You still had to make him take off the sweater, keeping him in only a very light pink long sleeve, so you could take measures as accurately as possible without making him even more uncomfortable than he already was.

You used your most flexible and soft tape, so he barely felt it over his clothes, and you made sure not to touch him more than necessary, though you noticed how he tensed when your fingers brushed his chest, his waist or his arms, even though you were extra careful. He held his breath when you measured his shoulders. Not because of pain, but because your fleeting touches left a weird but pleasent tingling sensation.

"There" you said proudly, after walking back and forth between Lars and a table to write down his measurements "I'll try to have it ready in about two weeks" you informed him and two weeks later, he returned on time for the sweater.

You had chosen a rich, warm brown wool, soft as a cloud, and knit it with slightly dropped shoulders and a generous fit that would hug his midsection without clinging too much. When he pulled it on over his head, the fabric settled against him like it was made for him- well, because it was, but seeing it fit him like this really made it clear. He looked down at himself in awe, running his large hands over the sleeves, the chest and the hem, tracing the pattern you had made with darker wool.

"That's a nice sweater" he nodded to you with a smile, his whole face scrunching up when he did it. Oh he looked so cuddly and warm, it made your heart ache in your chest, and all you wanted was to sink into his arms because it looked like the most cozy place in the universe "I'm glad you like it."

He wore it everywhere. He wouldn't take it off for days on end, he slept in it just to smell the scent of your shop, and he wouldn’t leave the house if he had to wash the garment. It became his comfort sweater, much like his little blanket was a great comfort to him. The combination of wearing both was unmatched. After Karin told him, very nicely, that he might want to look for other sweaters to wear, as the town surely thought he wasn't washing his clothes, he decided to have you make more.

But Lars being Lars, he purposefully ripped or cut some of his older clothes so you could fix them, claiming he had snagged them somewhere or that Gus' cat got them, a cat which Gus didn't have, but you didn’t have to know about that, just so he didn't directly have to tell you he wanted another sweater.

It quickly became obvious he searched for excuses to see you, waiting for you to suggest another handmade sweater of yours for him. He would feel less of a burden if you got the idea of making a second sweater for him instead of him specifically asking for one. You were surely busy, with you being the only seamstress in town.

Oh, he could never be a burden

So soon you made him another, and another. He quickly became a regular, sometimes just dropping by to say hello, to sit on your couch and watch you work while you talked about anything and nothing. It was mostly just you two, and you enjoyed the company greatly, rather than listening to the radio all day just so you wouldn't feel all alone. You learned a lot about each other, you about his family and what he did for work- him about where you were from and how long you've been sewing.

Conversation flowed fairily easy with Lars, something you hadn't expected, but when he was comfortable enough, he could be quite the chatterer.

He became the highlight of your day. He'd bringt drinks and snacks to your shop after work, knowing you often forgot to take breaks and eat when you were hands deep in a project, especially when you had procastinated it for a while and it had to be finished in a few days. In those times, he always made sure to pull you out of it for a moment, have you take a breather to clear your head before you continued.

One day he even let you take pictures of him modelling your early spring collection, his face visible from his mustache down and ending at his thighs to showcase the longsleeves, hoodies, jacket and sweaters you made for your storefront window. It was perfect, and you could have kissed him right there, even though he would argue he looked silly or you should have hired a professional. Which was bullshit, you liked it like this, having him in your shop even though he wasn't there, and while he wouldn't admit it- Lars felt honored and...proud that you wanted him out of all people to model for you.

Everything was going well, your relationship, whatever this was, blooming between you like the flowers in early spring breaking through the thick snow blankets.

Then Mark came in.

He often did, he was one of your regulars as well, just usually not when Lars was there.

Mark was a very successful lawyer. He was tall and clean shaven, his hair slicked back to perfection, pearly white veneers glinting when he'd smile, and his lean but toned body clad in expensive and hand tailored suits- which is the reason why he was here. He needed a new one for a case abroad, pinstriped and fitted at the waist with shoulder paddings.

He always tipped well and complimented your work, and you liked him well enough as a customer. Back then, he was in your class in high school, the guy who had every girl wrapped around his finger. Well, except for you. When he noticed that, he desperately tried to make you change your mind, even though you were sure he didn't even want you that way, like at all. He just wanted to reassure himself that no woman was able to withstand his charm.

Maybe he was still bitter about the fact that he never managed to get you into bed with him, which was why he still sought you out, even in this small wisconsin town. But how could you care if you made about 2500$ plus a fat tip whenever he visited?

Lars came from your office in the back where he had managed your emails like he did at work, just one of the ways he tried to make up for all the cheap or free of charge clothes you had made him the past months.

So when he saw you kneeling in front of a random mans crotch, pinning his trouser hem, he turned into a statue. His jaw was tight as he watched you. He knew the things you had to do for your job, but seeing this guy all arrogant and smug while practically shoving his crotch into your face made him feel sick to the stomach.

Marks gaze landed on a dumbfounded Lars then, his carved brows furrowing "Didn't know you had a little helper around here" he nearly growled, staring Lars down as if he was his sworn enemy.

You jumped softly, standing up straight again, your cheeks flushed that Lars had found you in such a compromising position. "Mark" you said, clearing your throat "This is Lars. He helps me out sometimes" you explained, then gestured over to Mark, looking at Lars with a forced smile "Lars, this is Mark. He is a lawyer and often comes to me for custom suits"

Mark extended a hand. "What a pleasure to meet you...Lars" he smirked, his voice carrying a hint of disgust as he said Lars' name.

Lars puffed out his chest, squaring his shoulders and his chin held high. He reached forward to shake Marks hand with a strength that made the lawyer flinch in surpise. The touch burned Lars more than usual, probably matching the anger brewing in his chest, but he held Marks intense gaze as if trying to assert dominance and impress you, even if it meant pain.

Your mouth was agape at Lars' behavior, especially knowing how agonizing touch could be for him. Yet he shook hands with Mark, as if he was jealous. No, Lars wasn't jealous, was he? Sometimes stirred in your gut, your thighs pressing together.

Mark cleared his throat, his ego clearly bruised as he wiped his hands on his dress shirt. "You know, you could use a suit, buddy. A sweater isn't exactly...classy" Mark chuckled, eyeing Lars up and down, to which Lars faux confident facade finally broke. He blinked harshly and brushed past you to get his jacket. "Lars-" you started and reached for him, but he had already put on his jacket, not throwing you another glance in fear to see your disappointment of him tucking his tail between his legs.

With a pressed out "I have to go" he was gone.

You were sure he'd return tomorrow. He always did, right? Your chest felt heavy throughout the whole fitting with Mark, your thoughts drifting back to Lars- so much so you sometimes accidentally pricked Mark with a bobby pin as you secured a hem for later stitching.

Lars didn't come back for two weeks.

You waited until you couldn't anymore, closing down your shop way too early today to drive to his house and check up on him.

The afternoon was gray, threatening snow, and you stood on his porch, if you could even call it that, knocking on the flimsy garage door until your knuckles ached. The curtain twitched at the window next to the door before it creaked open, as if he had watched you while you knocked desperately in hopes you'd leave, before realising you weren't going to give up, so it was only fair to answer the door.

"What do you want?" he asked you through a small crack in the door, his eyes tired and red rimmed.

"I want to talk" you urged "Please"

It took him a few moments, gently sniffling and blinking hard, before he looked down at his feet with a nod and let you push open the door further to let yourself in.

His little garage house was neat but sparse. He had a bed in the corner, a little desk, a small kitchenette and an adjacent room with a toilet and shower. He had the baby blue scarf around his neck as if to comfort himself by smelling it. "You've been avoiding me" you said, crossing your arms over his chest.

Lars huffed "No I haven't", the apples of his cheeks puffing out softly.

You cocked a brow "Lars. I'm not stupid." you pressed on impatiently, your gaze so intense it made Lars feel bare and laid out before you, even though he was wearing so many layers. He suddenly got the strong urge to go outside and chop wood.

He turned away so he wouldn't have to endure your stare "Shouldn’t you be with Mark? He probably needs your help or wants to look at you like you're a work of art and..." and you are one, he wanted to add, but didn't. Instead he shut his eyes tightly as if waiting for a painful blow.

Your eyes grew wide in shock "He looks at me like I'm something he can buy with money! He can fuck off with his stupid suit requests and his money if it means you'll come back to me" you said, your voice cracking.

"You don't really care about me, no one does. You just feel sorry for me, that's all. But I don't want that" it surprised even him that his voice didn't wobble when he said it, and now it hung heavy in the air between you. The words stung. You stepped closer, grabbed his arm and forced him to face you as he tried to put on his winter jacket.

He winced, and you let go, guilt settling in your chest "I care about you, Lars." you said, your voice tender "I care so much it's stupid. I thought I scared you off, but no, you're just jealous and too proud to admit it."

His eyes were wet as he looked at you one last time before stepping to the door, reaching for his navy blue beanie "I'm not jealous." he muttered timidly. "I'm going to chop wood" he breathed out, ready to take his keys and leave.

"You are."

Your stern tone made him stop in his tracks, his back turned to you. "You're jealous of Mark because you think he's got me wrapped around his fingers because he's rich and handsome to most people." you continued, watching him lower his head in shame. You hit the nail right on the head.

"You're jealous because he talks to me easily and isn't afraid to be bold. You think that's what I want, but it isn't" your voice became quieter and quieter the more you talked, until the soft quaking of his shoulders silenced you.

You stepped closer, impossibly slow, inching your hands over his sides and locking together over the front, cuddling him to you from behind. It felt warm, having your arms around him. No pain, just warmth and comfort.

"I don't want him, Lars. I want you. I want shy, sweet, mustache-having and sweater-wearing you." you whispered against his back, the fabric muffling your voice. A pathetic sob escaped him then, and he pressed his palm over his mouth, leaning ever so slightly back against you. "I don't know how to- to..." he muttered, but he choked on his own cries, burying his face in his hands.

"I know, I know, it's okay" you cooed, turning him around in your arms to cup his cheek, featherlight at first, before he leaned into your hand like a cat "We'll figure it out together, I promise" you kissed him then, and he returned the gesture, clumsy and wet, his mustache tickling your upper lip. It was hesitant, but it made both of your hearts soar in your chests.

The kiss deepened, and his hands came up to frame your face, trembling against your cheeks. You felt the warmth of him through the sweater, the slight give of his soft belly against yours as you hugged him closer by the waist. He smelled so good, like wood and freshly cut grass.

"Can we-?" he started as you pulled back for a breather, his voice rough, and you kissed the question right off his lips with a smile "Yes. If you want."

"I do" He breathed the words into your mouth. "I want you. I've wanted you e-ever since you..you made me that sweater" one of which he was wearing in the moment, while he was deeply embarassed of having confessed to you that he had dreamed of this happening after meeting you just a couple of times.

You pulled him over a few steps to his neatly made bed, and gently pushed him to sit on the edge of the mattress.

"I want to see you" you said, and after he nodded timidly, you pulled his sweater and long sleeve shirt over his head. Underneath, he was pale, soft around the middle, with a light dusting of hair across his chest and a trail going from his slight pudgy tummy into his underwear. You licked your lips at the sight. He watched you with wide eyes, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

"You're so pretty" you murmured as you admired the beautiful flush that spread down his chest, and he shook his head, avoiding your eyes "I'm not." he denied your praise, though it certainly made something move in his soft grey pants.

"You are" you said and traced the line of his collarbone, to which he shivered, goosebumps appearing on his arms. And now that you could take a closer look at him, you noticed how defined the muscles in his arms actually were, probably from all the wood chopping he was doing. You wanted to moan as your hands slid over his broad shoulders down his strong arms, but you held yourself back "Now lie back for me, baby"

He did, and you took your time with him. You undressed him slowly, your hands gentle over his thighs and his hips as you pulled his pants away. For every garment you took off him, he was allowed to take one from you as well.

When you pulled his boxers down, his cock sprang free. He was thick and long, heavy against his belly. He was only half hard but already so fucking big, and the sight of it made your mouth water. "Oh Lars" you breathed, your pussy gushing into your already wet panties and you squirmed.

"Is something wrong?" His voice was high, worried that he might have scared you off, that you didn't find him attractive, that you realised how uncomfortable he made you, that you thought-

"No. Nothing's wrong. You're just...big. Really big." you couldn't help but whine when he throbbed, biting your lip and digging your nails into your thigh to stop yourself from touching his slick, pink tip.

He flushed deeply, scooting away from you against the headboard "I don't- I didn't know- is that bad?"

You quickly shook your head to sooth him "No" you said with a smile, and you leaned down to kiss the head of his cock, a wet smack following your lips. He gasped, his hand flying up to cover his face, his hips jerking up against your mouth. "Trust me, it's perfect. I love myself a challenge" you winked, leaning back to take your own undershirt and bra off for him to see you bare. He peeked through his fingers and his breath hitched. "You're so pretty" he echoed, and you laughed softly.

You crawled over his strong legs, your tits jiggling between your arms, hypnotizing the poor man "We're a matched set then." you purred before straddling his hips, shrugged off your panties with his help, while his ears were starting to turn a burning shade of red.

Your wet cunt was now hovering over his shaft, which was fully hard now, the tip rosy and leaking. You took him in your hand, guiding him to your entrance, and the first nudge of that thick head against your folds made you both moan. "Ready?" you asked him breathlessly, sliding the tip back and forth along your wet folds.

He nodded with a cute whimper, his eyes squeezing shut. "I'm scared."

You cooed gently, brushing your thumb over the tender skin under his eyes "You don't have to be scared, I've got you. Just breathe with me, okay?" you lowered yourself an inch at a time. He was so thick that it stretched you, a deep, aching pressure that made your vision blur, bordering on pain, but you pushed through. His hands flew to your hips, gripping you tightly "Oh my god" he whimpered. "S-shit, you're so- I can feel-" he started to gasp between words and you had to put your hands on his face to calm him "Shh. I know. It's okay." you whispered, your voice cracking into a groan as you finally sank all the way down, his balls pressed against your ass, his cock buried as deep inside you as it could go, the tip nudging your cervix. He was trembling, his chest heaving, and when you looked down at his face, his eyes were wet with tears.

Your brows furrowed in concern "Are you crying, baby? Do you want me to stop? Is it too much?" you asked, brushing the fat tears away that rolled over his plump cheeks "N-no it's just...it's too good" he whispered. "It's so good I can't stand it, I- I don't know what to do"

You smiled down st him and then started to move, slow rolls of your hips, and he let out a sound like a wounded animal. You leaned forward to kiss him, and he opened his mouth for you, his tongue shy as you wrapped and curled your own around it, moaning into his mouth, the sweet sounds making him tremble in your arms "You feel so good inside me" you whined against his lips, every thrust punching the air from your lungs "So fucking good."

He hugged you closer, hiding his face in your neck "Really?" he asked, his voice broken, his mustache tickling your sweaty skin. "Really. You fill me up so perfectly. I can feel every inch of you. You're going to make me cum, Lars" you panted into his ear and he sobbed, his hips starting to meet yours, a clumsy, desperate rhythm to make you feel even better and get you to that edge.

You rode him hard, your clit grinding against his pubic bone, the friction building a pressure low in your belly. His moans were high and broken, his hands gripping your waist so hard you'd have bruises by tomorrow.

"I'm gonna c-cum" he gasped, crying into your shoulder "I'm sorry, I can't hold it-" he hiccuped, the strong arms around you trembling as if he could will himself to hold off his orgasm even when your velvet like pussy was dragging over his cock like a dream. "Don't hold it, baby Cum for me. Fill me up." you whispered, the filthiness of it making him mewl, and when your fingers found his hair to pull- he was done for.

He cried out as he came, his body arching off the bed, his cock pulsing wildly inside you. Hot ropes of cum painted your walls, and the feeling of him flooding you, paired with your fingers over your clit, pushed you over the edge too. Your orgasm clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth, and he sobbed through the aftershocks.

You collapsed beside him with shaking legs, sweaty and breathless but more satisfied than you had been in a long time. The same for Lars, as he had usually let out his sexual frustration by chopping wood and more wood, until Karin had to physically force him inside for a break. As he laid there panting, a whole lot of weight just lifted off him, thanks to you.

He turned into your arms, burying his face in your neck, his tears wet on your skin. "I'm sorry" he mumbled, kissing your neck as an apology "I didn't last long."

"That's what the second round is for, maybe tomorrow" you said, brushing your fingers over his bare back, circling the moles there and he laughed wetly.

You laid together together for a while, just basking in the afterglow. He was warm, soft, his heart hammering against your palm as your fingers reached his chest. "I could make you a suit some day" you said idly. "A tweed suit, perhaps. Something with a glen check pattern and a matching vest" you sighed dreamily, imagining all the things you could make him as if he were your own personal mannequin. And you knew he'd look dazzling in everything.

While Lars had no idea what you envisioned through your words alone, he smiled at the idea "I don't want a suit. I want this" He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pulling you closer "I want to be your Lars in sweaters forever." he whispered, his nose nuzzling with yours.

You giggled at that, threading your hands through his hair "You're my Lars" you whispered back "In or out of sweaters."

He fell asleep in your arms, his mustache tickling your collarbone and with his hand splayed over your belly securily as if to make sure you wouldn't leave. You watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, and you thought about all the sweaters you would knit him, and the suits you would maybe convince him to try on in the future. You tried not to think about his bed being way too small for two people, but you made it work, and fell asleep with him cuddling like you were his favourite pillow.

You never wanted to miss this ever again.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I was planning to post this yesterday night but i got home from vacation and I was so fucking tired i couldn't have pasted and edited it in tumblr for the life of me😭

@ken-dom @bleerggg I hope it's fine i'm tagging ya'll for my second Lars fic, hoping i did him justice again💔

for the past few weeks, holly has been nothing short of miserable. she made no effort to hide it when she came home, and took out her anger on anything or anyone around her. she almost broke the television remote on sunday. holland had asked her on multiple occasions if something was wrong, but holly would always reply with the same thing, just worded slightly different each time: "you wouldn't get it." something holland was rather sick of hearing, because it didn't stop with his daughter. healy, clients. all around cali, healy was the smart one and holland didn't know shit.

he leaned back in his chair and sighed. he'd taken her for drives by the beach, made her favorite breakfasts, given her all the space in the world to heal from whatever it was on her own. sometimes she did just need the time to herself. but it hadn't gotten either of them anywhere. and he didn't like asking for help, especially when it came to his daughter. protective was an understatement.

but he couldn't leave her like this. with her brains but lack of real-life experience, she'd end up jumping to the wrong conclusion very soon, if she hadn't done so already. which is how he ended up at your door, the neighboring house. holly adored you! maybe you could unlock something he couldn't. besides, he got the bonus of getting to visit.

you opened the door and smiled; the sight of it already eased his worries. he liked to tell himself that you had a little bubble around you, with the rainbow shine and everything, and anyone who entered it got put under this spell of pure delight and charm. it certainly felt that way for him. he took off his sunglasses and hung them on his shirt as a sign of respect. this let you spotted the anticipation on his face easily. "what's up, march?"

the panic eased back into his chest. "it's holly," he breathed out. "she's become so incredibly moody out of nowhere. she's stomping all over the house and she won't talk to me anymore. and before you ask—!" he frantically raised his hands. "i haven't worked overnight or traveled out of town for the past two cases, i haven't blacked out since last month, and her report card's been the exact same. she still cruises through her homework after dinner. so we rule out me, my work, and her academic perfectionism."

those two things were usually the issue, so it got the gears turning pretty quickly. holland gave you the dopiest pout and laced his hands together in a plea. "i'm begging you, i feel like i've tried everything. she won't talk to me. but she loves you!"

you turned into a staple in the march house almost immediately after you met him. bringing home cooked meals and VHS tapes of classic movies every time you visited, your presence balanced out the family dynamic by becoming a middleman. you had the rationale holland lacked (not for a lack of trying) but the patience both of them needed. since then, holly had someone new (and less dangerous than healy) to confide in, and holland spent his nights dreaming of your smile. you were fun, responsible, and so compassionate. there had been more than enough times he'd giggle to himself in front of holly and then have to pass it off as a coughing fit.

hearing this news, you crossed your arms, hesitating. holly told you about her books, her friend group drama, even the times holland's pissed her off. but you didn't want to push it. after all, you were technically still just the next-door neighbor. nothing concrete tied you to her; more specifically, this family. "i just... don't get me wrong, i would love to help."

"then come over!" he gestured wildly to his yard.

"my issue is!..." and you finally asked it. "is it my place to?"

holland's comical pout faded slightly, and a more genuine curiosity remained. he lowered his hands. "what do you mean?"

"well, what if it's something more private than either of us expected?" you offered. "and i shouldn't be the one to hear it? or what if she does want to tell you and me coming in just complicates things?" your hands traveled to hold yourself in a casual self-embrace. "maybe i'm thinking too much about it, but it's your daughter." and the unspoken sentiment hung in the air: you cared about her too.

holland nodded twice, first to you and second more to himself. "i guess." he liked to think of you as holly's new, unconfirmed mother, who just hadn't been granted the legal title, but hearing you say your concern out loud reaffirmed the truth, the real truth. it made him feel ridiculous for the assumed role you possessed in his mind. he rubbed the back of his neck. "i just don't know what else to do. if she's struggling with something, i want her to feel better as soon as she can. she's such a strong girl."

"i know."

he hummed quietly. "but she's still just a kid." his head then turned to look off, past the cul-de-sac. "god, she breaks my heart. everyday, in a bunch of little ways."

that got to you. holland worked hard, taking the path of most resistance each time to help everyone around him, his daughter exclusive to that. but he was dumb. just a little. and it broke your heart to see him flop around helplessly. and here he was, turning to you, asking for help when you knew damn well it took a lot out of him to muster up the courage. before you knew it, the words were coming out of your mouth. "alright, let me grab some things first."

he brought you back, as happy as he could be in this situation. you had a bag stuffed full of random items in preparation of whatever lied before you: tampons and pads, ice cream, a small journal for her to write in (and some matches to then burn it if she so chose to). he guided you in and led you to her bedroom door. both of you tensed.

he glanced at you, sporting a mix of emotions. "i don't think it'll happen, but if she does yell at you too, please don't take it personally. who knows what's going on with her?"

you nodded, having already considered that outcome. again, what lay behind that door was a total mystery. teenagedom. what a harrowing time of life. "you really think this is the right move?"

holland took a moment to stare at you. aside from him, you were the only person holly had opened up to, and with how independent she was, that was saying something. she even hugged you for safety when she watched the exorcist for the first time. frankly, he couldn't think of anyone better to comfort his daughter. but he couldn't say that, the biggest expression of his love he'd made so far was a bouquet of flowers—after he broke a vase in your house. he nodded. "i do."

so you knocked on the door. "holly? your dad called me over, i wanted to see how you were doing." there was no response. you glanced at holland, who shrugged helplessly. "i'm going to step inside now, okay? say the word and i'll go." met with silence again. left with no other option, you creaked open the door (you've learned that, ever since the fire, holly refuses to lock her door no matter how upset she is).

blankets and pillows piled up on her bed, no holly in sight. at first, you thought maybe she was inside her bathroom, until the duvet began to shudder. you then spotted the strands of blonde peeking out from under the cotton.

leaving holland by the door, you tip-toed into the room. by the foot of the bed were wads of crumpled tissues. "sweetie?" you called out. "everything okay?"

finally, she showed face. holly pulled away the blankets, revealing puffy eyes and the flush at the tip of her nose, a shine of tear stains down her cheeks and chin. her eyes were stuck on the floorboards and her lip, even after what you knew to be an hour since she got home, still trembled like she had more tears left to give.

you sat beside her, the mattress dipping slightly and raising holly's head more. "do you wanna talk?"

she shuffled a little under her safe haven of plush. "it's stupid." her voice cracked just at those words, your heart cracked alongside it.

"whatever it is, i promise it's not."

she didn't answer for a while after that. no matter. you were happy to sit and wait, give her the time to figure out what she wanted to say, if she even wanted to talk about it. after a minute or two, she spoke up again. "it's my nails." her voice was even smaller this time to avoid another crack.

you paused. from where you sat, you had the slightest view of her hand, clutched to her chest. her nails were painted a warm burgundy, half picked off.

"all the girls at my school get their nails done really well. they get these square nails, and it looks just like cher, and i asked today them where they got their manicures, but they just glanced at each other and snickered at me." she curled into herself more, tucking away. "and they always do this, they just, like, smile and whisper to their friends. and i can't tell anyone because they're not even, like, doing anything bad—!" she cut herself off with a hiccup, and she wiped newly forming tears away. "and i tried to paint my nails and i thought it looked nice, but they just laughed at me and i felt so stupid for even trying—!"

by this point, you've moved off the bed and onto the floor to stand beside her huddled form. "hey, hey, it's okay. deep breaths, alright?" you demonstrated breathing in and out, dramatically slow, and she followed suit. "first of all, those girls are jerks. all that style and makeup? they're just trying to improve the outside because they know what's on the inside can't be helped. and youth doesn't last forever. in 30 years, they'll be more miserable than anyone and clinging to their high school days. trust me, it shows so much more when you don't have your baby face to hide behind."

holly took this in, already a bit relieved to hear you shamelessly bad-mouth her classmates. but she wasn't satisfied yet. "they really are good at makeup, though. and their nails really do look good. i've asked dad so many times for new clothes, but he always says looks don't matter. and, like, i know it's wrong to obsess over your appearance but..."

you waited until her words died, seeing that she didn't know how to expand on that. you tried for her. "i understand where your dad is coming from. he's right, to an extent. you can buy looks, but you can't buy intelligence or the patience to learn." you then tilted your head to level with holly. "but it's not bad to want to look pretty. to want to dress up and feel fun and fancy."

you spared a look towards the doorway, where holland lingered still. his face was unbelievably soft, unable to hear his daughter but putting the pieces together when he heard your words. you turned back to holly.

"wanting to feel pretty doesn't make you vain. it's when you only care about what you look like and ignore everything else. and you'll already so beautiful, holly, but you're strong and smart and caring too. you deserve to enjoy yourself in every way."

tears ran down her face, her brows crinkled and tense. she wiped furiously at her eyes, but with every tear she brushed aside, two more came to replace it. "but i don't know how to do anything like that."

"i'll teach you. and we'll go on a shopping spree and get your nails done and you can claw those bitches' eyes out." you then heard yourself and slapped a hand over your mouth. "i didn't curse. you didn't hear that."

for the first time in this conversation, she managed a weak smile, both at your threats to her classmates and your slip-up. "dad curses all the time, it's okay. plus, it's not like i don't know those words."

"yeah, but i'm classy. that's what sets me apart from your dad." this earned you another laugh, and you took the gap from the dreary atmosphere to lean in and wrap your arms around her. "come here. you're such a lovely girl, holly. those girls don't even have the brains to be jealous of you. but they will be soon."

the two of you held this embrace for a while. holly was the first to pull back, but when she did, her eyes just drooped from exhaustion, not sadness. you added, "i have some ice cream? brought your favorite." you went into your bag and pulled out the pint, only slightly melted, with a spoon. "how about you eat this for a bit, join me and your dad in the living room when you're ready, and if you're free this weekend, i'll make an appointment to get our nails done together?"

at this, you got no verbal reply, but she nodded her head and took the ice cream and spoon from you. seems the weight from both of your shoulders eased off just a little bit, and just for a little while. she snuggled back up into her blankets but sat up straight this time to eat. you stood up and brushed some hair from her face.

when you walked out, you closed the door behind you and were met with holland's look of regret. he spoke slowly, "i had no idea. she's so smart and i just... when she asked for new clothes, i didn't know that... i thought..." he trailed off and instead ran his hands down his face, groaning. "i'm the biggest idiot in the world."

you dared to step a little closer. "it's not your fault. it's those girls. at her age, they're all at each other's throats. not to mention, you got all the double standards for women: they can't try too hard, but they need to look good, and they have to be smart but not loud about it."

the two of you sighed. for a moment, the only thing you could hear was a car, far away, driving to who-knows-where.

"no wonder she thought i wouldn't understand," holland muttered. "am i glad to have called you." he raised his head, puppy-dog eyes comically sparkling with gratitude; it lightened the mood to see how thankful he was, how emotional he got. something about how intensely he was about everything, it delighted you. "you got no idea how lucky i am to have you."

your eyes widened. you blinked. both of you sat in the silence of the new reality where he had just said that, and only then did he snap out of it and gasp, stumbling backwards and hitting the wall behind him. "not like i—! oh god, i didn't mean anything by that—or, i mean, of course, i meant that, i'm so, so grateful, but i didn't mean that—! you're not... or i'm not...!"

the blood rushing to your cheeks made it hard for you to reply, meanwhile he rattled on and on in hopes that, if he spoke long enough, just maybe he'd be able to create a full sentence. it was only when you waved your hands that he quieted down.

"sorry, i'm so sorry."

"it's okay, you're... you're okay."

the two of you stared at each other, identically searching for something to spark conversation back to normal. you laughed nervously. and when you laughed, well, holland's heart fluttered and he laughed as well. the exchange led to more awkward laughter, which turned sincere and unburdened. having nothing else to say, you shrugged. "well, you may not be the biggest idiot in the world, but i think you're in the running for it."

and that, holland couldn't have been more delighted to hear.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you to keep it a secret, he did, his only fear was that you looked at him differently once you knew that he was the feared Red Hood of Crime Alley. He was worried beyond belief that you would view the relationship that you built together- the one he treasured more than anything in this world- as one built on lies.

And while that couldn’t be further from the truth, he still couldn’t stop the way his lungs seized and practically collapsed in on themselves whenever he even thought about letting you in his nightlife secret.

How would he even start that conversation? ‘Oh, hey, babe. You know that Red Hood guy? The one that everyone fears- the one that kills people? Yeah? Well, that’s me! Plus, and my dad is Batman! Anyway, what do you want for dinner?’

Yeah, fat chance.

Jason grumbled inaudibly under his breath as he attempted to shed himself of his gun holster, that appeared to pick that specific time to get slightly tangled and stuck, and therefore inconvenience the man who wanted nothing more than to slip into bed discreetly beside you.

Just as he went to pass the kitchen and make his way to the bathroom to rid himself of the rest of his ensemble, however, a soft clattering had him freezing directly in his steps.

The man swore his heart stopped beating all together in his chest as he slowly turned his head- still with his red helmet over it- to face you, standing innocently with your back towards him, clad in nothing but one of your boyfriends old sleep shirts as you filled up a glass of water at the sink.

Before the vigilante could even attempt to move out of your line of sight- his fight or flight instincts all of a sudden completely nonexistent, apparently- you shut off the tap and turned to him calmly, sipping gingerly on your drink.

“Hi, baby,” You greeted quietly, giving the man a small smile as you padded forwards against the hardwood floors.

It was pathetic, really, how every thought completely vanished from the man’s mind right then and there. As if the mere sight of you had stolen away any ounce of common sense he may have had clanging around in his head.

Jason was rendered completely useless, frozen with his mouth hanging open and pupils blown wide as he stared directly at you. You continued to approach him, undeterred by his whole getup.

You stood on your tiptoes, placing a quick, chaste kiss to the side of his helmet, “Come to bed soon, I missed you.” Is all you said before taking your glass of water and disappear back into your room as if you had just had the most normal exchange in the world.

As if this were just an average night for you.

“Uhh…” Jason stuttered out into the empty space, breaths coming out as nothing more than practically a wheeze at this point, “What?”

He had to have been hallucinating. He must’ve been, right? After all, there was no way you had just acted as if you knew the Red Hood, had just kissed him on the cheek as if he were Jason.

Which, to your knowledge, he wasn’t.

Sleepwalking. You had to have been sleepwalking. That was the only way possible he could even begin to explain what the hell had just taken place.

You had slept-walked into the kitchen to pour yourself a late night glass of water and in your hazed mind, had seen a man in your apartment that you could only assume to be your boyfriend, and then went on your merry way back to bed.

Todd quickly shook his head, ridding himself of all thoughts of anything other than the possibility of you having just been sleepwalking in front of him. True, you had never done so before, but there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there?

Quickly slipping out of the rest of his suit and into nothing but a pair of low hanging sweatpants, Jason timidly made his way to your bedroom, peering inside as if fully expecting a bomb to be chucked directly in his face if he stepped in too fast.

“Hey, Jay.” You greeted softly, causing the man’s green eyed gaze to snap directly to you, where you sat propped up against the headboard, smiling welcomingly at the man.

You, who was very much awake, and very much not sleepwalking.

The cup you had fetched now sat discarded on your bedside table, and you held your open arms out to your boyfriend, a silent invitation if Jason had ever seen one.

He shuffled into the room awkwardly, hand coming up to tug slightly at the back of his dark hair as he eyed you wearily, “Hi, sweetheart,” He mumbled back, almost as though he were testing the waters as he approached you, “Havin’ a good night?” He asked when he came to a stop in front of the mattress, gulping.

Humming in response, you reached over and gently but firmly tugged your boyfriend down onto the bed beside you, making yourself comfortable snuggled against his chest without further delay, “Very. It was nice and relaxing. How about you, baby?” You asked, tracing idle shapes against his bare chest while you allowed your eyes to flutter shut.

Jason swallowed harshly once more as his arm came to wrap itself around you unconsciously, unsure of how exactly to bring up what had just gone down in the kitchen. How you had seen him in his vigilante getup and hadn’t even batted an eye.

“So, about what you just saw-” He started, unsure of what else he could even say, but you swiftly cut him off as your head popped up and your serious gaze met his.

Whatever lingering sleepiness that had been clinging to your expression vanished in and instant, a sense of alertness coming over you.

“Oh, Jay, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” A small frown was pulling at your lips as you spoke.

He blinked down at you once. Twice. “I-what?” He tripped over his words, a jumble of syllables falling out in turn.

You sighed, dropping your chin against his pec so you could still gaze up at him with a soft pout now adorning your features, “I know you don’t like to talk about the whole Red Hood thing, so I’m sorry if I made you upset by talking to you while you were still- what? In costume? Suited up?” You shook your head softly, “Sorry, baby, I don’t know the correct term.”

The words rolled off your tongue so casually, as if you were merely discussing the weather. Not the possibility of your boyfriend of a few months being a vigilante.

Jason practically leapt to his feet, though he was careful to gently move you off of him before he did so, “I- you knew?” He spat out, complete and utter bewilderment overtaking his features.

He didn’t know what was happening. Everything was so confusing and he felt as though the walls of your bedroom were spinning around him suddenly, trying to knock him off kilter.

You rose to your knees on the mattress in front of your boyfriend, confusion mirroring his own spreading throughout your face, “Knew about what, Jay?” You asked as gently as you could manage at exactly 4:24 in the morning.

Pacing commenced before your very eyes as Jason ran his hands repeatedly through his hair, “Red Hood! You- you knew about Red Hood?” It sounded more as though he were speaking to himself, trying to wrap his mind around such possibilities that seemed so far fetched from him a mere twenty minutes prior.

“About… you being Red Hood?” You asked so slowly, eyebrows furrowing as what he was questioning you about finally processed in your head, “Of course I knew, I’ve known since the second week of us dating.” You said it slowly, gently, as if speaking to an unstable toddler.

Jason froze for what felt like the tenth time that night, “What?” He asked, completely horrified, “You- knew?”

You shook your head back and forth, “Of course I knew. I thought you… knew that I knew?” The more you talked, the less certain on the topic you seemed, “I mean, you’re not exactly slick about it.”

If it was even possible, his eyes had just been blown wider than they had been, “What- what’s that supposed to mean?” He sputtered out.

“I mean how you leave your vigilante suit in the closet.” You explained slowly.

“In a duffle bag!” He defended, mind reeling as he went over any single moment that he could’ve tripped up on the whole ‘secret identity’ thing in the last few months of you dating.

“That you often leave not only opened, but flipped upside down.” You continued, “I swear it spends more time across the closet floor than it actually does on you at night. And speaking of, you keep very odd hours, Jay. Even by Gotham standards. There’s only so much detective work that could possibly go into figuring something like that out.”

Jason dropped his head into his hands, “I thought I was careful.” He all but groaned, words becoming muffled through his fingers.

Gently, you reached out and took his hands into your own, pulling them away so he would look you in the eyes as you soothingly ran your thumbs across his wrists, “Not to mention the fact that I saw you changing into your suit on our second week of dating. I think you thought I was asleep so you were trying to be quiet, but you actually bumped into the dresser pretty loudly and started cursing like a sailor.” You giggled slightly under your breath at the thought, “It was kinda hard to miss.”

He swallowed thickly, eyes now taking in every inch of your face, scanning for those signs of fear and regret he had dreaded looking upon the moment you knew about his Red Hood life, “So… you knew all along?”

Nodding gently, you squeezed his hands once, “Well, I kind of assumed you knew that I knew and just didn’t like to talk about it.” You shrugged almost bashfully now, as if realizing that you very poorly misread the situation, “I always just thought you liked to keep that life and this life with the two of us separate. I thought I was respecting your wishes by never bringing it up.”

“And you’re not…” He searched for the right words, “Scared of me- of Red Hood?”

Your eyebrows shot up at the suggestion, as if it were the most unhinged and improbable thing he could’ve possibly asked you in that moment, “Scared of you? Of course not, Jay, you keep me- and so many other people safe- each and every night. I have nothing to be scared of from you.”

Jason had not realized until that moment just how much he had needed to hear those exact words fall from your lips. He all but deflated as what felt like the weight of a thousand burdens lifted from his shoulders and were obliterated before his very eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He sighed, somewhat dreamily, sweeping a piece of hair away from your eyes, “All this time, I saw so worried about you knowing and… and looking at me differently. When, in reality, you knew all along.”

You leaned into the man’s touch without thinking twice, eyes fluttering shut as you planted a soft kiss to the inside of his hand that gingerly cupped your cheek now, “Nothing you could do could ever make me look at you differently, Jason.” You assured him, “Now, get in bed, it’s late and I’m tired.” You teased, tugging him down alongside you once more.

He allowed you to do as such to him and he stayed still for a moment, with you curled up at his side and letting out a content hum when he began moving his fingers through your hair.

“Sweetheart?” Jason asked after a few moments of silence, “…I can be subtle right?”