They’ll Never Listen

Still, Grace listened for another moment before pushing himself upright. Somewhere on the floor he found his glasses, then tugged on a pair of sweatpants and headed after you. The ship was quiet. Terrifyingly quiet. Without a word, he checked the control room first, then the lab, but there was no sign of you anywhere.

“Hey?” he called softly. “Where are you?”

Nothing. Silence.

Now he was genuinely worried. He walked the corridor again, more alert this time, listening for even the smallest movement or sound. Then his eyes caught the storage room door, slightly ajar. Ryland pushed it open further.

And saw you.

You were sitting against the wall with your knees pulled tightly to your chest, arms wrapped around them so hard it looked painful. And your eyes… 

“Oh no.”

You looked up immediately at the sound of his voice, glassy-eyed and full of panic.

“I’m fine,” you said instantly.

Maybe you could’ve convinced him if your hands hadn’t been shaking so badly. Ryland slipped inside and crouched down in front of you without hesitation.

“No,” he said gently. “No, you’re not.”

Your breathing hitched again.

“I just… I wanted to calm down first,” you whispered helplessly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you…”

“Hey, hey.” His voice softened immediately. “Don’t think about me right now. Look at me.”

You tried. Your eyes filled with even more tears, your lips trembling before you looked away again. Ryland’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs.

“What happened?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t know.” The answer came out painfully honest. “Something woke me up… just this weird feeling, and then…” You sucked in a sharp breath. “Everything hit me at once. I didn’t want you to see me like this. Like I’m… broken.”

Something heavy dropped into Grace’s stomach.

“Jesus,” he murmured, swallowing hard. “I would never think that about you.”

Because he understood exactly what you meant.

The ship. The mission. The isolation. The stress.

All of it together was a dangerous combination, and eventually people cracked under that kind of pressure. You’d been strong for too long. Been the support he needed for too long. This day had been coming. When his warm hands finally touched yours, you flinched like a frightened animal. God, that hurt to see.

“Can I?” he asked quietly. “Is this okay?”

You nodded. Your fingers tightened around his almost immediately, like you were clinging to the only stable thing left in your world.

“We’re gonna breathe together, okay?” he said softly. “I know it sounds stupid, but scientifically speaking, steady breathing actually works. Can you do that for me?”

Your voice was so quiet he barely heard it. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Yes, you can,” he assured you instantly. “I’ve got you.”

Another tiny nod.

Ryland inhaled slowly through his nose, deep into his lungs. He noticed you trying to copy him, a little too fast at first, but you did it. When he exhaled through parted lips, you followed again. And again. And again.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “Seriously.”

“Ryland…” Your voice cracked. “I think I’m dying.”

He shifted even closer, close enough that all you could really see was him. Close enough to pull your focus away from the walls around you, from the endless emptiness outside the ship.

“You’re not dying,” he promised gently. “Your body’s panicking. Your brain’s trying to protect you. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Something flickered across your face then - relief mixed with exhaustion, with surrender. You trusted him completely because, right now, you didn’t know what else to do. Your hands were still gripping his tightly. You were still trying to breathe.

“This’ll pass, okay?” he murmured. “The worst part’s already behind you.” “We can stay here as long as you need.” “Although our backs are probably gonna hate us later.” “Maybe we should file a complaint with mission control. Unsafe working conditions. We deserve compensation.”

The broken laugh that escaped you was probably the most beautiful sound Ryland had heard in weeks.

“There she is,” he said with a relieved smile. “If I can still make you laugh, we’re gonna be okay.”

You tried to smile back. God, you tried so hard, but your muscles still wouldn’t cooperate. You didn’t know how long you stayed there on that cold floor with Ryland beside you. Not once did he say he was tired. Not once did he tell you to pull yourself together or act like this was ridiculous. His quiet, steady voice kept grounding you.

“Stay with me.” “That’s it, keep breathing.” “You’re doing better already.” “You’re doing amazing.”

And when you finally closed your eyes and let your head rest against the wall, he felt your body slowly start to unclench. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered eventually.

Ryland looked at you, genuinely startled. “What? No. Don’t say that.”

“I woke you up and…”

“You had a panic attack,” he interrupted softly. “You were alone in a storage closet.” His expression gentled even more. “I’m glad I found you.”

You looked at him then, but after a second it was Grace who broke eye contact first. Like there’d been something too honest in his own words. Something dangerously intimate. Something that might reveal more than he was ready to say. Still, after a moment, he spoke again.

“You don’t have to disappear whenever things get bad, okay?” he said quietly. “I’m here for you.”

Your fingers tightened around his again, and he felt it instantly. A simple gesture. One that said more than words ever could.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered. “You will.”

And then he did something that felt both completely natural and somehow surprising all at once. Before he could overthink it, Ryland lifted your hand and brushed his lips against your knuckles. The second he realized what he’d just done, his brain short-circuited completely.  Instinct, maybe. 

But when he looked back at you, fear flickering behind his blue eyes, he didn’t find judgment there. You were looking at him gently now, the corners of your lips lifting into the faintest smile.

“Thank you, Ryland,” you whispered.

“Next time, wake me up, deal?” he said softly. “I don’t want you going through this alone.”

You nodded, but then your teeth caught your lower lip hesitantly.

“Am I…” Your voice faltered. “Am I weak?”

The question had clearly been haunting you for a while. Ryland felt the weight of it the second it left your mouth.

“No,” he answered immediately. “No, you’re not.”

He leaned back slightly against the wall beside you.

“Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and it suddenly hits me where we are. What’s around us. And it’s overwhelming. I get it.” He glanced at you carefully. “But here, on this ship, we have each other, right? We’re not robots. We’re not machines. Human brains and bodies just… sometimes they…”

“Break,” you finished quietly.

Ryland nodded. Today it had been you. Tomorrow it could just as easily be him.

“Ryland?”

He looked over at you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you admitted softly. “You make me feel like I’m not losing my mind.”

He smiled at that. Because he’d been thinking the exact same thing.

Having you here beside him felt like some impossible stroke of luck — like the universe had decided to give him one miraculous thing in the middle of all this disaster. Someone who had somehow become so important to him without him even noticing when it happened.

One day, he’d tell you. One day, maybe he’d finally find the courage.

But for now, he’d just hold onto moments like this for as long as the two of you were willing to let them exist.

holland and healy had closed another case, which meant what it always does - holland wasn't going to be home before you fell asleep. he'd be there when you woke up, sure. but you usually found him sprawled somewhere uncomfortable because he stumbled and couldn't pull himself back up. you couldn't say you were a huge fan of holland's drinking anyway, that's for sure.

holly had asked to stay with her friend tonight, jessica, which you agreed to seeing as it was a friday night. so, with the house to yourself, you decided to pour a glass of wine and run yourself a bath. nothing wrong with a little self care time. you filled the tub, added some bubbles, lit a few candles and stripped down before sinking into the comfort of the warm water, letting all of your stress wash away.

you let yourself relax in the bath for a long while, your thoughts seeping into nothingness as your muscles relaxed and your eyes fluttered shut.

one thought did weasel its way back in however.

the thought of your husband.

fuck, why'd he have to do this to you all the time? i mean, the occasional drink, the often drink, you'd understand. but constant drinking? it was a problem. you'd fought over it before, and in his defense he's better now than he used to be. but he's far from where you need him to be.

you missed him. that was a lot of the problem. it was a layered issue, obviously. there was three main parts in your view: holland self destructing, holland being hammered around holly, and you missing your husband. you hated it.

you missed the little things. movie nights with him and holly where you'd all snuggle up to fit under one blanket, you and holly on either side of him to steal his warmth and steal the popcorn from the bowl he held. you missed holding his hand, missed when he'd scoop you up in his arms and attack you with kisses to make you laugh sweetly. you missed dancing with him in your kitchen at god knows what time long after holly had gone to bed.

you missed his touch. when he came home early enough to take you to bed and make sweet love to you. when slow, loving kisses turned to heated passion. when the tip of his cock would meet your tongue and make him whine. when the feeling of his moustache scratching against you was delicious enough to make you arch your back and make that pretty little sound that drove him crazy. when he'd fuck you and kiss you and babble sweet everythings to your soul until you saw the sun peek through the blinds. you missed that.

the thoughts were racing through your head faster than you could stop them. it'd been a while since you'd had sex now, with holland and healy taking case after case. he just wasn't home enough. typically, you'd have holly in the house, so it wasn't the most important thing you were thinking of. you were living without it. but holly wasn't here tonight. just you. and the images in your head were screaming at you to let them take over.

so you did. you downed the rest of your wine, setting the empty glass down on the floor next to the tub, before settling back and getting comfortable.

you let one hand slowly slide down your body under the water, stopping briefly to toy with your nipple. the small noise of sensitivity that left your throat only showcased how long you'd gone without it. you stayed with it for a while, before letting your hand fall further under the water, tracing down your stomach to your oh so needy pussy. you gasped shakily when your fingers met your aching clit. you began rubbing small, slow circles, like holland would when he was teasing. "s' okay, doll, i'll get you there. just gonna play with you a little..." he'd say as you whined sweetly at him.

you weren't greedy. not yet anyway. you simply rubbed yourself in slow motions, letting little breathy sighs slip past your lips as you thought of your husband and what he'd do to you.

as you grew closer, you sped up slightly, hearing his voice in your head. "atta girl, c'mon. y'gonna cum on my fingers, babydoll? yeah? that's my girl, c'mon..."

that always took you over the edge, and tonight wasn't any different, despite the fact that he wasn't even here. his voice in your head was enough to have your legs shaking, splashing water onto the floor. you gripped the side of the tub with your free hand and moaned loud as you came.

you came back down to earth with shaky breaths and small whimpers of your husband's name. you chuckled breathlessly when you saw how much water you'd kicked onto the floor during your orgasm. you pulled the plug and stepped out of the bath, bracing yourself on the wall for a moment to regain the strength in your legs. you wrapped a soft towel around yourself before grabbing a second towel to dry up the mess on the tiles.

once the floor was dry, you padded into your bedroom and dumped the wet towel in the washing basket in the corner before using the softer one wrapped around you to dry yourself off. you dried off your hair, slipping into a pair of soft panties and one of holland's shirts that retained his scent before curling up in bed. your face buried itself in the pillows as you fell asleep on your side, facing away from where holland would be sleeping if he was home with you.

holland finally stumbled through the door with whisky on his breath in the early hours of the morning, his attempt at being quiet not working out so well for him. he sauntered his way to your shared bedroom, pulling his tie loose as he went. this was one of the few times he actually made it to your bedroom rather than falling over and just choosing to stay there for the night. when he entered, he saw his beautiful wife asleep under the covers. alone. again.

it really did break his heart seeing you curled up on your own. he wishes he was a better man. he wants to be, really. but he's not.

he sighs softly, cut off by a drunken hiccup. he strips himself down to his boxers, albeit clumsily, and pulled back the covers to climb into bed with you. but when he did, he saw that the shirt you were wearing - his shirt - had ridden up to your waist, revealing those soft panties that clung to your ass just the way he liked. oh dear god.

he was hard in seconds. record time, honestly. although his previous times were stiff competition, holland always got it up quick for you. he couldn't help it. he loves his wife.

his drunk brain was a mess, but he was ever so kindly reminded of a time when you'd told him you wouldn't mind if he fucked you when you slept. oh, he was so grateful to remember that right now.

holland brushes your hair out of the way and presses his lips to the back of your neck gently, his hand finding its way to your hip. he squeezes gently as he sucks the most gentle hickeys into your neck, careful not to wake up his sleeping beauty. he slowly starts to rut against your ass, whimpering as he does so.

he slides his hand down slowly under your panties, letting out a soft moan when he finds you already wet even in your sleep. he does exactly what you'd pictured earlier, rubbing you in slow, soft circles, making you gasp softly as you slept.

"shit, mh... s'cute..."

holland finally couldn't take it anymore. he removed his fingers from your dripping folds, bringing them up to his lips and whining at the taste of his girl. he drew your panties down just enough, and removed his boxers entirely, tossing them across the room haphazardly. he reached down and grabbed his cock at the base, jerking it a couple of times before lining himself up at your entrance. he slid his tip through your folds once or twice before finally sinking into you with a pathetic moan. he heard you whimper all soft and sleepy and he had to fight not to cum right then and there.

he tried to let you adjust so you'd be less likely to wake up, but you just felt so warm and wet and good, he couldn't help himself. his hips started moving in a sloppy rhythm, his sounds echoing through the room.

"oh, doll... mm! oh m- oh fuck, fuck, baby, y're soso good, so good, ohh..."

holland was falling apart inside you. he was a slurring, babbling mess. though that was true of him when he was sober too. he always thought you were made for him in every possible way. he always told you that. "you're my pretty doll. made fr' me. you're my perfect girl..." he'd whisper to you, looking deep into your eyes like your soul was swimming in there.

it wasn't long at all until he reached his peak, his voice an octave higher and his pretty noises coming more frequently. he came with the prettiest moan, his release flooding into you.

he stayed like that, stayed inside you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzled his nose into your neck. he fell asleep drowning in you, just where he always wanted to be. always.

he wanted to be a better man for you. and for holly. and by god, he was going to be. starting right now. he was going to be happy.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

holland and healy had closed another case, which meant what it always does - holland wasn't going to be home before you fell asleep. he'd be there when you woke up, sure. but you usually found him sprawled somewhere uncomfortable because he stumbled and couldn't pull himself back up. you couldn't say you were a huge fan of holland's drinking anyway, that's for sure.

holly had asked to stay with her friend tonight, jessica, which you agreed to seeing as it was a friday night. so, with the house to yourself, you decided to pour a glass of wine and run yourself a bath. nothing wrong with a little self care time. you filled the tub, added some bubbles, lit a few candles and stripped down before sinking into the comfort of the warm water, letting all of your stress wash away.

you let yourself relax in the bath for a long while, your thoughts seeping into nothingness as your muscles relaxed and your eyes fluttered shut.

one thought did weasel its way back in however.

the thought of your husband.

fuck, why'd he have to do this to you all the time? i mean, the occasional drink, the often drink, you'd understand. but constant drinking? it was a problem. you'd fought over it before, and in his defense he's better now than he used to be. but he's far from where you need him to be.

you missed him. that was a lot of the problem. it was a layered issue, obviously. there was three main parts in your view: holland self destructing, holland being hammered around holly, and you missing your husband. you hated it.

you missed the little things. movie nights with him and holly where you'd all snuggle up to fit under one blanket, you and holly on either side of him to steal his warmth and steal the popcorn from the bowl he held. you missed holding his hand, missed when he'd scoop you up in his arms and attack you with kisses to make you laugh sweetly. you missed dancing with him in your kitchen at god knows what time long after holly had gone to bed.

you missed his touch. when he came home early enough to take you to bed and make sweet love to you. when slow, loving kisses turned to heated passion. when the tip of his cock would meet your tongue and make him whine. when the feeling of his moustache scratching against you was delicious enough to make you arch your back and make that pretty little sound that drove him crazy. when he'd fuck you and kiss you and babble sweet everythings to your soul until you saw the sun peek through the blinds. you missed that.

the thoughts were racing through your head faster than you could stop them. it'd been a while since you'd had sex now, with holland and healy taking case after case. he just wasn't home enough. typically, you'd have holly in the house, so it wasn't the most important thing you were thinking of. you were living without it. but holly wasn't here tonight. just you. and the images in your head were screaming at you to let them take over.

so you did. you downed the rest of your wine, setting the empty glass down on the floor next to the tub, before settling back and getting comfortable.

you let one hand slowly slide down your body under the water, stopping briefly to toy with your nipple. the small noise of sensitivity that left your throat only showcased how long you'd gone without it. you stayed with it for a while, before letting your hand fall further under the water, tracing down your stomach to your oh so needy pussy. you gasped shakily when your fingers met your aching clit. you began rubbing small, slow circles, like holland would when he was teasing. "s' okay, doll, i'll get you there. just gonna play with you a little..." he'd say as you whined sweetly at him.

you weren't greedy. not yet anyway. you simply rubbed yourself in slow motions, letting little breathy sighs slip past your lips as you thought of your husband and what he'd do to you.

as you grew closer, you sped up slightly, hearing his voice in your head. "atta girl, c'mon. y'gonna cum on my fingers, babydoll? yeah? that's my girl, c'mon..."

that always took you over the edge, and tonight wasn't any different, despite the fact that he wasn't even here. his voice in your head was enough to have your legs shaking, splashing water onto the floor. you gripped the side of the tub with your free hand and moaned loud as you came.

you came back down to earth with shaky breaths and small whimpers of your husband's name. you chuckled breathlessly when you saw how much water you'd kicked onto the floor during your orgasm. you pulled the plug and stepped out of the bath, bracing yourself on the wall for a moment to regain the strength in your legs. you wrapped a soft towel around yourself before grabbing a second towel to dry up the mess on the tiles.

once the floor was dry, you padded into your bedroom and dumped the wet towel in the washing basket in the corner before using the softer one wrapped around you to dry yourself off. you dried off your hair, slipping into a pair of soft panties and one of holland's shirts that retained his scent before curling up in bed. your face buried itself in the pillows as you fell asleep on your side, facing away from where holland would be sleeping if he was home with you.

holland finally stumbled through the door with whisky on his breath in the early hours of the morning, his attempt at being quiet not working out so well for him. he sauntered his way to your shared bedroom, pulling his tie loose as he went. this was one of the few times he actually made it to your bedroom rather than falling over and just choosing to stay there for the night. when he entered, he saw his beautiful wife asleep under the covers. alone. again.

it really did break his heart seeing you curled up on your own. he wishes he was a better man. he wants to be, really. but he's not.

he sighs softly, cut off by a drunken hiccup. he strips himself down to his boxers, albeit clumsily, and pulled back the covers to climb into bed with you. but when he did, he saw that the shirt you were wearing - his shirt - had ridden up to your waist, revealing those soft panties that clung to your ass just the way he liked. oh dear god.

he was hard in seconds. record time, honestly. although his previous times were stiff competition, holland always got it up quick for you. he couldn't help it. he loves his wife.

his drunk brain was a mess, but he was ever so kindly reminded of a time when you'd told him you wouldn't mind if he fucked you when you slept. oh, he was so grateful to remember that right now.

holland brushes your hair out of the way and presses his lips to the back of your neck gently, his hand finding its way to your hip. he squeezes gently as he sucks the most gentle hickeys into your neck, careful not to wake up his sleeping beauty. he slowly starts to rut against your ass, whimpering as he does so.

he slides his hand down slowly under your panties, letting out a soft moan when he finds you already wet even in your sleep. he does exactly what you'd pictured earlier, rubbing you in slow, soft circles, making you gasp softly as you slept.

"shit, mh... s'cute..."

holland finally couldn't take it anymore. he removed his fingers from your dripping folds, bringing them up to his lips and whining at the taste of his girl. he drew your panties down just enough, and removed his boxers entirely, tossing them across the room haphazardly. he reached down and grabbed his cock at the base, jerking it a couple of times before lining himself up at your entrance. he slid his tip through your folds once or twice before finally sinking into you with a pathetic moan. he heard you whimper all soft and sleepy and he had to fight not to cum right then and there.

he tried to let you adjust so you'd be less likely to wake up, but you just felt so warm and wet and good, he couldn't help himself. his hips started moving in a sloppy rhythm, his sounds echoing through the room.

"oh, doll... mm! oh m- oh fuck, fuck, baby, y're soso good, so good, ohh..."

holland was falling apart inside you. he was a slurring, babbling mess. though that was true of him when he was sober too. he always thought you were made for him in every possible way. he always told you that. "you're my pretty doll. made fr' me. you're my perfect girl..." he'd whisper to you, looking deep into your eyes like your soul was swimming in there.

it wasn't long at all until he reached his peak, his voice an octave higher and his pretty noises coming more frequently. he came with the prettiest moan, his release flooding into you.

he stayed like that, stayed inside you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzled his nose into your neck. he fell asleep drowning in you, just where he always wanted to be. always.

he wanted to be a better man for you. and for holly. and by god, he was going to be. starting right now. he was going to be happy.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

You pick up a shirt bearing the band’s logo and hold it up to your chest, turning to Driver. “Thoughts?”

He nods, distracted and silent.

“Babe. Driver…” You poke him. 

Driver finally looks at you, then at the shirt, and nods again. “It’s nice.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, but you’ve already gotten yours out and are offering the booth tender a wad of cash with a wide smile.

You pull the shirt on over the one you’re wearing, beaming as you wind your arm through Driver’s. “So, do you like the music?”

Driver shrugs. “It’s good.”

You pull back, looking up at him. “Oh. Oh, you’re done. Oh, okay. You wanna go? Come on, baby, we can go.” 

When he stops walking, you look back at him. He meets your eyes and shakes his head, making you knit your eyebrows.

“What? I thought you were ready to go, Driver, you look so done—“

“It’s alright,” he mutters. “You’re not ready yet.”

“But—“

“I said no.”

You move close, kissing his cheek gently. “Thank you, baby. If you change your mind, let me know.”

He nods, looking over your head again.

A few hours later, when you are ready to go, Driver’s the one leading. He pulls you out to the car and gets in, then drives you home in silence. You know he’s appreciative, though—just winding down from his long, loud night. Once he gets you in the door, he’s laying you down on the bed and taking off the shirt from the band that he hates, he’s kissing your neck, and gently fucking into you, his thanks for letting him leave the concert.