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note : kind of shocked i hadn't done this yet ??? like angelina where have you been
requested !
always kind, she hates arguments
they're very infrequent between the two of you, but if for some reason there has ever been an argument she is ALWAYS (!!!!!!!!!) the first to apologise
it could be mid argument or after a few hours of space
but she's a firm believer of "don't go to sleep angry with each other"
and i mean
she's never the angry one
she could never be mad at you
but it physically hurts if you ever get upset with her
so ofc she's gonna do anything to make you happy again
you're her sun, her moon, her stars
practically her whole world and universe
at the beginning at least i can't see her being overly affectionate in a physical way,, it's more her actions, time spent together, kind words that come off as confident, but inside she's shaking
you're not going to think she's too much are you?
if you like physical affection, she can definitely be that for you, but i don't think it's her go-to means of expressing her love for you
especially in public
she's more of a private lover, but that being said, it doesn't make you feel like a lesser being when you're with friends or something
but i think in public the most she'd be comfortable with is her fingers intertwined with yours, or an arm slung kindly, though protectively, over your shoulders
in the privacy of your own home though ?? she'll do anything 💀
but it means a lot to her when you notice the things she likes and love her the way she likes as well
if you aren't a morning person but you still wake up early so you can go for a walk or jog together, and chat the entire time, it will make her heart swell two sizes too big for her chest
she can't help it
she even loves the calm domesticity of love
laying in bed, cooking together, getting the groceries, doing the laundry side by side
if you're interested in something she's not too fussed by, she'll secretly do research
not a lot but still enough to know a few things
and ask questions, seem interested in you (because she is) but also to make you feel like you're interesting (because you are) and she knows that if you looked into some of her interests, she'd go out and buy a ring literally the same day
after a long day — she can't help it — the most comforting thing is to lay in your arms
and she's always prepared to wrap hers around you if you feel you've had a poor day
I appreciate The Drama’s stance that in the USA it doesn’t take any kind of special psychopath to become a mass shooter. It’s essentially encouraged with no barrier to entry and the only thing that takes Emma down that road is like a few bad years. A moderate level of bullying and isolation. The only thing that pulls her out is like, a few good friends. A club.
She wants to kill people because like she’s bored and lonely. That’s genuinely it. And she sees no real irony or falsehood in her becoming a gun control activist because it’s as genuine as the first thing.
She really does seem to be immediately past that. She’s over it. It wasn’t about hurting people, it was about looking cool and having an impact on others. Being an activist fills the same role in her life.
It’s still terrifying that it was that close. As Charlie points out, if there are thousands of mass shootings a year, how many people in this country are there who wanted to or almost did but didn’t go through with it? No one at her school knew, except, like, didn’t they?
Everyone who grew up in the age of mass school shootings felt like it could be them next, any day, any time, maybe anyone. It became baked into our routines and casual consciousness. It’s all just happenstance that it wasn’t us, specifically. It’s pure luck.
one thing i found interesting was how very american mike & emma are. charlie says it, that the school shooter thing is a very american thing & rachel attempts to deny this, using mike as one of the “good” ones - oh my husband was a poor black man exposed to guns at an early age but he didn’t commit The Ultimate ThoughtCrime. and mike immediately slaps this down, that he grew up around guns because his uncle was a cop. but when charlie tells them about how emma could have possibly thought about something like this, he also lies & blames the death of the neighbor. but the thing is - emma being desensitized to gun violence bc her dad is in the military, and not thinking about a) the human cost and b) the way people would talk about her afterwards, this makes complete sense. the child of a cop might be turned off by their love of guns, and a military brat might be too interested in the aesthetic of the lone, tortured shooter! but that is too much for a liberal white person like rachel or charlie to take. it’s too real and it’s not stereotypical enough. especially when both mike & emma feel shame over the worst things they did while both charlie & rachel could not be less bothered. they have actual victims still alive out there! mike was a little shitty to a weird, entitled girlfriend of his & emma was a little too caught up in Making Them Pay but actually did nothing! and that’s something charlie eventually points out - she didn’t actually do anything wrong!!! maybe she turned from those actions for reasons that are self centered (like being upstaged, like what her reputation might be after she’s dead) but does rachel feel bad? does charlie? why is what she didn’t do so much worse than charlie actually kissing someone else?? yes, maybe, it is true that he loved a mask the whole time! but rachel’s ire is not that emma is wearing a mask, but rather that she was fooled by emma’s mask!
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the marker dealer
ryland grace x fem!reader (fluff)
synopsis: ryland needs the art teacher’s help with some illustrations
warnings: two uses of the prefix ms, otherwise pretty gender neutral
m.list / wc: 1.6k
the last bell rings for the day, followed by the sound of locker doors opening and closing, students shuffling around trying to get out of the building as soon as possible. you’re left standing there, rinsing off a rag to wipe down each of the desks. they’re caked in paint and marks from pens and pastels. leaning across a desk, you quickly scrub down a spot, trying to use your fingernail through the cloth to pick the flaky paint up.
“ms. l/n?” a voice calls into your classroom, quickly followed by three knocks.
startled, the rag falls from your hand onto the desk, eyes widening as you look up at the door frame. instead of an inquisitive student, you spot a curious teacher, a doctor grace that you’d always seen from afar but never quite had directly interacted with. “oh, doctor grace, to what do i owe the pleasure?” you question, grabbing the rag again before continuing to wipe down the tables.
looking over at him, you finally notice how blue his eyes are behind his glasses. you weren’t familiar with the way he looks like there’s something new for him to learn in every room he walks in. his eyebrows slightly furrowed, shoulders dropping as he takes in every factor he can. he’s perplexing, interesting.
“my students have my been begging for a new whiteboard drawing and the last art teacher gave us a pretty good mitochondria drawing. and i was just wondering if you could do one of our solar system. they’ve been asking about the petrova line and i think illustrating it would help me explain it better,” he steps into the classroom, stuffing his hands into his jean’s pockets.
“do i look like the last art teacher?” you question, stepping back from the desks to rinse your rag off, fingers massaging the fabric to remove any additional paint.
glancing back at him, you can see the way he brain short circuits for a second, not expecting that response from you. however, before he can say anything else, you’re already rolling your eyes. “i’m messing with you doctor grace. do you have any working expo markers? because i’m not doing this if all you have are those streaky ones,” you rest the rag on the side of the sink, smiling back at ryland.
as soon as he sees a smile cross your lips, he parrots it back, freeing his hands from his pockets to rest them on the back of a student’s chair. “trust me, i make swaps for the good ones during our lunch period,” ryland nods triumphantly, raising his finger to tap his temple.
“you do? well, you’ll have to let me know your dealer. these kids haven’t quite learned the return part of the policy yet,” you give him a quick wink, walking across your room to grab a large compass, “and sorry we haven’t had a formal introduction before now. it’s been crazy trying to get everything set up and establish myself with the students..”
turning back around, you catch ryland staring over at him, gaze quickly shifting when you catch him. “well everything i’ve heard from the students has been good,” he waits for you to walk over to him, stepping towards your door frame slowly as he leads you towards his classroom.
pieces of artwork your students started line the walls near your classroom. carried out through different mediums, charcoals, pastels, markers, all adding a unique touch to the school’s walls. before starting at the school, it all felt so empty, so dull. so you urged your students to hang up their most recent projects, the ones they really enjoyed making. and it brought an exciting feeling to the school’s halls.
“they’ve talked about my class before? that’s- i’m just happy it’s having a good effect on them,” you shrug your shoulders, slowly making your way over to his classroom, both of you taking your time like he’s dropping you off at your parent’s house after a date.
walking up to his classroom, scientific illustrations and photographs decorate his door. his name is plastered across the top, followed by ‘laboratory’ to really finish off the mad scientist feel. peering into his classroom, you can see the desks lining up to the front of the room. equipment sits off to the side of every desk, with posters filling any empty space on the walls. “if i reveal my marker guy, you’ll have to teach me a thing or two about art. i do not need the next grade to join and be so far on my art skills behind that a sedimentary rock looks like a house,” ryland steps into his classroom, giving you a soft smile.
“you got yourself a deal,” you follow him into the classroom, catching a glance at paper mache planets hanging from the ceiling. there’s a certain passion to teaching that ryland isn’t well at hiding, a passion that shines through clearly to you, “this is a very impressive classroom, someone’s clearly very engaged with his students.”
you follow him up to the whiteboard, only stopping when he backs into a student’s chair that was sill pulled out. stumbling a few feet, he steadies himself, face becoming red at the action. “yeah- oh yeah i try to be,” ryland attempts to play it off, brushing off his blazer before turning to the whiteboard.
there’s smears on different parts of the board, instructions and plans doodled in the corners. his handwriting is somehow both neat and sloppy, the perfect mixture between scientist and teacher. tilting your head slightly, you turn to look at him, “so, how do you want to do this? we can make it more scientifically accurate or more cartoonish. whatever you’d prefer doctor.”
“you can just call me ryland, feels more fitting,” he shrugs his shoulders, pressing his heel into the flooring, gaze meeting everything besides your own.
“alright, ryland, which would you prefer?”
his jaw clenches as he glances between the whiteboard and you, attempting to decide which would be better. “cartoonish is better, i think. the students would probably love it, and it’d give you a chance to be as creative as you’d like, ms. l/n,” ryland fixes his gaze on you, hands shoved back into his pockets.
“well then let’s get to work,” you grab one of his black markers, fitting it into your compass to help figure out each of the planet’s sizes, “and it’s y/n. feels more fitting.”
ryland smiles to himself when you repeat his words, rocking back and forth on the heels of his shoes. you were quick to begin working, showing him how you use the compass to give a rough shape to every planet before you roughen up the line with more rocky movements. it doesn’t take you long to begin picking up all of his markers, using different colors to fill in the respective planets.
leaning back against his desk, he watched you diligently, answering any of your questions about the planets and their descriptions. “should i add an alien to mars? like one of those stereotypical green aliens?” you rest on hand on your hip, the other fiddling with the bright green marker.
laughing, ryland nods his head, “i mean, i’m sure the kids would get a kick out of it.”
“now that we know of the petrova line, whatever it is, do you think there’s alien life out there? like intelligent alien life?” you start sketching the alien popping out behind a rock on mars, glancing back at him every so often as you wait for an answer.
“i think there’s a possibility. i mean, we can’t be the only planet with intelligent life forms. surely there are other beings out there, what do you think?” he shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he peers over at you.
looking back at him, your eyebrows furrow, hand fiddling with the marker again. it’s not something you considered much until the petrova line showed up, with the possibility of life. “life is full of possibilities, so i think it’s very possible. plus, i think aliens would like me, you know? art transcends species,” you turn back to your artwork, only turning back your head to look at him, “and biology of course.”
“right, you’re doing a phenomenal job, thank you for this.”
“of course, us teachers have to stick together. and it was much more fun hanging out with you, actually doing art, than grading required worksheets,” you finish off the alien with black outlining, stepping back while looking around your finish product.
taking off his glasses, ryland holds them up, looking at you through them before he notices a few smudges, “grading mandated worksheets is a really low bar through.”
“i think you’re forgetting the ‘much more’ part of that sentence. besides, i would hate for you to think i’m turning down any future opportunities to sketch on your whiteboard. it was a nice refresher,” you set his markers back down, one hand grabbing for your compass from one of the student’s desks.
“well, then i will have to ask you to come back when we’re focusing on a new subject. and this is an invitation to return whenever you’re curious about my marker dealer,” ryland stands up straight, putting his glasses back on, making note to clean them later.
“sounds like a deal, ryland. uh, i definitely should get back and start grading, but you know where to find me,” you start walking backwards as you talk to him, nearly stumbling over the same chair he did.
doctor's visit (ryland grace x gn!reader)
summary: you find it harder and harder to ignore the cute scientist that always sits next to you during your meetings
wc: 7k
cw: smut! submissive ryland and the glasses stay ON !! MINORS DNI !!
a/n: little nervous about this one :’) why’s ryland’s character so hard to get right?? enjoy!
It took everything in you to squash the laugh that threatened to bubble out of your throat when you beheld the man dubbed the “leading scientist in astrophage”. You weren’t sure what you expected, but the lanky man stumbling out of the jet, nearly falling backwards off the little ladder, wasn’t quite what you pictured. The second his foot touched the concrete landing pad, he hunched over to pick up a small orange traffic cone sitting next to the plane and proceeded to hurl whatever he’d last eaten into it.
Stratt grimaced, fidgeting anxiously next to you to get moving, and gestured for you to follow her once the scientist seemed to gather his bearings enough to stop heaving.
“Doctor Grace, how was your flight?” She asked.
He only replied with a thumbs up. A set of glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose and he didn’t move the orange cone far from his mouth when the two of you neared.
“Doctor Grace, this is Doctor (L/n) who’s here to make sure you’ve made it in one piece before we discuss your findings. Excuse me for a moment.”
As Stratt moved to discuss something with someone on the landing strip a couple of feet away, you took that as your queue to approach the man. He looked pale, watching wearily as you approached with a smile.
“Enjoy the view on the way here, Doctor?”
You wasted no time, moving to find the doctor’s free hand that wasn’t holding the vomit filled cone, to feel for his pulse. It was frantic, pounding against the pad of your fingers but unwavering. He let his hand fall limp in your hold, seemingly out of strength to do much besides stand in place.
“Well… I can’t say I saw much. I was unconscious for most of it. Loved the last bit though, when we’d landed and weren’t in the air anymore. Hey, do you have any water? Some guy gave me a pill and I think it’s still stuck in my throat.”
A smile creeped onto your face. You’d known this man for barely a minute but you could feel that he had a gravitating way about him. Something charming and sweet. Dropping his arm, you nodded to him and gave him the water bottle you’d brought along. You also held out a small white pill. He instantly shook his head.
“Ah, no thank you. Last time I took a pill from a stranger, I woke up on an aircraft carrier.”
“It’s dramamine, Doctor.”
A pause.
Defeat.
“Okay.”
You helped him open the bottle, as one of his hands was still occupied holding his puke cone, and watched as he gulped down mouthfuls of water to chase the dramamine.
“Pulse is strong. How’s your breathing?”
“Uh- fine, I guess?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
He adjusted his glasses with his wrist to finally properly fit over the bridge of his nose and blinked. “Two.”
You gave a firm pat to his back, which he groaned at. “Welcome aboard, Doctor Grace!”
-
While your first meeting was brief, that was not the last time you saw Doctor Ryland Grace. After he finally found his sea legs, he became a regular presence at every meeting in regards to Project Hail Mary.
You weren’t invited to many meetings, only joining when the meetings were about the health of the crew during their journey to Tau Ceti. The robot being constructed to care for the comatose astronauts was an impressive piece of technology unlike anything built before but it needed to be programmed perfectly to ensure the crew’s safety. If it went wrong- the crew would die and so would the rest of Earth.
That’s why you were brought aboard, to help bring up any possible problem that could happen with the crew on their trip and how the robot would handle it. You worked closely with a slew of other doctors, each of you bringing your own experience to the table.
As a Doctor specializing in neurology, your input was crucial. Being in a coma for several years was not ideal and could do some irreparable harm to the brain, which you disclosed as such in your meetings. It was an intricate dance, trying to solve the multitude of potential problems that came up with so many people with differing opinions
They also occasionally had you stationed as an on-call doctor when you weren’t discussing the mission, setting you up in the medical wing of the giant aircraft carrier to handle any ailments of the crew. You didn’t mind the busy work, it gave you something to do when you weren’t in the lab helping with the robot or fighting with a room full of scholars.
The first time Doctor Grace showed up to one of the medical meetings, he was 15 minutes late.
Stratt gave him a look that exuded annoyance as he scrambled to sit in the only empty chair at the table, which happened to be between you and the most powerful woman in the world.
“Sorry everybody,” he waved quickly in apology with an awkward laugh and dumped a folder of papers on the table. The room was dead silent. “This place is a maze! I got lost somewhere on deck C I think. They should really put up some signs.”
If Stratt wasn’t five feet away, you would’ve giggled. There were signs all over the ship. In several languages.
A cardiologist from Brazil tapped his pen against the metal table in agitation. “As I was saying…”
While the conversation buzzed on, discussing circulation and muscular atrophy that would arise from the crew's prone state for several years, you felt a shoe knock into yours. Turning your eyes away from the table, you were surprised to find Doctor Grace looking at you.
“Do you have an extra pen?” He whispered, not very quietly. He was leaning towards you like you were swapping secrets. The soft fabric of his quarter zip brushed against your arm.
Getting some glares from those sitting closest to you, you only nodded back and slipped an extra pen out of the spiral of your notebook.
“Thank you. Hey, you’re that doctor that checked up on me on my first day here, right? Thanks for that, by the way, the pill really helped. I nearly filled up that cone first though, that was a little embarrassing.”
He laughed, another awkward chuckle that had you glancing sidelong at him.
Someone who used humor when they were uncomfortable, it seemed.
Taking a quick look around the room to make sure no one was watching, you leant towards him, bringing your heads closer together. He startled back a bit but didn’t pull completely away.
“When I first got here, I got so seasick I accidentally puked all over my tour guide’s shoes. At least you made it to a cone.” You whispered, smiling at the memory.
Doctor Grace looked at you in shock, eyebrows raising into his hairline. “Really?!” He was really bad at whispering.
“Doctors, do you have an idea you’d like to share with the room?” The leading creator of the nurse robot, Doctor Lamai, peered at your hunched forms.
Jerking away from each other, Doctor Grace and yourself didn’t talk for the rest of the meeting but you had to fight a smile when he slipped you a folded note that just had a crude drawing of a puking face.
-
Any meeting that you attended after that, Ryland- as he’d asked you to call him- would find his place next to you. After learning how tough of a crowd most of the medical crew was, the two of you didn’t talk during the discussions again. But you did start passing notes like a couple of school children.
-
Did you know that the brain is a human’s fattiest organ? -R
Yes -(Y/n)
Really? -R
I’m a neurologist, Ryland. The brain is my job -(Y/n)
Oh yeah -R
Did you know that a human brain produces enough energy to power a small lightbulb? -R
-
This robot is basically like that big marshmallow doctor robot in that one movie -R
Baymax? -(Y/n)
Yeah that sounds right -R
Ours probably won’t be as cute as Baymax is -(Y/n)
Probably not. Maybe we should suggest something to make it cuter. Paint it in pink glitter and give it some eyes -R
Somehow I think that’ll make it even scarier than it already is. Go back to the drawing board -(Y/n)
-
I saw a bird today -R
What kind of bird? -(Y/n)
Seagull -R
Well, we are out at sea -(Y/n)
It’s a little too far out in the ocean to be seeing birds, don’t you think? They get tired -R
Maybe it was a stowaway? -(Y/n)
Poor guy :( -R
-
You learned a lot about Ryland over the next several weeks.
Ryland was full of fun facts and interesting thoughts. He’d barrage you with them any chance he had, and you would listen. While medical facts were mostly common knowledge to you, fun facts about anything else was always a pleasant conversation starter.
He taught you everything there is to know about astrophage and how it works, once even letting you visit him in his little personal lab to see the little microorganisms yourself. He’d carefully prepared a slide for you, making sure the focus was perfect before stepping back to let you peer into the microscope. When you started barraging him with questions, he was more than excited to answer- leading you around his mini lab with a hand on your back.
You learned that he has a mild shellfish allergy. A rather unfortunate finding. He spent a couple of hours in the medical wing laying on a cot, popping benadryl like candy and breaking out in hives after some cross-contamination with shrimp in the cafeteria kitchen.
His favorite animal is a fox and he has a surprising collection of fox related things to prove it.
He was a molecular biologist, now turned loud-and-proud middle school science teacher. He loves his students dearly and spent the greater part of several years revolving his life around their education.
He rarely ever swears. At least, not the actual words, but their modified, kid-friendly versions. He’d have teachers knocking down his apartment door if he swore in front of his class, unintentionally expanding their vocabulary.
When he was trying really hard not to laugh, he’d make this tiny snorting noise that sounds an awful lot like a spray bottle.
He doesn’t know how to use chopsticks. Not the right way, at least.
He has no immediate family, no pets and no partners.
He was an enigma really; someone that felt so out of place on this ship. Ryland felt too… normal to be here. Not in a negative way, just a… he-should’ve-never-been-dragged-into-this kind of way. He was too warm compared to most everyone else here. The aircraft carrier was bursting at the seams with cold government officials and specialists in every science or space related subject to ever exist. Many were too professional, too self absorbed to realize they had a stick up their ass.
Ryland was a breath of fresh air and you felt increasingly drawn to him every time you interacted.
It also didn’t hurt that he was attractive. Like… insanely attractive. His hair was perfectly messy every single day. He wore his glasses in such a way that you’d never seen anyone wear glasses before, hanging off one ear when he wasn’t using them. A near constant 5 o’clock shadow was always gracing his face. Despite his clothing choices which some around you found unprofessional, he pulled off everything he wore. His fox cardigan, his yellow rain coat, his cringy science-pun t-shirts. It shouldn’t, but it made him that much more alluring and it was getting harder and harder for you not to make a move.
You were friends- acquaintances at the least- but he’d never shown any interest. At least not that you’d seen. He was awkward sometimes but he was awkward with everyone. You didn’t want to make things weird, so you stuffed those feelings deep and filed them away for later. Plus, he was technically higher ranking than you in the Hail Mary hierarchy. He was Stratt’s right hand man. Maybe he didn’t want to ‘pull rank’.
These sorts of thoughts kept you up at night while you tried to ignore the sounds of the 3 other medical staff sleeping around you in your shared bunk. He wouldn’t get out of your head and you weren’t sure how much longer you could ignore that tightening string in your gut.
-
On Friday nights, the room on the ship that served as the social meeting place for many of the crew, equipped with a bar, was packed to the gills. You usually dropped by to say hi to the couple of coworkers and other doctors that you were friendly with but never staying for long. You just didn’t know anyone well enough to want to stay and chat. At least you didn’t… until one particular Friday night.
The hunched form at the bar clad in that unmistakable fox cardigan caught your eye almost immediately. He was hard to miss.
This was the first time you’d seen Ryland here. You weren’t sure why he never came, but he was the one person on his whole ship you’d actually consider sharing a drink with.
Immediately making a bee-line for the bar, you saw that the doctor was flipping through several sheets of paper, head in his hand as he read. The people surrounding him at the counter were making light conversation, enjoying a beer and enjoying their Friday night.
Ryland was working.
“Y’know this room is supposed to be a reprieve from work, not somewhere you bring your work to, right?”
The blonde looked up in surprise as you squeezed to stand in the small empty space between him and the guy sitting on the barstool next to him. It was a tight fit, and Ryland immediately shuffled over an inch in his seat to give you some more room.
Or to avoid touching you, which didn’t sit right in your stomach.
His glasses were near falling off his nose. He looked tired.
“I know but I couldn't sleep so I decided to come here. I brought some homework because I needed something to keep my mind busy and so I don’t look like a total loser sitting here by myself. Is it working?”
“Well,” you hummed. “I don’t think you’re a loser but I might be a little biased.”
He smiled, twirling a pen between his long fingers over the papers. You nodded over to where a karaoke machine sat and the 3 Hail Mary crewmates sat with their extra counterparts. “Why don't you go join them? You know them well enough, right? You’re working with them all the time.”
Ryland shifted in his seat to look over his shoulder. His knee pressed against your thigh which made it extremely hard to focus on his answer.
“No, I don’t think I really fit in with their crowd.”
“Why not?”
“They’re brave. Strong. Sometimes I don't even know why I'm here to be honest. Why Stratt dragged me here. A humble middle school science teacher.” He laughed lightly, but it wasn’t a genuine one.
Your heart squeezed into a knot for this man who’d been uprooted from his comfortable life as a teacher and thrown into this madness without his consent just like many others. He felt unsure about his place here and besides Stratt who had him on a leash, he had no one, it seemed.
Besides you, you hoped.
You prayed he enjoyed your company enough to feel a little less alone.
“Well,” you leant back against the bar to properly look at him. He looked up at you over the golden frames of his glasses. “I’d say you have every right to be here. You discovered how to kill an astrophage and see what it's made of. You discovered how they breed and now we have the means to create a powerful fuel for the mission that will save humanity. All important things we might not have right now without you.”
Ryland huffed and drew a little circle on his paper. “I’m sure someone would’ve thought to poke an astrophage with a stick eventually. And learning how they breed didn’t take too much thinking either, surely someone would’ve-”
“You can't spend your whole life focusing on the ‘what if’s’, Ryland. We're here now thanks to you, whether you wanna see it that way or not.”
Finally, a real smile split his face and he nodded slowly. You couldn’t tell if he’d accepted your words as truth or not, but they at least lifted his spirits a little. Plus, a tiny bit of red painted his ears.
“Thanks, (Y/n). Can I… buy you a drink?”
Your stomach fluttered. “Yes, as long as it’s not anything too hard. I’ve got a shift tomorrow.”
He nodded quickly and signalled for the bartender. “Two beers please.”
Bottles in hand, you continued to lounge against the counter next to him, nursing the beverage and making small talk. He’d offered his seat to you but you refused.
Looking out over the crowd, you spotted two individuals huddled together in the dim corner of the room. Ryland noticed your gaze and turned to look too. When he beheld the two scientists tangled together, he shook his head and turned back to you with a raised brow.
“I think DuBois and Shapiro are hooking up.”
“Seems that way.”
“Dont you think it’s a little crazy? I mean, he’s going to be trucked off into space soon and she’ll be left here. What's the point in hooking up when it'll only end in tragedy? You’re just asking for heartbreak.” He shook his head, fiddling with the plastic label of his beer.
You shrugged. “I don't see any harm in it. Sure it’ll hurt eventually but why not live in the moment? Humans yearn for connection, it makes sense they’d want to have some sense of normalcy before the end of the world. It's probably nice to forget about the apocalypse and enjoy someone's company for a while, take your mind off the doom and gloom.”
Ryland was quiet after that, suddenly turning anxious if his ducked head was any indication. Had you said something wrong? You drained the rest of your beer.
“Is that something you find yourself doing?” He asked quietly, feigning nonchalance but his foot was bouncing erratically against the bar stool.
Nervous.
A smile began to creep onto your face. “Not currently.”
His foot stopped.
Relief.
“But… if the right person came along I wouldn’t be opposed.”
His hand squeezed the bottle and his shoulders drooped.
Disappointment.
“Oh… haven’t found the right one yet?” He picked up his head with a painfully fake smile and a nod, looking around the room like he was helping you scout the place. “Lots of interesting people on this ship. A pilot would be cool, huh?”
“Yeah but they’re a bit too cocky for my taste.”
He tapped his finger against his stacks of paper. “Okay, what about… another doctor? Or one of the government officials?”
You grimaced and he cringed back. “Right, no doctors or government workers. If not them, then… what are you looking for?”
Ryland’s eyes were searching yours for a glimpse, a hint of what you might be feeling.
With the tiniest bit of liquid courage running through your veins, you tapped your beer bottle against your leg and lightly began playing with the sleeve of his fox cardigan. He became impossibly still.
“Someone real. Down to earth. Not afraid to be themselves… a nice smile and a pretty face sure helps too.”
The doctor gulped and you reveled in the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing in the soft light of the room. He inclined his head once, fingers twitching against the bar. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He whispered.
Neither of you broke the heated eye contact until the man you were standing next to fell back in laugher and knocked you off your balance. You were able to recover quickly, but not before pressing even closer to the scientist and nearly falling into his lap. His hand had immediately planted onto your hip in an attempt to keep you steady. Being this close, you could feel the breath from his nose on yours. Your heart was pounding.
The room grew in volume as people flocked to gather around the karaoke machine that was playing a song you couldn’t even bother to name. Not while Ryland held all of your attention.
While his chest heaved, you slowly moved to stand properly on your own two feet but holding his gaze. You took the hem of his cardigan in your hand. It was so soft.
“Want to go for a walk?” You asked quietly, glancing at his stack of papers that were forgotten about long ago.
Ryland said nothing but started brushing his work into a haphazard pile good enough to hold in one arm and stood up. Standing at his full height, you were reminded again how tall the man was. When he offered his hand as a silent question, an inquiry to make sure he wasn’t reading anything wrong, you didn’t hesitate to take it. No one batted an eye at the two of you as you led him through the crowd and out into the silent metal hallways beyond.
-
Ryland could not unlock the door to his room fast enough.
He only had one key to his name while on the ship, you’d think it would be pretty easy to manage. In theory it was, but when his nerves were blasting through the roof and you were fiddling with the belt loop on the back of his pants, he got a little distracted.
You giggled as the scientist finally fished his key out of his pocket and proceeded to drop it on the floor with a clink.
“Sorry,” he strained, scooping it up from the floor and finally fumbling with the lock.
Once the door swung open and the two of you stepped inside, you did a quick observation of the room. It was extremely small, barely enough room for one person, let alone two. There was just enough space for a twin bed and a small desk attached to the wall. Rylands’s belongings were strewn everywhere there was space. While it was cramped, there was something he had in his room that you didn’t.
A window.
A tiny circular porthole- so small you couldn’t fit your head through it if it was able to open- but a window nonetheless. Your room was deep in the middle of the ship so no windows for you. As it was around midnight, there was nothing but inky blackness on the other side but you wondered what it would look like when it was daytime and the ocean was blue. For now, the soft glow of a tiny lamp kept the room illuminated.
“Oh god- don’t mind the mess. I don’t get many visitors.” He stood awkwardly in the center of the room, brushing some discarded clothes aside with his shoe. “But to be fair, it’s impossible to keep a room this small clean. I mean, no dresser, no closet. I’m not 100% sure but I think this used to be a storage-“
You liked to think you knew Ryland pretty well now, and knew when he was about to spiral into a rambling fit. He was especially prone when he was anxious. As much as you loved to hear him talk, now wasn’t the time.
When you took a step forward and fisted the lapels of his cardigan in your hands, his words died immediately.
When your hands tugged his body down and your lips slotted against his, his whole body froze up.
You didn’t push beyond a couple of seconds before pulling away a hair- keeping him close but giving him the room to decide if he wanted to stop or come back for more. For all you knew, he was just bringing you back to his room to show you his collection of fox things. Through lidded eyes, you watched as his eyelashes fluttered, dazing down at you in shock.
Suddenly worried that maybe you had indeed read things wrong, you began to ease up your grip on his collar. When his hands shot up to keep your head in place, cradling your jaw in his large palms and returned the kiss with eagerness, you smiled against him.
Months of brushing around each other snapped.
Your mouths were tangled in a heated dance- his body moving closer and pressing yours against the door, like he was trying to melt into you. He still had his glasses on, which meant you were being a little cautious of how close you pressed your face into his. You didn’t want to stab your eye on the rims, what a mood breaker that would be. But you didn’t want to ask him to take them off. In fact, you wanted to beg him to keep them on.
When his hands dropped to your waist to pull your hips together, you wound your arms around his neck, your hands immediately finding the back of his head- finally able to feel the mussed hair that snagged your attention day after day.
It was extremely soft, just as you’d imagined. Perfect, just like the rest of him.
Time blurred and you weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, tasting each other like you were starving. Eventually, you decided it was much too hot in the tiny room and you were both wearing way too much clothing.
Dragging your hands from his hair to trail down the strong column of his neck, you dipped your hands into his cardigan, sliding your fingers over his shoulders and pushing the cream knitwear off in the process.
He shivered under your touch, when your fingers glanced over his biceps as the cardigan fell to his elbows. His hands let go of your waist to allow the fabric to fall to the floor in a pile. When his hands returned, they planted themselves on the door next to your waist.
It wasn’t to tower over you, or to trap you against him. No, it was because he needed something to keep him upright or he was at risk of squishing you entirely against the metal.
You broke the kiss with a soft gasp, chest heaving against his where his shirt stretched over the muscle.
You’d never seen Ryland without something thrown over the top of a t-shirt- always wearing some type of jacket or lab coat or something. Now that he was without one, your hands mapped over his arms and shoulders.
As he busied himself with your neck, gently nosing at the soft spot just behind your ear, you swore.
“Shit, Ryland. What are they feeding you in the cafeteria? Protein powder?”
He laughed against your skin, dipping his lips down to your shoulder. His scruff tickled and the metal of his glasses were ice cold compared to your heated skin. “No. I just… go to the gym sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
“Mhm-“ he choked on his affirmation when you slid your hands up his abdomen to feel underneath his shirt. The muscle was warm and fluttered against your fingers.
“Can I see what else you’ve been hiding under all these layers?”
Clothes were shed in a record amount of time, save for the couple of extra seconds Ryland took to take off his pants because he almost tripped over his own feet. He did seem to hesitate when he got to his boxers, fiddling with the hem, but when you hooked your fingers into the elastic, he let the fabric fall.
Once every part of you was exposed to the chill, circulated air, Ryland began chasing your mouth again but stopped with a grunt when you pushed him back onto his bed.
The look on his face was priceless, enough so that you laughed as you knelt on the hard mattress and swung a leg over his hips to straddle him. If Ryland had been red before, it was nothing compared to the color of his face now. His eyes glanced over your body, appreciating but not lingering out of nervousness as he stammered.
“You want to-?”
Straightening his glasses on his face to fit properly, you nodded. “Is this ok?”
“Yes! Yes- I’ve just never… my ex was more traditional I guess so we never… She always liked me to be on top.” He let out a breathy laugh and a shy smile.
Everything about this man was so endearing.
“As fun as that sounds, I want to try this first. I can see you better this way.”
Another audible hitch in his breath as he nodded. “Okay.”
His large palms found purchase on your thighs and he sighed blissfully through his nose when you bent forward to kiss along his jaw. It feathered under your lips and he tilted his head back to happily give you more surface area to work with.
When you finally ground your hips down onto him, he bucked under the pressure. A completely unintentional gesture that had him apologizing. You chased that response, rhythmically moving your pelvis in tandem with his.
Ryland whimpered.
You’d be damned if you didn’t try to get him to make that sound a hundred times more before morning.
You spent several minutes exploring his neck with your tongue while keeping a firm pressure with your hips, gently swaying in circles against him. You found a spot right at the juncture between his neck and shoulder that had him moaning. By the time you eased up, red marks bloomed along his throat and Ryland was already breathless. Chest heaving against your palms, he looked heavily up at you through those glasses of his and gave you a shy, lopsided grin.
“That was nice.”
You raised a brow. “I’m gonna have to work harder if all I get is a ‘that was nice’, Ry.”
His smile dropped. “No! That’s not what I meant- I just… I’m gonna be honest it’s been a while since I’ve…” his voice quieted, letting you fill in the blanks.
You knew he had an ex- he’d brought her up occasionally in your conversations when the moment called for it- but you didn’t know how long ago that had been. If you had to guess, it was probably before he became a teacher. Which if what he was saying was true… then he’d hadn’t been with anyone since then and had gone several years without being intimate with anyone (besides himself, anyway).
Ryland took your momentary pause as a bad sign.
“Not that I haven’t wanted to! I’ve just been really busy. Teacher stuff. Grading. Lesson planning. And with a teacher’s salary on top of crippling student loan debt? Fancy restaurants can be a little too steep. Even fast food restaurants these days are getting expensive. I don’t even have a car! I bike to work! Can’t even afford a coffee date some months.”
Another rambling tangent. One of his pointer fingers tapped erratically at your thigh.
“Well, you’re in luck Ryland,” you state, pressing a hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat, just like you had when you first met. Just like before, it was pounding but for a whole different reason this time. “I don’t think there’s any high-end restaurants on this aircraft carrier so I don’t need any of that fancy treatment. What if we have cafeteria oatmeal and orange juice on the flight deck together tomorrow morning instead?”
He was nodding before you’d even finished your sentence. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
“Good,” you smile, raising yourself up to kneel properly over him.
His neck bobbed when you finally took him in your hand. He was warm and firm, the perfect length and size without being too much.
You felt him resist the urge to buck into your fist, instead throwing his head back against the mattress with a groan, tightly squeezing your thighs with his hands to ground himself. He was already leaking into your palm within a couple pumps.
“I-I don’t know how long I’ll be able to-“
“We’ve got all night, Ry, don’t worry.”
He nodded, comforted by your words. He was soft as silk and overly sensitive, it seemed. With the help of your hand, the scientist came quickly, just as he feared he would, painting his abdomen white. You shushed him before he could even think about apologizing.
One positive thing about him going so long without intimacy meant his refractory period was minuscule. He was hard again in minutes, which he’d blushed about.
When you finally sank onto him, moving slowly both for yourself and Ryland’s sake, all thoughts left your mind besides the ones that revolved around the man underneath you. You didn’t care about the dying sun, or Project Hail Mary, or your job. By his expression, Ryland was feeling the same.
His hands were surely leaving bruises on your thighs but you didn’t care one bit. Not when your bodies fit together beautifully. Fully seated, hips locked, you could’ve cried at how he felt inside you. He was just the right size, brushing every spot he needed to and then some without being too overwhelming.
When you began to move, Ryland helped where he could- offering your body stability and putting those muscled arms of his to good use. The veins on his forearms were bulging and the tendons in his neck were prominent against his skin.
You didn’t know how soundproof the metal boxes the higher-ups deemed bedrooms were, but you doubted they would do a good job of masking any of the noises the two of you were making. Ryland was keeping quiet as much as he could manage, teeth grinding. You were a little less reserved, gasping and groaning as you bounced. Let his neighbors hear, you didn’t care. Not when you finally got your chance with the scientist you’d been eyeing since the moment he stepped out of that jet.
Just like he was perfect for you, you could tell you were providing enough relief for him in return because you could feel his thighs began to quake.
When he bucked up into you again, unable to resist, your hold on that string deep in your gut snapped and you saw white. Feeling you finish brought Ryland to the edge too. He was just barely able to find the strength to lift your body high enough to pull out before he came.
The next several seconds were spent breathing in tandem. Ryland was watching you like you hung the stars in the sky. With all of the movement, his glasses had skewed again. Huffing a laugh, you bent forward to straighten them and then pressed a long lingering kiss to his lips. You felt his fingers glide up your ribs then wander to your spine, pressing your chest tightly to his.
His glasses were foggy by the time you pulled away, your shared breath heating the lenses.
“You ok?” You asked, brushing a thumb over the dusting of facial hair along his jaw. He nodded into your palm.
“More than ok.”
-
You woke up to snoring.
Not the loud, reverberating kind, but a soft and soothing hum that blended perfectly with the constant moans and groans of the ship you’d become so accustomed to.
Blinking open your eyes, you stared at the metal ceiling. It took several seconds to remember where you were. For a moment, you assumed you were in your room but when tiny glimpses of sunlight danced over the walls and when a hand twitched lightly against your waist, the memory of last night came rushing back.
The bar, your conversation with the scientist, and then-
A soft smile erupted across your cheeks as they warmed. Ever so slowly lifting your hand, you brushed your fingers through the head of hair that was tucked into your neck.
Indeed, Doctor Ryland Grace was laying by your side, pressed impossibly close to your body due to the cramped nature of his bed, and blissfully asleep.
All feelings of hesitancy and shyness he’d had hours earlier were gone as he slept, the doctor partially draped over you- an arm slung over your waist, a leg thrown over one of yours and tucked between your thighs. He was snoring against your neck where his face was pressed. You were pretty sure he was drooling. His feathered hair was soft against your fingers, even more unkempt than usual.
You could’ve stayed like that for hours, warm and comfortable even in the pathetic excuse for a bed.
Several minutes passed before he began waking up, stirred by the gentle pass of your fingers along the short hair at the nape of his neck. He moved around slightly but didn’t move to pull away from your side.
He sighed against your skin, the fluttering of his eyelashes against your throat telling you he’d finally opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” you said quietly, not wanting to break the peaceful tranquility of the room that was rare to find on the bustling carrier.
You felt him blink a couple times before he responded, a smile sounding on his lips. “Morning.”
God, his voice was perfect- a rough, deep baritone thanks to hours of sleep. It had you turning your head towards him, pressing your lips to his hairline. You couldn’t see his face, but the stretch of stubble across your throat told you he’d smiled even more.
Several minutes went by in companionable silence, neither of you wanting to pull away. His fingers brushed lazily against your waist and yours didn’t stop thumbing through his hair.
You wondered after a while if he’d fallen back asleep before he mumbled a question. “What time is it?”
Peering over his head, you squinted at the small digital clock that sat on the tiny built-in desk.
“8:58.”
A pause.
Then panic.
Ryland shot upwards, unsticking himself from your body and scrambling out of the bed in a flurry of limbs and movement.
“Shhhhhiitake mushrooms!”
You watched from the bed, lightly amused as you watched him stumble around the cramped space in a frantic search for clothing. Lord above, he looked just as good from the back as he did the front.
“Something wrong?”
“I was supposed to go with Stratt to a crew meeting an hour ago.” He threw his legs into a pair of boxer briefs (which you were pretty certain were on backwards but he didn’t seem to notice or care), followed by a pair of jeans. “Kinda surprised she hasn’t barged in here already to get me up, actually i’m. She’s done it before.”
You just hummed, watching him slug a blue button up across his shoulders and struggle with the buttons. He threw a glare at you that had no fire behind it. “Will you show at least a little sympathy? She could probably throw me into the ship’s jail for this.” He missed a button at the top of his shirt, which meant the whole shirt was now fastened lopsided. He didn’t seem to notice that either.
“I’m not going to complain that we got an extra hour or two of sleep together.”
His cheeks bloomed. There’s that shyness. He didn’t fight your statement, instead busying himself with tugging a beanie over his bedhead. When he sat on the mattress next to you to start putting socks and shoes on, he searched the room with squinted eyes.
“Do y’know where my-“
You held out his glasses. At some point last night, you’d relieved him of the spectacles for his own comfort (and so you could kiss him as senseless as you wanted to) and carefully placed them under the bed where they’d be safe from being squished.
“Thank you.”
Looking a little less than put together, he started collecting the notepads and folders stuffed with papers on the small desk, gathering everything into his arms.
“Uh- well, we missed breakfast so how about we meet up for lunch? Or dinner? Or breakfast tomorrow? Or we don’t have to do anything together at all if you don’t want to. Totally your call, really.” He kept his gaze down at the papers, avoiding your gaze. You smiled.
“Well, I start my shift in an hour and can’t leave the medical wing until I’m relieved.”
His shoulders dropped a little.
“But… there’s no rules against having visitors.”
Ryland looked at you over the rims of his glasses, starting to smile himself. “Yeah? Ok! Yeah, I’ll- Do you have a preference for lunch? I’ll bring you something. Or I can get you a little bit of everything from the cafeteria? Do they allow that?”
You sat up with a laugh, holding the thin bedsheets against your chest to keep the last little bit of warmth from him against you. “I’ll get the same thing you’re having. I’m not picky.”
The doctor nodded to himself, shuffling toward the door with large strides. Twisting the handle, the door opened barely an inch before he doubled back like he forgot something. You expected him to search for something else he needed, not expecting him to rush over and press a fast kiss to your lips. It was your turn to blush.
“Right! Ok, I’ll get us something good. See you in a little bit! And lock the door on your way out, will you? Thanks!”
With his goodbye, he rushed out of the room, gently shut the door and began racing away. You heard his pounding footsteps reverberate the walls as he ran down the hall.
His room was too quiet now that he was gone, only the sounds of the ship keeping you company.
It took you several minutes to shake out of your star-struck stupor.
When the blonde showed up in your quiet office in the medical wing at 12pm sharp, precariously balancing two to-go boxes stuffed full with cafeteria food and harboring a broad smile, you quickly realized how much Doctor Ryland Grace already had you wrapped around his finger.
a/n: ryland grace: the people’s pillow princess. thank you for reading!
doctor's visit (ryland grace x gn!reader)
summary: you find it harder and harder to ignore the cute scientist that always sits next to you during your meetings
wc: 7k
cw: smut! submissive ryland and the glasses stay ON !! MINORS DNI !!
a/n: little nervous about this one :’) why’s ryland’s character so hard to get right?? enjoy!
It took everything in you to squash the laugh that threatened to bubble out of your throat when you beheld the man dubbed the “leading scientist in astrophage”. You weren’t sure what you expected, but the lanky man stumbling out of the jet, nearly falling backwards off the little ladder, wasn’t quite what you pictured. The second his foot touched the concrete landing pad, he hunched over to pick up a small orange traffic cone sitting next to the plane and proceeded to hurl whatever he’d last eaten into it.
Stratt grimaced, fidgeting anxiously next to you to get moving, and gestured for you to follow her once the scientist seemed to gather his bearings enough to stop heaving.
“Doctor Grace, how was your flight?” She asked.
He only replied with a thumbs up. A set of glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose and he didn’t move the orange cone far from his mouth when the two of you neared.
“Doctor Grace, this is Doctor (L/n) who’s here to make sure you’ve made it in one piece before we discuss your findings. Excuse me for a moment.”
As Stratt moved to discuss something with someone on the landing strip a couple of feet away, you took that as your queue to approach the man. He looked pale, watching wearily as you approached with a smile.
“Enjoy the view on the way here, Doctor?”
You wasted no time, moving to find the doctor’s free hand that wasn’t holding the vomit filled cone, to feel for his pulse. It was frantic, pounding against the pad of your fingers but unwavering. He let his hand fall limp in your hold, seemingly out of strength to do much besides stand in place.
“Well… I can’t say I saw much. I was unconscious for most of it. Loved the last bit though, when we’d landed and weren’t in the air anymore. Hey, do you have any water? Some guy gave me a pill and I think it’s still stuck in my throat.”
A smile creeped onto your face. You’d known this man for barely a minute but you could feel that he had a gravitating way about him. Something charming and sweet. Dropping his arm, you nodded to him and gave him the water bottle you’d brought along. You also held out a small white pill. He instantly shook his head.
“Ah, no thank you. Last time I took a pill from a stranger, I woke up on an aircraft carrier.”
“It’s dramamine, Doctor.”
A pause.
Defeat.
“Okay.”
You helped him open the bottle, as one of his hands was still occupied holding his puke cone, and watched as he gulped down mouthfuls of water to chase the dramamine.
“Pulse is strong. How’s your breathing?”
“Uh- fine, I guess?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
He adjusted his glasses with his wrist to finally properly fit over the bridge of his nose and blinked. “Two.”
You gave a firm pat to his back, which he groaned at. “Welcome aboard, Doctor Grace!”
-
While your first meeting was brief, that was not the last time you saw Doctor Ryland Grace. After he finally found his sea legs, he became a regular presence at every meeting in regards to Project Hail Mary.
You weren’t invited to many meetings, only joining when the meetings were about the health of the crew during their journey to Tau Ceti. The robot being constructed to care for the comatose astronauts was an impressive piece of technology unlike anything built before but it needed to be programmed perfectly to ensure the crew’s safety. If it went wrong- the crew would die and so would the rest of Earth.
That’s why you were brought aboard, to help bring up any possible problem that could happen with the crew on their trip and how the robot would handle it. You worked closely with a slew of other doctors, each of you bringing your own experience to the table.
As a Doctor specializing in neurology, your input was crucial. Being in a coma for several years was not ideal and could do some irreparable harm to the brain, which you disclosed as such in your meetings. It was an intricate dance, trying to solve the multitude of potential problems that came up with so many people with differing opinions
They also occasionally had you stationed as an on-call doctor when you weren’t discussing the mission, setting you up in the medical wing of the giant aircraft carrier to handle any ailments of the crew. You didn’t mind the busy work, it gave you something to do when you weren’t in the lab helping with the robot or fighting with a room full of scholars.
The first time Doctor Grace showed up to one of the medical meetings, he was 15 minutes late.
Stratt gave him a look that exuded annoyance as he scrambled to sit in the only empty chair at the table, which happened to be between you and the most powerful woman in the world.
“Sorry everybody,” he waved quickly in apology with an awkward laugh and dumped a folder of papers on the table. The room was dead silent. “This place is a maze! I got lost somewhere on deck C I think. They should really put up some signs.”
If Stratt wasn’t five feet away, you would’ve giggled. There were signs all over the ship. In several languages.
A cardiologist from Brazil tapped his pen against the metal table in agitation. “As I was saying…”
While the conversation buzzed on, discussing circulation and muscular atrophy that would arise from the crew's prone state for several years, you felt a shoe knock into yours. Turning your eyes away from the table, you were surprised to find Doctor Grace looking at you.
“Do you have an extra pen?” He whispered, not very quietly. He was leaning towards you like you were swapping secrets. The soft fabric of his quarter zip brushed against your arm.
Getting some glares from those sitting closest to you, you only nodded back and slipped an extra pen out of the spiral of your notebook.
“Thank you. Hey, you’re that doctor that checked up on me on my first day here, right? Thanks for that, by the way, the pill really helped. I nearly filled up that cone first though, that was a little embarrassing.”
He laughed, another awkward chuckle that had you glancing sidelong at him.
Someone who used humor when they were uncomfortable, it seemed.
Taking a quick look around the room to make sure no one was watching, you leant towards him, bringing your heads closer together. He startled back a bit but didn’t pull completely away.
“When I first got here, I got so seasick I accidentally puked all over my tour guide’s shoes. At least you made it to a cone.” You whispered, smiling at the memory.
Doctor Grace looked at you in shock, eyebrows raising into his hairline. “Really?!” He was really bad at whispering.
“Doctors, do you have an idea you’d like to share with the room?” The leading creator of the nurse robot, Doctor Lamai, peered at your hunched forms.
Jerking away from each other, Doctor Grace and yourself didn’t talk for the rest of the meeting but you had to fight a smile when he slipped you a folded note that just had a crude drawing of a puking face.
-
Any meeting that you attended after that, Ryland- as he’d asked you to call him- would find his place next to you. After learning how tough of a crowd most of the medical crew was, the two of you didn’t talk during the discussions again. But you did start passing notes like a couple of school children.
-
Did you know that the brain is a human’s fattiest organ? -R
Yes -(Y/n)
Really? -R
I’m a neurologist, Ryland. The brain is my job -(Y/n)
Oh yeah -R
Did you know that a human brain produces enough energy to power a small lightbulb? -R
-
This robot is basically like that big marshmallow doctor robot in that one movie -R
Baymax? -(Y/n)
Yeah that sounds right -R
Ours probably won’t be as cute as Baymax is -(Y/n)
Probably not. Maybe we should suggest something to make it cuter. Paint it in pink glitter and give it some eyes -R
Somehow I think that’ll make it even scarier than it already is. Go back to the drawing board -(Y/n)
-
I saw a bird today -R
What kind of bird? -(Y/n)
Seagull -R
Well, we are out at sea -(Y/n)
It’s a little too far out in the ocean to be seeing birds, don’t you think? They get tired -R
Maybe it was a stowaway? -(Y/n)
Poor guy :( -R
-
You learned a lot about Ryland over the next several weeks.
Ryland was full of fun facts and interesting thoughts. He’d barrage you with them any chance he had, and you would listen. While medical facts were mostly common knowledge to you, fun facts about anything else was always a pleasant conversation starter.
He taught you everything there is to know about astrophage and how it works, once even letting you visit him in his little personal lab to see the little microorganisms yourself. He’d carefully prepared a slide for you, making sure the focus was perfect before stepping back to let you peer into the microscope. When you started barraging him with questions, he was more than excited to answer- leading you around his mini lab with a hand on your back.
You learned that he has a mild shellfish allergy. A rather unfortunate finding. He spent a couple of hours in the medical wing laying on a cot, popping benadryl like candy and breaking out in hives after some cross-contamination with shrimp in the cafeteria kitchen.
His favorite animal is a fox and he has a surprising collection of fox related things to prove it.
He was a molecular biologist, now turned loud-and-proud middle school science teacher. He loves his students dearly and spent the greater part of several years revolving his life around their education.
He rarely ever swears. At least, not the actual words, but their modified, kid-friendly versions. He’d have teachers knocking down his apartment door if he swore in front of his class, unintentionally expanding their vocabulary.
When he was trying really hard not to laugh, he’d make this tiny snorting noise that sounds an awful lot like a spray bottle.
He doesn’t know how to use chopsticks. Not the right way, at least.
He has no immediate family, no pets and no partners.
He was an enigma really; someone that felt so out of place on this ship. Ryland felt too… normal to be here. Not in a negative way, just a… he-should’ve-never-been-dragged-into-this kind of way. He was too warm compared to most everyone else here. The aircraft carrier was bursting at the seams with cold government officials and specialists in every science or space related subject to ever exist. Many were too professional, too self absorbed to realize they had a stick up their ass.
Ryland was a breath of fresh air and you felt increasingly drawn to him every time you interacted.
It also didn’t hurt that he was attractive. Like… insanely attractive. His hair was perfectly messy every single day. He wore his glasses in such a way that you’d never seen anyone wear glasses before, hanging off one ear when he wasn’t using them. A near constant 5 o’clock shadow was always gracing his face. Despite his clothing choices which some around you found unprofessional, he pulled off everything he wore. His fox cardigan, his yellow rain coat, his cringy science-pun t-shirts. It shouldn’t, but it made him that much more alluring and it was getting harder and harder for you not to make a move.
You were friends- acquaintances at the least- but he’d never shown any interest. At least not that you’d seen. He was awkward sometimes but he was awkward with everyone. You didn’t want to make things weird, so you stuffed those feelings deep and filed them away for later. Plus, he was technically higher ranking than you in the Hail Mary hierarchy. He was Stratt’s right hand man. Maybe he didn’t want to ‘pull rank’.
These sorts of thoughts kept you up at night while you tried to ignore the sounds of the 3 other medical staff sleeping around you in your shared bunk. He wouldn’t get out of your head and you weren’t sure how much longer you could ignore that tightening string in your gut.
-
On Friday nights, the room on the ship that served as the social meeting place for many of the crew, equipped with a bar, was packed to the gills. You usually dropped by to say hi to the couple of coworkers and other doctors that you were friendly with but never staying for long. You just didn’t know anyone well enough to want to stay and chat. At least you didn’t… until one particular Friday night.
The hunched form at the bar clad in that unmistakable fox cardigan caught your eye almost immediately. He was hard to miss.
This was the first time you’d seen Ryland here. You weren’t sure why he never came, but he was the one person on his whole ship you’d actually consider sharing a drink with.
Immediately making a bee-line for the bar, you saw that the doctor was flipping through several sheets of paper, head in his hand as he read. The people surrounding him at the counter were making light conversation, enjoying a beer and enjoying their Friday night.
Ryland was working.
“Y’know this room is supposed to be a reprieve from work, not somewhere you bring your work to, right?”
The blonde looked up in surprise as you squeezed to stand in the small empty space between him and the guy sitting on the barstool next to him. It was a tight fit, and Ryland immediately shuffled over an inch in his seat to give you some more room.
Or to avoid touching you, which didn’t sit right in your stomach.
His glasses were near falling off his nose. He looked tired.
“I know but I couldn't sleep so I decided to come here. I brought some homework because I needed something to keep my mind busy and so I don’t look like a total loser sitting here by myself. Is it working?”
“Well,” you hummed. “I don’t think you’re a loser but I might be a little biased.”
He smiled, twirling a pen between his long fingers over the papers. You nodded over to where a karaoke machine sat and the 3 Hail Mary crewmates sat with their extra counterparts. “Why don't you go join them? You know them well enough, right? You’re working with them all the time.”
Ryland shifted in his seat to look over his shoulder. His knee pressed against your thigh which made it extremely hard to focus on his answer.
“No, I don’t think I really fit in with their crowd.”
“Why not?”
“They’re brave. Strong. Sometimes I don't even know why I'm here to be honest. Why Stratt dragged me here. A humble middle school science teacher.” He laughed lightly, but it wasn’t a genuine one.
Your heart squeezed into a knot for this man who’d been uprooted from his comfortable life as a teacher and thrown into this madness without his consent just like many others. He felt unsure about his place here and besides Stratt who had him on a leash, he had no one, it seemed.
Besides you, you hoped.
You prayed he enjoyed your company enough to feel a little less alone.
“Well,” you leant back against the bar to properly look at him. He looked up at you over the golden frames of his glasses. “I’d say you have every right to be here. You discovered how to kill an astrophage and see what it's made of. You discovered how they breed and now we have the means to create a powerful fuel for the mission that will save humanity. All important things we might not have right now without you.”
Ryland huffed and drew a little circle on his paper. “I’m sure someone would’ve thought to poke an astrophage with a stick eventually. And learning how they breed didn’t take too much thinking either, surely someone would’ve-”
“You can't spend your whole life focusing on the ‘what if’s’, Ryland. We're here now thanks to you, whether you wanna see it that way or not.”
Finally, a real smile split his face and he nodded slowly. You couldn’t tell if he’d accepted your words as truth or not, but they at least lifted his spirits a little. Plus, a tiny bit of red painted his ears.
“Thanks, (Y/n). Can I… buy you a drink?”
Your stomach fluttered. “Yes, as long as it’s not anything too hard. I’ve got a shift tomorrow.”
He nodded quickly and signalled for the bartender. “Two beers please.”
Bottles in hand, you continued to lounge against the counter next to him, nursing the beverage and making small talk. He’d offered his seat to you but you refused.
Looking out over the crowd, you spotted two individuals huddled together in the dim corner of the room. Ryland noticed your gaze and turned to look too. When he beheld the two scientists tangled together, he shook his head and turned back to you with a raised brow.
“I think DuBois and Shapiro are hooking up.”
“Seems that way.”
“Dont you think it’s a little crazy? I mean, he’s going to be trucked off into space soon and she’ll be left here. What's the point in hooking up when it'll only end in tragedy? You’re just asking for heartbreak.” He shook his head, fiddling with the plastic label of his beer.
You shrugged. “I don't see any harm in it. Sure it’ll hurt eventually but why not live in the moment? Humans yearn for connection, it makes sense they’d want to have some sense of normalcy before the end of the world. It's probably nice to forget about the apocalypse and enjoy someone's company for a while, take your mind off the doom and gloom.”
Ryland was quiet after that, suddenly turning anxious if his ducked head was any indication. Had you said something wrong? You drained the rest of your beer.
“Is that something you find yourself doing?” He asked quietly, feigning nonchalance but his foot was bouncing erratically against the bar stool.
Nervous.
A smile began to creep onto your face. “Not currently.”
His foot stopped.
Relief.
“But… if the right person came along I wouldn’t be opposed.”
His hand squeezed the bottle and his shoulders drooped.
Disappointment.
“Oh… haven’t found the right one yet?” He picked up his head with a painfully fake smile and a nod, looking around the room like he was helping you scout the place. “Lots of interesting people on this ship. A pilot would be cool, huh?”
“Yeah but they’re a bit too cocky for my taste.”
He tapped his finger against his stacks of paper. “Okay, what about… another doctor? Or one of the government officials?”
You grimaced and he cringed back. “Right, no doctors or government workers. If not them, then… what are you looking for?”
Ryland’s eyes were searching yours for a glimpse, a hint of what you might be feeling.
With the tiniest bit of liquid courage running through your veins, you tapped your beer bottle against your leg and lightly began playing with the sleeve of his fox cardigan. He became impossibly still.
“Someone real. Down to earth. Not afraid to be themselves… a nice smile and a pretty face sure helps too.”
The doctor gulped and you reveled in the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing in the soft light of the room. He inclined his head once, fingers twitching against the bar. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He whispered.
Neither of you broke the heated eye contact until the man you were standing next to fell back in laugher and knocked you off your balance. You were able to recover quickly, but not before pressing even closer to the scientist and nearly falling into his lap. His hand had immediately planted onto your hip in an attempt to keep you steady. Being this close, you could feel the breath from his nose on yours. Your heart was pounding.
The room grew in volume as people flocked to gather around the karaoke machine that was playing a song you couldn’t even bother to name. Not while Ryland held all of your attention.
While his chest heaved, you slowly moved to stand properly on your own two feet but holding his gaze. You took the hem of his cardigan in your hand. It was so soft.
“Want to go for a walk?” You asked quietly, glancing at his stack of papers that were forgotten about long ago.
Ryland said nothing but started brushing his work into a haphazard pile good enough to hold in one arm and stood up. Standing at his full height, you were reminded again how tall the man was. When he offered his hand as a silent question, an inquiry to make sure he wasn’t reading anything wrong, you didn’t hesitate to take it. No one batted an eye at the two of you as you led him through the crowd and out into the silent metal hallways beyond.
-
Ryland could not unlock the door to his room fast enough.
He only had one key to his name while on the ship, you’d think it would be pretty easy to manage. In theory it was, but when his nerves were blasting through the roof and you were fiddling with the belt loop on the back of his pants, he got a little distracted.
You giggled as the scientist finally fished his key out of his pocket and proceeded to drop it on the floor with a clink.
“Sorry,” he strained, scooping it up from the floor and finally fumbling with the lock.
Once the door swung open and the two of you stepped inside, you did a quick observation of the room. It was extremely small, barely enough room for one person, let alone two. There was just enough space for a twin bed and a small desk attached to the wall. Rylands’s belongings were strewn everywhere there was space. While it was cramped, there was something he had in his room that you didn’t.
A window.
A tiny circular porthole- so small you couldn’t fit your head through it if it was able to open- but a window nonetheless. Your room was deep in the middle of the ship so no windows for you. As it was around midnight, there was nothing but inky blackness on the other side but you wondered what it would look like when it was daytime and the ocean was blue. For now, the soft glow of a tiny lamp kept the room illuminated.
“Oh god- don’t mind the mess. I don’t get many visitors.” He stood awkwardly in the center of the room, brushing some discarded clothes aside with his shoe. “But to be fair, it’s impossible to keep a room this small clean. I mean, no dresser, no closet. I’m not 100% sure but I think this used to be a storage-“
You liked to think you knew Ryland pretty well now, and knew when he was about to spiral into a rambling fit. He was especially prone when he was anxious. As much as you loved to hear him talk, now wasn’t the time.
When you took a step forward and fisted the lapels of his cardigan in your hands, his words died immediately.
When your hands tugged his body down and your lips slotted against his, his whole body froze up.
You didn’t push beyond a couple of seconds before pulling away a hair- keeping him close but giving him the room to decide if he wanted to stop or come back for more. For all you knew, he was just bringing you back to his room to show you his collection of fox things. Through lidded eyes, you watched as his eyelashes fluttered, dazing down at you in shock.
Suddenly worried that maybe you had indeed read things wrong, you began to ease up your grip on his collar. When his hands shot up to keep your head in place, cradling your jaw in his large palms and returned the kiss with eagerness, you smiled against him.
Months of brushing around each other snapped.
Your mouths were tangled in a heated dance- his body moving closer and pressing yours against the door, like he was trying to melt into you. He still had his glasses on, which meant you were being a little cautious of how close you pressed your face into his. You didn’t want to stab your eye on the rims, what a mood breaker that would be. But you didn’t want to ask him to take them off. In fact, you wanted to beg him to keep them on.
When his hands dropped to your waist to pull your hips together, you wound your arms around his neck, your hands immediately finding the back of his head- finally able to feel the mussed hair that snagged your attention day after day.
It was extremely soft, just as you’d imagined. Perfect, just like the rest of him.
Time blurred and you weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, tasting each other like you were starving. Eventually, you decided it was much too hot in the tiny room and you were both wearing way too much clothing.
Dragging your hands from his hair to trail down the strong column of his neck, you dipped your hands into his cardigan, sliding your fingers over his shoulders and pushing the cream knitwear off in the process.
He shivered under your touch, when your fingers glanced over his biceps as the cardigan fell to his elbows. His hands let go of your waist to allow the fabric to fall to the floor in a pile. When his hands returned, they planted themselves on the door next to your waist.
It wasn’t to tower over you, or to trap you against him. No, it was because he needed something to keep him upright or he was at risk of squishing you entirely against the metal.
You broke the kiss with a soft gasp, chest heaving against his where his shirt stretched over the muscle.
You’d never seen Ryland without something thrown over the top of a t-shirt- always wearing some type of jacket or lab coat or something. Now that he was without one, your hands mapped over his arms and shoulders.
As he busied himself with your neck, gently nosing at the soft spot just behind your ear, you swore.
“Shit, Ryland. What are they feeding you in the cafeteria? Protein powder?”
He laughed against your skin, dipping his lips down to your shoulder. His scruff tickled and the metal of his glasses were ice cold compared to your heated skin. “No. I just… go to the gym sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
“Mhm-“ he choked on his affirmation when you slid your hands up his abdomen to feel underneath his shirt. The muscle was warm and fluttered against your fingers.
“Can I see what else you’ve been hiding under all these layers?”
Clothes were shed in a record amount of time, save for the couple of extra seconds Ryland took to take off his pants because he almost tripped over his own feet. He did seem to hesitate when he got to his boxers, fiddling with the hem, but when you hooked your fingers into the elastic, he let the fabric fall.
Once every part of you was exposed to the chill, circulated air, Ryland began chasing your mouth again but stopped with a grunt when you pushed him back onto his bed.
The look on his face was priceless, enough so that you laughed as you knelt on the hard mattress and swung a leg over his hips to straddle him. If Ryland had been red before, it was nothing compared to the color of his face now. His eyes glanced over your body, appreciating but not lingering out of nervousness as he stammered.
“You want to-?”
Straightening his glasses on his face to fit properly, you nodded. “Is this ok?”
“Yes! Yes- I’ve just never… my ex was more traditional I guess so we never… She always liked me to be on top.” He let out a breathy laugh and a shy smile.
Everything about this man was so endearing.
“As fun as that sounds, I want to try this first. I can see you better this way.”
Another audible hitch in his breath as he nodded. “Okay.”
His large palms found purchase on your thighs and he sighed blissfully through his nose when you bent forward to kiss along his jaw. It feathered under your lips and he tilted his head back to happily give you more surface area to work with.
When you finally ground your hips down onto him, he bucked under the pressure. A completely unintentional gesture that had him apologizing. You chased that response, rhythmically moving your pelvis in tandem with his.
Ryland whimpered.
You’d be damned if you didn’t try to get him to make that sound a hundred times more before morning.
You spent several minutes exploring his neck with your tongue while keeping a firm pressure with your hips, gently swaying in circles against him. You found a spot right at the juncture between his neck and shoulder that had him moaning. By the time you eased up, red marks bloomed along his throat and Ryland was already breathless. Chest heaving against your palms, he looked heavily up at you through those glasses of his and gave you a shy, lopsided grin.
“That was nice.”
You raised a brow. “I’m gonna have to work harder if all I get is a ‘that was nice’, Ry.”
His smile dropped. “No! That’s not what I meant- I just… I’m gonna be honest it’s been a while since I’ve…” his voice quieted, letting you fill in the blanks.
You knew he had an ex- he’d brought her up occasionally in your conversations when the moment called for it- but you didn’t know how long ago that had been. If you had to guess, it was probably before he became a teacher. Which if what he was saying was true… then he’d hadn’t been with anyone since then and had gone several years without being intimate with anyone (besides himself, anyway).
Ryland took your momentary pause as a bad sign.
“Not that I haven’t wanted to! I’ve just been really busy. Teacher stuff. Grading. Lesson planning. And with a teacher’s salary on top of crippling student loan debt? Fancy restaurants can be a little too steep. Even fast food restaurants these days are getting expensive. I don’t even have a car! I bike to work! Can’t even afford a coffee date some months.”
Another rambling tangent. One of his pointer fingers tapped erratically at your thigh.
“Well, you’re in luck Ryland,” you state, pressing a hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat, just like you had when you first met. Just like before, it was pounding but for a whole different reason this time. “I don’t think there’s any high-end restaurants on this aircraft carrier so I don’t need any of that fancy treatment. What if we have cafeteria oatmeal and orange juice on the flight deck together tomorrow morning instead?”
He was nodding before you’d even finished your sentence. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
“Good,” you smile, raising yourself up to kneel properly over him.
His neck bobbed when you finally took him in your hand. He was warm and firm, the perfect length and size without being too much.
You felt him resist the urge to buck into your fist, instead throwing his head back against the mattress with a groan, tightly squeezing your thighs with his hands to ground himself. He was already leaking into your palm within a couple pumps.
“I-I don’t know how long I’ll be able to-“
“We’ve got all night, Ry, don’t worry.”
He nodded, comforted by your words. He was soft as silk and overly sensitive, it seemed. With the help of your hand, the scientist came quickly, just as he feared he would, painting his abdomen white. You shushed him before he could even think about apologizing.
One positive thing about him going so long without intimacy meant his refractory period was minuscule. He was hard again in minutes, which he’d blushed about.
When you finally sank onto him, moving slowly both for yourself and Ryland’s sake, all thoughts left your mind besides the ones that revolved around the man underneath you. You didn’t care about the dying sun, or Project Hail Mary, or your job. By his expression, Ryland was feeling the same.
His hands were surely leaving bruises on your thighs but you didn’t care one bit. Not when your bodies fit together beautifully. Fully seated, hips locked, you could’ve cried at how he felt inside you. He was just the right size, brushing every spot he needed to and then some without being too overwhelming.
When you began to move, Ryland helped where he could- offering your body stability and putting those muscled arms of his to good use. The veins on his forearms were bulging and the tendons in his neck were prominent against his skin.
You didn’t know how soundproof the metal boxes the higher-ups deemed bedrooms were, but you doubted they would do a good job of masking any of the noises the two of you were making. Ryland was keeping quiet as much as he could manage, teeth grinding. You were a little less reserved, gasping and groaning as you bounced. Let his neighbors hear, you didn’t care. Not when you finally got your chance with the scientist you’d been eyeing since the moment he stepped out of that jet.
Just like he was perfect for you, you could tell you were providing enough relief for him in return because you could feel his thighs began to quake.
When he bucked up into you again, unable to resist, your hold on that string deep in your gut snapped and you saw white. Feeling you finish brought Ryland to the edge too. He was just barely able to find the strength to lift your body high enough to pull out before he came.
The next several seconds were spent breathing in tandem. Ryland was watching you like you hung the stars in the sky. With all of the movement, his glasses had skewed again. Huffing a laugh, you bent forward to straighten them and then pressed a long lingering kiss to his lips. You felt his fingers glide up your ribs then wander to your spine, pressing your chest tightly to his.
His glasses were foggy by the time you pulled away, your shared breath heating the lenses.
“You ok?” You asked, brushing a thumb over the dusting of facial hair along his jaw. He nodded into your palm.
“More than ok.”
-
You woke up to snoring.
Not the loud, reverberating kind, but a soft and soothing hum that blended perfectly with the constant moans and groans of the ship you’d become so accustomed to.
Blinking open your eyes, you stared at the metal ceiling. It took several seconds to remember where you were. For a moment, you assumed you were in your room but when tiny glimpses of sunlight danced over the walls and when a hand twitched lightly against your waist, the memory of last night came rushing back.
The bar, your conversation with the scientist, and then-
A soft smile erupted across your cheeks as they warmed. Ever so slowly lifting your hand, you brushed your fingers through the head of hair that was tucked into your neck.
Indeed, Doctor Ryland Grace was laying by your side, pressed impossibly close to your body due to the cramped nature of his bed, and blissfully asleep.
All feelings of hesitancy and shyness he’d had hours earlier were gone as he slept, the doctor partially draped over you- an arm slung over your waist, a leg thrown over one of yours and tucked between your thighs. He was snoring against your neck where his face was pressed. You were pretty sure he was drooling. His feathered hair was soft against your fingers, even more unkempt than usual.
You could’ve stayed like that for hours, warm and comfortable even in the pathetic excuse for a bed.
Several minutes passed before he began waking up, stirred by the gentle pass of your fingers along the short hair at the nape of his neck. He moved around slightly but didn’t move to pull away from your side.
He sighed against your skin, the fluttering of his eyelashes against your throat telling you he’d finally opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” you said quietly, not wanting to break the peaceful tranquility of the room that was rare to find on the bustling carrier.
You felt him blink a couple times before he responded, a smile sounding on his lips. “Morning.”
God, his voice was perfect- a rough, deep baritone thanks to hours of sleep. It had you turning your head towards him, pressing your lips to his hairline. You couldn’t see his face, but the stretch of stubble across your throat told you he’d smiled even more.
Several minutes went by in companionable silence, neither of you wanting to pull away. His fingers brushed lazily against your waist and yours didn’t stop thumbing through his hair.
You wondered after a while if he’d fallen back asleep before he mumbled a question. “What time is it?”
Peering over his head, you squinted at the small digital clock that sat on the tiny built-in desk.
“8:58.”
A pause.
Then panic.
Ryland shot upwards, unsticking himself from your body and scrambling out of the bed in a flurry of limbs and movement.
“Shhhhhiitake mushrooms!”
You watched from the bed, lightly amused as you watched him stumble around the cramped space in a frantic search for clothing. Lord above, he looked just as good from the back as he did the front.
“Something wrong?”
“I was supposed to go with Stratt to a crew meeting an hour ago.” He threw his legs into a pair of boxer briefs (which you were pretty certain were on backwards but he didn’t seem to notice or care), followed by a pair of jeans. “Kinda surprised she hasn’t barged in here already to get me up, actually i’m. She’s done it before.”
You just hummed, watching him slug a blue button up across his shoulders and struggle with the buttons. He threw a glare at you that had no fire behind it. “Will you show at least a little sympathy? She could probably throw me into the ship’s jail for this.” He missed a button at the top of his shirt, which meant the whole shirt was now fastened lopsided. He didn’t seem to notice that either.
“I’m not going to complain that we got an extra hour or two of sleep together.”
His cheeks bloomed. There’s that shyness. He didn’t fight your statement, instead busying himself with tugging a beanie over his bedhead. When he sat on the mattress next to you to start putting socks and shoes on, he searched the room with squinted eyes.
“Do y’know where my-“
You held out his glasses. At some point last night, you’d relieved him of the spectacles for his own comfort (and so you could kiss him as senseless as you wanted to) and carefully placed them under the bed where they’d be safe from being squished.
“Thank you.”
Looking a little less than put together, he started collecting the notepads and folders stuffed with papers on the small desk, gathering everything into his arms.
“Uh- well, we missed breakfast so how about we meet up for lunch? Or dinner? Or breakfast tomorrow? Or we don’t have to do anything together at all if you don’t want to. Totally your call, really.” He kept his gaze down at the papers, avoiding your gaze. You smiled.
“Well, I start my shift in an hour and can’t leave the medical wing until I’m relieved.”
His shoulders dropped a little.
“But… there’s no rules against having visitors.”
Ryland looked at you over the rims of his glasses, starting to smile himself. “Yeah? Ok! Yeah, I’ll- Do you have a preference for lunch? I’ll bring you something. Or I can get you a little bit of everything from the cafeteria? Do they allow that?”
You sat up with a laugh, holding the thin bedsheets against your chest to keep the last little bit of warmth from him against you. “I’ll get the same thing you’re having. I’m not picky.”
The doctor nodded to himself, shuffling toward the door with large strides. Twisting the handle, the door opened barely an inch before he doubled back like he forgot something. You expected him to search for something else he needed, not expecting him to rush over and press a fast kiss to your lips. It was your turn to blush.
“Right! Ok, I’ll get us something good. See you in a little bit! And lock the door on your way out, will you? Thanks!”
With his goodbye, he rushed out of the room, gently shut the door and began racing away. You heard his pounding footsteps reverberate the walls as he ran down the hall.
His room was too quiet now that he was gone, only the sounds of the ship keeping you company.
It took you several minutes to shake out of your star-struck stupor.
When the blonde showed up in your quiet office in the medical wing at 12pm sharp, precariously balancing two to-go boxes stuffed full with cafeteria food and harboring a broad smile, you quickly realized how much Doctor Ryland Grace already had you wrapped around his finger.
a/n: ryland grace: the people’s pillow princess. thank you for reading!
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What you’re about to read isn’t a story it’s what remains after a home, a street, and a future are taken away !!
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Hello everyone 🙏
We are Anas’s family, and this is our story from Gaza.
I never imagined I would be writing something like this, or sharing pieces of our life this way, but here we are. As you can see in the photos and videos I’m sharing, everything around us has changed. The place we once called home no longer exists. We lost our house, our land, and the life we spent years building, piece by piece, with memories that can never be replaced.
Today, we live in a tent. This thin fabric is all that separates us from the cold nights, the heat during the day, and the constant fear that never really leaves. Privacy is gone, comfort is gone, and safety feels like a distant memory. Every morning starts with the same question: how will we get through today?
Simple things that once felt normal are now daily struggles. Cooking means lighting firewood, breathing in smoke, and hoping we can find enough food to last. There is no electricity, no gas, no certainty. Just survival, one meal at a time.
Inside the tent, everything is cramped. This is where we sleep, rest, and try to feel human again. There is no silence here, only the sounds of drones, explosions, and the weight of uncertainty. Nights are the hardest. Fear gets louder when the world goes quiet.
The war did not stop. It is still happening, every single day. The sky fills with smoke, the ground shakes, and we are reminded again and again that nothing here is stable. Each explosion feels closer than the last, and every moment carries the possibility of losing even more.
This video shows our street. Every house you see destroyed once held families, stories, laughter, and dreams. This is where we grew up, where we knew every corner and every neighbor. Now it’s all rubble. Walking through it feels unreal, like moving through a memory that’s been violently erased.
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Bruce: It's important to update your suit as you learn. I made the cowl into a crash helmet after my fall. The spine has extra support after Bane broke my back. These kneepads after I skidded and sliced my knees open.
Tim:
Tim: So at the start, it was really just luck, a cape, a thong between you and a coffin at the beginning?
Bruce: It's important to update your suit as you learn. I made the cowl into a crash helmet after my fall. The spine has extra support after Bane broke my back. These kneepads after I skidded and sliced my knees open.
Tim:
Tim: So at the start, it was really just luck, a cape, a thong between you and a coffin at the beginning?
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for: @pixxievomit my love, chosen from this list of prompts
pairing: oliver queen x reader
a/n: readers gender is unspecified
It’s the brush of his beard on your face that pulls you into wakefulness, the discontented groan you let out at being woken, swiftly swallowed by Oliver’s lips on yours.
He hums, smiling into the kiss even as you scowl at him. “Good morning, darling.”
“What time is it?” You sniff, pulling the blanket up to your chin, eyes already closed as you prepare to drift back to sleep.
You hear him fumbling for his phone, smiling to yourself when he hisses at the brightness of his screen.
“7:47.”
“What the fuck Ollie, it’s the weekend. Why’d you wake me?” You whine, opening one eye to glare sleepily at him.
“You looked so pretty, I couldn’t help myself.” He grins, leaning in for another kiss, which you avoid by rolling over in a huff.
“I’m going back to sleep. Don’t wake me again or I’ll shave that monstrosity you call facial hair right off.”
“You wouldn’t! You love my beard!” He lets out a scandalised gasp, before wriggling his brows suggestively, “especially when I’m between your —”
Reaching for your pillow, you lunge with surprising speed for your lethargic, smacking him across the face. With your pillow gone, you decide to use Ollie’s chest as a substitute.
“When did you get so vicious?” He mumbles, not quiet enough to escape your notice.
Leaning your elbow on his stomach, you throw him a mutinous glare as he wheezes. “Good pillows don't speak.”
“Shutting up.” He nods, snorting when you snuggle back into his chest with a smile.
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