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Mean ler!Ryland “Use your words” Grace in which reader is in a lee mood and Ryland proves that he can be a little strict… or he certainly tries to.

This isn’t fair.

You know it’s not fair, and if you didn’t know better than to run your mouth in this position, you’d be whining at him about just how unfair it is.

That’s what got you in this predicament in the first place. The whining.

That’s not your fault though. How could it be?

You’d been in a mood all day, eyeing his hands, watching the way they worked so efficiently with such delicate precision. You of course couldn’t help but think about his hands on you, that was only natural, and you knew he’d love to get his hands on you just as much, so why were you still here, frustrated and un-tickled?

You’ve done literally everything you know to do when it comes to getting what you want from him. Whining and pouting and batting your pretty eyes at him and… that’s.. well, that’s about it.

But that usually works!

Oh how very well it usually works. Just looking up at him with big puppy dog eyes and tilting your head so slightly to the side. It makes him weak. His knees buckle just slightly and his stomach twists, and how can anyone say no to a face like that?

So, when you found him on the beach tinkering with some Eridian device, and you looked up at him, your eyes wide and glazed over, bottom lip poked out just a bit, you had expected him to give in to you nearly immediately. Drag you into the little house, pull you into his lap, find all of your favorite sensitive spots, coo over how sweet your laugh is. You certainly don’t expect him to tilt his head and furrow his eyebrows just a bit, confusion evident in his expression.

But, of course, that’s exactly what he did. He even went as far as to ask you if everything was okay.

You had just huffed out of your nose, eyes narrowing slightly for just a moment. You first thought he maybe just wasn’t picking it up. Yeah, that must be it. He’s just too engrossed in his work to properly comprehend the pressing matters at hand. But, when you batted your eyelashes at him, leaning in just a little closer to him, he just gave you a quizzical look before turning back to whatever he was working on.

You were taken aback to say the least. He’d never had any problem putting two and two together before, so it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was doing it on purpose. Though you couldn’t quite land on a reason when you wracked your brain.

You pouted, an honest to god pout. Your eyebrows knit together, lips pursed, and your arms crossed over your chest, as you stared right at him. He didn’t notice- or at least he pretended not to for the moment. You didn’t notice the way he bit his lip or turned his head so that his face was just out of your view. Though, after several seconds of you burning holes into the back of his skull, he turned back to you, eyebrows raised a bit.

“Can I help you with something?”

His expression was unreadable, along with his tone. You huffed through your nose, glaring as you turned away from him and stomped through the sand back inside.

You missed the way he watched you when you turned your back to him, and the breath he let out when you got out of ear shot.

‘This is going to be much more difficult than I thought’, he thought to himself as he shook his head.

————————

It’s about an hour later when he makes his way into the house. You’ve had time to wallow in self pity, which included curling up in bed, and pouting, and thinking more and more about what you want. You just don’t get it. He’s usually jumping at the opportunity to tickle you out of your mind. Why would this be any different.

You sigh, chewing on the inside of your lip as so many different things run through your mind. The way he’d looked at you outside, especially compared to how he’d usually look at you. He usually looks at you like he wants to eat you alive— you’re not always unconvinced that he actually does.

You think about how he’d watch you, the way you’d watch his eyes narrow and his lips curl into a smirk. The way he’d approach, slow and stalking just to tower over you and look down at you with that grin. Your mind races as you think about how he'd hold you, how he’d wrap you in his arms, keep you in his lap, his hands exploring every ticklish spot they can reach— god, his hands.

You don’t realize how lost you are in your own pitiful yearning until the sound of the door opening and closing startles you out of your daze, your face and neck hot.

You perk up almost immediately, and you start to unwrap yourself from the blanket to find your way to his heels again, but your mind jumps back to what he’d done to you on the beach, and you make a snap decision.

If he’s got a point to prove, you’ll prove one of your own.

He walks into the small kitchen, whistling as he pours himself a glass a water. The house is only so big, you can hear him shuffling around, the clinking of the glass against the counter, and if you were to peer around the doorway, you could watch him. You stay right where you are, back to the doorway of the little bedroom as you lay in bed. You say nothing, but you sigh loud enough for him to hear it. He stops, and you can hear the sudden halt of the water trickling. Everything is still, including him, aside from the way his lip twitches upward at the corner. He waits for a moment, listening out for anything from you, but when you don't say anything, he starts meandering around the kitchen again. You furrow your eyebrows, huffing out of your nose before letting out another exaggeratedly loud sigh.

When he stops this time, he laughs, and you light up as he makes his way into the bedroom.

“Alright”, he sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. Your back is to him as you lay completely cocooned in the soft blanket. His hand snakes around your waist and you tense, inhaling sharply. You’re sure this is it- he’s had enough of watching you sulk, and he intends to do something about it.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

He pulls you closer, and you shift just a bit to look at him. He can see it all over your face, in the way your eyes shine with something hopeful, and how you chew anxiously on in the inside of your lip, even as you try to glare at him. He stares for just a moment, considering his options.

He’d planned to keep this up much longer. He has a point to prove after all. What kind of lesson is he teaching by giving in to you every time you so much as look at him a certain way? He has to hold his ground, put his foot down.

It’s just… that spark behind your eyes, and you had been asking for it all day, and would it even be fair to deny you something that you want so badly? Something he needs just as much? And… yeah, okay. Whatever. Maybe he had overestimated his own willpower, but that doesn’t mean you need to know that.

He just huffs. He’s not ready to give in to you yet, at least not completely.

“I know what you want”, he says simply as he pulls the blanket down, his hands trailing and resting on your hips. He holds you firm, and you can’t help but squirm beneath him, your face flushed red as your heart flutters in your chest. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly he broke your little grumpy facade.

To him, it’s an absolutely breathtaking sight, the way you get so visibly needy. His jaw drops just slightly and his chest heaves as he takes a deep breath to ground himself. His skin is absolutely crawling as he watches you writhe underneath him, his fingers twitching instinctively at your sides.

He takes you in entirely, just watching, and he has to bite back a smile of his own.

“You’ve been just beggin’ for it all day, huh?”.

You deny it of course, shaking your head, but this is what you’ve wanted all day. You feel a nervous smile playing at your lips, and you bring your hands up to cover your face.

“No?”, he repeats, quirking an eyebrow as he reaches up and pulls your hands away from your face, gently pinning them to the mattress beside your head.

You turn your head, trying to hide your face as much as you possibly can- something he corrects almost instantly. “Hey, eyes up here. On me please”.

His tone is low and steady, and certainly not unkind, but still stern. Your stomach twists just a bit and you find yourself turning your head, your eyes meeting his.

“Good. Thank you.” Your lips part just slightly as your breath catches in your throat. You just nod, any argument you could have posed faltering on the tip of your tongue.

“Now”, he starts, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. His tone is low, just above a whisper. “Just because I know what you want doesn’t mean I’m gonna give it to you.”

You start to whine, but he cuts you off with a chuckle, rolling his eyes.

“What, you think just because you whine and give me those big puppy dog eyes, I’ll give you whatever you want?”

You’re quiet for a moment, chewing on your lip.

“Umm… yes?”

In your defense, it usually does.

He’s quiet for a second, lips pursed. “Okay, you know what? That’s fair, but, this time,” his thumb rubs soothing circles against your wrist, “that’s not gonna work.”

You whine again, and again he cuts you off.

“Ah-ah, what did I just say, hm?”

He tilts his head down, eyebrows raised as he gives you a pointed look.

“Use your words.”

Your eyes widen. Those words in that tone out of his mouth… it’s the last thing you expect to hear from him. He’s never done this to you, denied you like this. Honestly, you didn’t even know he had the self restraint to tell you no. About anything.

Truth be told, he doesn’t. With every passing moment, he’s starting to regret this little game more and more.

He had done this as a means of toying with you. He wanted to watch you squirm, to see that desire build inside of you until you were too desperate for it to think about anything else. He hadnt considered his own need hindering that, and he tries to push it down, but instinct is gnawing at him. Everything in him is telling him to just give you what you want, draw out all those pretty giggles and squeals.

Still, he just waits, watching you, but you feel his grip on your wrists get just slightly firmer. You don't know what to do. He's never put you in a position like this before- at least not that you can remember. You open your mouth, trying to find the right words before closing it again almost immediately. You've never... asked for it before. You're honestly not sure that you can even fix your mouth to form the proper sentence to do so. You think and think, taking a breath every now and then as if you've thought of something before going quiet again. He watches the way your eyes shift. You keep looking at him, like you're hoping he'll help you out, but you don't look at him long enough to meet his eyes or hold his gaze. He can see the frustration build, your eyebrows furrowing and your face burning as you realize you can't force it out.

He’s silent for the entirety of the battle you’re having with your own brain, and that only makes it worse. He’s just waiting. Waiting for you to do as he’s told you, no exceptions, no easy way out. His fingers tap idly at your pinned wrist, which isn't helping you at all. You think he's teasing you, just the lightest tapping of his fingertips against your skin as if he's giving you just the slightest bit of what you want, making you want more, and god it's working, but that's not his intention. He's getting just as restless as you are, eager to touch and to tickle, but who would he be if he didn't uphold his own rules? It feels like the words are stuck in your chest, like you know what you need to say, but you can't make yourself. 'Please tickle me'. It's just three little words. A simple request. Something you know you both want. And still, your tongue feels like cement. You take a deep shaky breath, your face contorting into a small wince as you start to force something out. "I-", you clear your throat, rolling your eyes with a huff, "Ryland- just, please-" Before you can even get out the rest of it- or at least try to- he's got both of your hands in one wrist, moving shockingly quickly to pin them above your head and straddle your hips. "Yeah, okay, that's good enough for me". It comes out rushed, so much so that you almost don't fully comprehend what he's saying, but it certainly doesn't take you long to register the feeling of his free hand squeezing rapidly up and down your side. It all happens so fast, it feels like a jolt of electricity trailing down your spine, and suddenly, what was a plea for him to get on with it turns into a desperate for him to just wait. He shakes his head, his hand suddenly jumping from your side to your ribs, clawing against the sensitive skin and worming his fingers into the spaces between the bones. "I’ve done enough waiting. I will literally never do that again. Don't ever make me wait that long again." You squeal when his hand jumps again, this time under your arm before he scribbles back down to your ribs. You don’t believe what you’re hearing.

After all of that, he has the audacity to blame you for the delay, and for what? Because he got impatient? How can that possibly be fair? "ME?", you ask through loud cackles, in utter disbelief. "I dihihidn't! I-", He cuts you off, clicking his tongue at you before he brings his hand to your belly, clawing around your navel before scribbling across your lower belly from one hip to the other. It's so sporadic, fingertips jumping from one spot to the other and swapping between clawing and spidering and scratching. "Excuses, excuses...", he sighs, but you don’t miss the small smirk on his face. You know arguing with him about it will only dig you into a deeper hole, but you just can't help it. You're already so worked up. I mean, he was the one that demanded you ask for it anyway. He had intentionally denied you earlier just to prove a point, and then he got too impatient to even enforce it properly. And now he blames you? You just can't believe it. You start to tell him that you're not making excuses, that the whole ordeal is his fault, but his thumb finds that sensitive spot in the dip of your hip, and any rebuttal you might have had is immediately lost. Your head falls back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut us as you twist your hips as much as possible.

You’re so focused on trying to get away from the unbearable sensation of his relentless squeezing that the argument falls further and further into the back of your mind, but you just can’t seem to worm free even in the slightest.

You whine, a mess of flustered, frustrated giggles as his unpredictable movements finally turn into a steady kneading in one spot.

You’re honestly not sure at this point which is worse.

“There ya go”, he draws out, his tone softer, higher, almost patronizing. “Isn’t this so much better than laying around and pouting all day? And all you had to do was say please! I didn’t even make you say tickle.”

He watches the way your nose scrunches at the sound of the word, and the way you shake your head in response to his question. You try to say no, but you’re not sure it comes out too coherently through squeals and giggles.

He laughs. “Ohhh, that’s right! You can’t say tickle.”

He already knew that.

“We’ll work on that. I’m sure I could help you.”

A whimper slips out through frantic giggles as he reaches up to hold your wrist in his other hand before pushing the soft fabric of your tshirt up just enough to slip his hand underneath it.

You arch your back when his fingertips swirl in a smooth motion around your navel, but they don’t linger. He traces all the way up your side, just to wiggle his fingers into the soft skin under your arm.

You shake your head, trying to pull your arm down. You feel like you’re putting up such a hard fight, but he doesn’t budge.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He barely manages the question out before you’re squealing for him to let you go, but he just shakes his head.

“No,” he says, drawing out the ‘o’, “You wanted me to tickle you, didn’t you?”

You whine again, squirming and twisting as much as you can, but not only are you stuck beneath him, you can feel your muscles giving out on you.

You’re so incredibly conflicted, just as you usually are, and he knows it, and loves taking advantage of it. This is exactly what you wanted, but you- you poor thing, you’re just so ticklish, and he’s so very mean.

It’s his favorite thing, to watch that little bit of panic flare behind your eyes when you realize that you’ve gotten exactly what you want, and ,despite the fact that you craved it all day, it’s still just as unbearable as it always in.

You nod, but then you shake your head, and it turns into some weird combination of both.

“I-I don’t knohohow!”

He laughs again, this time genuine. He almost feels bad hearing how frantic your responses are.

Almost.

Not nearly enough to stop.

His fingers stay in motion as they crawl upwards, over your bicep and to your elbow before trailing back down, spidering and scratching lightly in your armpit and down to your ribs. It’s such a repetitive motion, up and down, up and down, but you can’t adjust to the sensation at all.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stop teasing.”

Liar.

Though, his hand does slow. It doesn’t stop, but it slows at your ribs.

Desperate cackles turn to something lighter, but his fingertips are still trailing gently over the spots he’d already assaulted. You can’t fight it anymore, aside from twitching and squirming out of pure instinct.

“Why are you still giggling?”, he asks, feigning confusion as his nails keep tracing against your ribs in a slow circular motion. You can feel his hand traveling higher and higher, inch by inch, devastatingly close to that oh so sensitive spot under your arm again.

“Becahahuse! It-“, you cut yourself off, biting your tongue with a frustrated whine as you throw your head back against the pillow in defeat.

“Because it what?”, he asks, eyebrows raised. “Because it tickles?”

He annunciates the word by kneading, rougher and quicker, into the soft flesh of your ribs, but only for a second before he’s back to slow teasing.

“Yehehes!”, you squeak, planting your feet against the mattress and trying to buck him off.

You don’t knock him off, but you definitely throw him off of his balance as he falls forward. He almost loses his grip on your wrists, but he holds tight using his other hand to steady himself against the headboard.

Everything’s quiet for just a moment, aside from the quick, shallow huffs you let out as you try to settle down.

He doesn’t say anything, not for a minute anyway. He’s just looking down at you, his jaw slack, and eyes narrowed, almost offended.

When you finally do look up to meet his gaze, your heart sinks.

You’re fucked.

You are so completely and utterly and extremely fucked.

“W-Wait— Ryland, hold on-“

He just shakes his head, cutting you off before you can even get started.

“You…”, he chuckles, a grin that can only be described as shit-eating playing at his lips.

“You are so screwed.”

——————

What’s this? More Ler Ryland? Who could have thunk. This isn’t my absolute favorite of my ler Ryland concepts but fret not because I already have another one bubbling and brewing in my drafts.

In other news, I’m rewatching Supernatural. I’m not necessarily saying that there’s Winchester content in the near future.. but I’m not not saying that either.

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