‘Times Ryland mindlessly used his sleeper strength to fix things for you without batting an eye.’
Ryland doesn’t think of himself as strong: he never used to go to the gym because the one time he went, he slipped straight off the stair master and never went back.
Of course, aboard the Hail Mary and on Erid, it’s a different story: Ryland woke up from the coma in decent shape, found that being in even better shape helped you two to navigate space life much easier, and started doing a home workout routine once a day, or jogging along the coast. Muscles for Ryland were not an aesthetic choice; it was just practical to be able to move heavy stuff when you’re one of two people on a space craft (though, once he gets word that you really like looking at his thick thighs and biceps, he starts putting extra work into the more visible muscle groups).
You first discovered your penchant for his strength when you were struggling to move one of the heavy supply crates in the sleeping area. You huffed and puffed, pushing with all your body weight against the box. Ryland walked in mid-conversation about Eridian atmospheric models, still talking animatedly. He stopped short when he saw you panting: you'd always been to proud to ask for help.
“Oh, here. Let me get that." He reached down with one arm, gripped the side of the massive metal crate, and lifted it effortlessly onto the shelf while continuing to talk.
“—and that’s why Rocky thinks the methane levels might spike next cycle. What do you think?” His bicep flexed and his shirt rode up, revealing a fantastic V-line as he adjusted the crate’s position with one hand.
You just stood there, staring, heat rushing to your face. Ryland finally noticed your silence. Blinking innocently behind his glasses, he furrowed his brows.
“Y/N? You good?”
You nodded and closed your mouth, a little dazed.
“Yeah! Sorry. Just— you’re really strong. That box was like... thirty kilos.”
Ryland looked genuinely surprised. “Am I?” He glanced at his arm like he’d never considered it before. “Huh. Anyway, about the methane…”
Later that week, you were trying to reach a book that had fallen behind the small library corner you and Ryland had built in the sleeping area of the ship. It was a bit pathetic since you hadn't been given many books: it was mostly made up of instruction manuals and physics textbooks, but nonetheless, you made it cosy.
Ryland walked past on his way to the lab, but froze and back-tracked, unsure what you were doing. He leaned against the doorway for a moment, amused by your lying down on the floor, groaning and trying to grab the book that had fallen down the back. Finally, you stopped and dropped your head onto the floor, sighing in defeat.
"Ryland! Ry!" you shouted over your shoulder, hoping Ryland would hear you from the lab, where you thought he was.
"Need some help?" he replied, arms folded over his chest. You almost jumped out of your skin.
"Grace! Don't sneak up on me like that!" you huffed. "And yes, obviously, I need some help, please."
Ryland obliged, smiling, and strode toward you. He placed one hand on the side of the tall bookshelf and lifted the entire thing a few inches off the ground so you could grab the book trapped underneath.
You peered up at him as he towered over you: his bicep strained visibly against his sleeve as he held the heavy piece of furniture, lightly huffing in effort. He looked down at you; you continued to ogle up his shirt, effectively lying between his legs.
"Uh, Y/N?"
"Yeah?" you replied, still admiring the view up his shirt.
"This is pretty heavy."
Your eyes snapped up to his.
"Right— sorry." You grabbed the book and rolled out from under the shelf, cheeks burning. Ryland set the shelf back down gently and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"I'm gonna just... I'll be in the—"
"Yeah."
You both walked away briskly, unsure what had transpired.
Once you'd finally recovered from that indiscretion a good few hours later, you returned to the lab. Ryland, of course, had forgotten all about it, too immersed in his work.
"There she is!" He scooted his wheelie chair back and plucked the goggles from his face. "Wanna help me with this? New paste! Might not taste like—"
"Dogshit?" you asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Yeah," he nodded, "might not taste like dogshit."
You laughed: it was so rare to hear Ryland swear, but you loved to make him blush.
And so you got stuck in helping to reorganise the samples, until one of the large diagnostic machines froze up. Ryland walked over to where you were smacking the machine, half-listening to him explain the new nutrient formula to you.
“Oh, stupid thing, it keeps jamming,” he said, interrupting himself. He squatted down next to you, gripped the side of the heavy machine with one hand and tinkered with the underneath, muscles shifting under his shirt and jeans as he repositioned it perfectly without so much as a strained groan.
"Try it again?" he instructed, peering up at you over his glasses.
You fought to follow his instructions instead of just ogling him for a moment more.
"Uh— yeah, s'working now," you stuttered.
"Awesome. So, like I was saying, if we adjust the nitrogen ratio by point zero three percent, we should see better growth in the—”
God. You wished he'd cotton on, already.
You were enormously relieved to land on Erid, having been sharing such a close space with Ryland over the past few years. You thought you'd finally gotten away from your perversions, that your fantasies about his thick biceps were just the product of spending too much time with him. Sadly, that was not the case, and his strength continued to be one of your biggest weaknesses.
On one such occasion, you and Ryland were moving supplies off of the Hail Mary and into the biodome. You realised that you’d overpacked the large, garden-refuse style bags, and were now fighting to lift even one up.
“Fuck! Ow,” you cried out: you’d dropped the bag on your foot, leaving you hopping on the spot and cussing in pain. Ryland exited the spaceship, one big bag slung over his shoulder, and headed back down the Xenonite tunnel to the dome. He caught sight of you hopping and immediately furrowed his brows.
"Oh— ouch. You ok?"
"Yeah, sorry. Just dropped this fucking heavy bag on my left foot—"
Before you could finish, Ryland took the bag from you in the arm already carrying one, tucking his arm through the carrier handles. Then, without a second guess, he scooped you up with the other arm, carrying both you and the heavy bags like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Ryland," you moaned, "I can walk.” You protested weakly, face burning as you felt the strength in his bicep supporting you against his side.
“I know,” he said, completely oblivious to how affected you were. “But you looked hurt!”
Weeks later, you couldn't take it anymore: you'd taken to openly ogling him whenever he did something remotely related to strength, accepting your fate in the most pathetic way possible.
During a walk near one of the cliff faces in the Biodome, a heavy branch had fallen from a nearby 'tree' (or what Eridians had scrambled together to resemble a tree— to their credit, it looked like the real thing) and blocked the path. Ryland was in the middle of excitedly telling you about a new theory when he noticed.
“Oh no, hang on a sec,” he said. He reached down with both hands, gripped the trunk, and rolled it clear off the path. His bicep bulged under his sleeve as he casually moved the heavy obstacle aside and set it down, much as your eyes bulged in surprise. No matter how many times you'd seen Ryland exert his strength, it always amazed you: he just didn't seem the type.
He wiped has hands on his jeans, barely throwing a glance over his shoulder as he kept walking up the path, talking like nothing had happened.
“...which is why I think the atmospheric nitrogen might actually be—”
You stopped in your tracks, unable to contain yourself any longer.
"Would you stop doing that?" you hissed.
Ryland turned quickly, tilting his head with an adorably concerned expression. His eyebrows were stitched together in worry.
“Huh? Did I say something?”
You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face.
"No, Ryland, sorry. It's just—" you paused, suddenly embarrassed. "You are like— built. Like you do all these things, like picking me up and throwing a tree trunk off the path—"
Ryland scoffed, interrupting you.
"It was hardly a trunk—"
You continued, ignoring his logic.
"—and it's distracting! You don't even seem to know that you're like... freakishly strong, and It's driving me crazy!" You ceased your barrage, suddenly out of breath. Had you actually just told your only surviving crew-mate, and only human friend for the foreseeable future, 'distracting'? Ryland, too, didn't move; he blinked down at you.
Finally, he spoke.
"Are you... objectifying me?"
You paused, worried he was serious, until he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Because, I totally get it if you are."
"Oh my god!" you shouted, laughing in relief. "You are literally the last man left on this planet: do not get cocky!" You slapped his upper arm until he grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder fireman-style. You squealed, thrashing against his back.
"The last and most handsome man on this planet," he smirked.
"does it feel good?", your voice tickled his ear. It did. It felt so good. So warm, tight and fudging awesome— you could feel his lips parting from underneath of your hand. His breath hitting your already slicked palm.
Hips left the bed as it pushed into your fist. Fist that was wrapped around his cock like a soft caress. Dragging perfectly as it moved up and down, up and down, up and—
"mhphh—", his eyes closed. Head tilting back. Resting against your shoulder, your hand pressing against his open mouth as he whimpered. "It does, doesn't it?", you could feel his hair moving everytime he writhed against you. Dragging against your cheek or your neck. It made you wanna tease him further.
"come on, Ry", you cooed. The hand on his mouth slipping down slightly to cup his jaw. Surrounding area of his mouth slick with his own spit. Breathless sounds escape as soon as your hand moves.
"it's rude not to answer", you smiled. A devilish one. Lord, you'll be the death of him. His hips writhe against the sheets as he chases that high. That's now building in his stomach, pushing down and down till it's settled deep in his core. Making his heels press deep against the mattress, creasing the sheets further.
He was so close, so perfectly close. Every swipe of your thumb over his cock head, or a pressured drag over the vein that was dragging down his to his abdomen before you drag it up again and squeeze at the end before quickening the pace.
"please, please, plea—", your hand was over his mouth again. Muffled and spit pooled words hit your palm. Ragged breathes followed. His hands finally letting go off the sheets. His fingers hurting slightly from how hard he held onto them.
Hand finding purchase on your thighs. Holding, pressing, digging his nails into. Trying to find some sort of stability so he can keep enjoying this. Enjoying you.
"omph myh lorph—", his eyes closed. Brows creasing perfectly. His glasses already sloped down when he threw his head back. Now resting on the middle of his face. His ragged breathe from his nose hitting the lenses. It seemed uncomfortable but he didn't seem to care.
His hold on your skin felt harder when you felt his cock twitch in your hand. "So good, Ry. Come on, so good", you purred. Head tilted, pressing closer to him. Lips brushing against his ear as you spoke. Making the moment more silent.. more intimate.
"ouh—", he was gone.
It was slow. Dribbling down as he cummed. Thick loads coming out and out and out. Until it coated your hand. You smiled, pumping. Trying to help him ride it out. His back and legs stiff with occasion spasms. A deep groan leaving his throat. Gurgled.
Some cum shooting out after you squeezed the base of his cock. Making you surprised and let out a chuckle. Which made him shiver. You released your hand from him mouth. Dragging it up, pushing his hair out of his face. Taking the glasses off as you place it on the bed.
His eyes fluttered open before blinking up at you, "hi", you whispered. Leaning down to place a kiss on the tip of his nose. Before dragging your lips to his cheeks, the corner of his eye, jaw before breathing him in. The silence wasn't awkward. It was charged. With intimacy.
I see your “Rocky swears like a sailor but only in pitches humans can’t hear/refuses to teach Grace what those words mean” and raise you “Rocky swears like a sailor and now has to explain to Grace that ‘bad bad bad’ isn’t actually a sequence you play on your Eridian speech piano in polite company.”
Grace is both horrified and amused to realise that a more accurate translation for what Rocky’s been saying is “shit shit shit”.
i keep laughing at the way that eridian culture in the movie and eridian culture in the book are not contradictory at all, if you accept that movie rocky is just a total FREAK
grace: boy i sure can't wait to meet other eridians haha!
rocky, putting on a shirt for the first time in four years: rocky has something to tell grace but does grace promise not to be mad, question?
titsay
ellievsbear
vaporwave
gummygunk
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto
