AT DEVELOPMENT CAMP THEY WERE GIVING THE OTHER GROUP OF JETS PROSPECTS A MEDIA LESSON AND THEY USED TYLER SEGUIN’S TWEETS AS EXAMPLES OF WHAT NOT TO DO ON TWITTER
୨ৎ I THOUGHT THAT I WAS DREAMIN' (WHEN YOU SAID YOU LOVE ME)
⤷ summary: ryland likes to stay up. you like to keep him company.
⤷ tags: ryland grace x reader, fluff, 1.5k words
⤷ prompt: "literally if u wreck ryland dead i’ll buy u flowers <33"
⤷ author's note: literally no one asked but i love frank ocean
"yeah." you laugh before he's consumed by his own anxious thoughts. "i'd like that."
"okay." he whispers, a promise splashing in the cold air.
"okay." you echo as his hand circles your waist, thumb brushing over your hipbone, guiding you to his seat like a fiery lantern in the darkness.
it strikes you as intriguing, the way ryland grace is undoubtedly a night owl. his ability to stay up for hours past midnight, pondering over his scientific discoveries is both admirable and incomprehensible to you.
late in the night, you're up for a cup of water, and a quick trip to the bathroom. light radiates from ryland's workspace, constant in the way the earth circles the sun. gentle clinks and clatters echo where he researches deep into the night.
he tries not to wake you. you wake anyway.
you don't mind. not even a little. you like watching him work through your bleary, half-awake eyes. it's silent, and peaceful. therapeutic, even.
he doesn't notice when you peek through the gap, the lights of the hail mary illuminating his silhouette with a golden glow. the blonde strands sit on top of his head, shimmering like a halo.
it becomes something akin to a ritual: you'll pull on a pair of cotton socks so your feet don't snag on the floor. gliding along the surface, the occasional beep from machinery causes your heart to jump.
you do find it hard to make up new excuses for the growing dark circles under your eyes, however, and though you know ryland wouldn't mind having a late-night lab partner, it's obvious that he would usher you to bed immediately, caring for your well-being far more than his own.
sometimes, the sound of ryland's soft snoring drifts into your ears.
you'd grab a blanket, sneaking into the laboratory, skipping past the part of the floor that always creaks, and place a blanket on top of ryland's rising and falling breaths. you'd always take his crooked glasses off of his face, stifling a giggle when you see the trail of transparent drool at the corner of his mouth.
you don't do it every day. not at first, at least.
but these visits become increasingly common, until you spend hours sitting cross-legged outside ryland's door, drowsy and fatigued and still, unable to look away.
you spend half the time thinking about how nicely his glasses frame his face, and the other half wondering how his ears never seem to hurt from the temple tip digging deep into his flesh.
when he glances up, you duck. your presence probably doesn't go unnoticed, though: you can tell by the way he's smiling at the now empty crack of the door.
you feel ashamed, somehow. like you're intruding, cutting through the quiet, cool atmosphere of the ship and the matchless bond between ryland, and his beloved molecular biology.
tonight is no different. you're on one of your late night treks when a shadow hovering in the hallway stops you dead in the tracks.
"i've seen you. watching." it says. scrutinising, but not commenting on the way your throat lumps nervously when you swallow.
"sorry," you say. "did i bother you?"
"no, no." ryland steps forward into the light, and his face is illuminated- he's smiling, like the thought of you having the ability to pester him in the middle of the night is laughable.
"so- um." you fidget with the ends of your hair, messy and tangled from slumber. "i guess i'll go back-"
"wait!" ryland says quickly. too quickly. "do you want to... maybe stay up with me?"
you realise that he's given this some thought, the spark of eagerness in his eyes giving him away. he's scared, nervous. like the thought of you rejecting him and going back to sleep would kill him.
"yeah." you laugh before he's consumed by his own anxious thoughts. "i'd like that."
"okay." he whispers, a promise splashing in the cold air.
"okay." you echo as his hand circles your waist, thumb brushing over your hipbone, guiding you to his seat like a fiery lantern in the darkness.
ryland's lap acts as your seat, his right arm draped over your waist. barely there, but pulling you gently backwards so you ease into him.
you can sense his heart beating at the back of your spine. you're too exhausted to watch whatever he's doing, but your fingers tinker with the small hairs on his arm, trailing where his blueish veins are visible.
you move down to his fingers. they're smooth. heavy. you trace the warm lines of his palms down a path and the the body behind you suddenly goes very still.
you can hear ryland's pulse patter faster, and faster, until his heart is racing. you keep going, painting paths along his hand and he flinches. you feel a shaky inhale travel from his stomach across his torso.
he's ticklish.
suddenly, you're wide awake. but you don't want to inconvenience him any more than you already have, so you muffle a giggle into the soft sleeve of your pajama top.
"what's so funny?" ryland looks at you. you don't miss the traces of pink at the tip of his ears.
"nothing." you attempt to school your facial expressions into neutrality.
he knows that you know. he lands a soft squeeze at the side of your stomach where his hand rests, making you yelp. you're too drained to retaliate, so you let it go, and he lets it go.
you drift off, soon after, to the gentle rhythm of ryland's steady heart, and the incessant growling of the spaceship.
you don't notice when a blanket is wrapped around you, nor when a certain scientist presses a soft kiss on the top of your head.
it's a shame ryland never wakes up in the morning, though.
despite how understanding you are to his tendency to work into the small hours, you can't bear his insistence to stay in bed for "five more minutes". it's gone on for a full hour.
you can't imagine how he finds such comfort in the bumpy mattress, and the endearing silence from the night before has eviscerated in response to his unintelligible grumbles and protests, causing you to descend into a type of indescribable rage.
"ryland." your patience is long gone. "i need help with the centrifuge setting."
he doesn't respond.
you swear under your breath.
and now, the fucker decides to look you dead in the eye, awake and all, and utter the patronizing word.
"language."
"are you- oh my god- you're kidding." it's hard to put into words the kind of aggressive frustration that overcomes you at the moment.
you take his unacceptable behaviour into account when you climb onto the lump of ryland on the bed, perching on his hips.
he blatantly ignores you.
"last chance," you say.
silence from the other end.
you shove your hands into ryland's ribcage through the blanket and he jolts, stuttering giggles bursting out of him. it's so cute, and uncharacteristically ryland, that you can't help but coo at him. he blushes at the sound, writhing under your touch.
his movements are slow and clumsy, and lethargic, and his lack of sleep does nothing to help. he squeezes his eyes shut like he can shut out the feeling, but pries his eyelids open the second your fingers travel to the middle of his stomach.
"noho," he sniffles, a persistent smile tugging at his lips. "nohot thehere, plehease."
"and why should i listen to you?" your fingers dart under the blankets, then under his shirt, stopping for anticipation. a pair of blue eyes widen in response. "you never listen to me."
ryland pouts- pouts and your heart melts at the sight. it only intensifies the need that gnaws at you, though- the need to tickle him within an inch of his life.
you begin to trace patterns over the soft skin of his stomach and his laughter hitches when you hit a particularly sensitive spot. he's giggling now, really giggling, a wheezy, choked sound that erupts out of him.
"yohu arhe soho dehead." the words come out stuttering and slurred through hiccups and it's mean, you know that, but you can't help it- you giggle at his ridiculous state. the redness on ryland's ears migrates to the apple of his cheeks, swirling patches of pink living on the surface of his skin.
"are you gonna get up?"
ryland doesn't respond. wow, he's persistent.
"you really want me to tickle you, don't you?"
ryland stares at the ceiling, an unwilling giggle bubbling up his throat. you take the bottom of his chin between your fingers and tilt his face so he's looking at you.
he flushes a crimson shade, and you pinch his cheek. he's so fucking cute. you press sloppy kisses over the soft skin of his neck, and he shrieks right into your ear.
"ryland!" you scold. "are you trying to make me deaf?"
"sohorry- i'hm sohorry- noho, DOHON'T!" his rambling apologies do nothing to deter you when your thumbs latch onto the crease of his hipbone, rubbing tiny circles and he squeals. he's batting at your fingers uselessly, and his usual strength has somehow evaporated.
"and what have we learnt today?" you smile as you emerge victorious.
"ih'll gehet uhp nehext tihme!" ryland's trying to speak through his broken giggles, and the sight is so amusing to you that you land a few extra pokes on his torso. he twitches at each one, his face crinkling in mirth.
all your effort's gone to waste, though. you're still sleepy from the night before, and when ryland reaches up to hug you, your back tightly pressed against his chest on the bed, you fall into unconsciousness almost immediately. the centrifuge lies on the bench, long forgotten, and it beeps in protest.
this, too, becomes a ritual after your late nights: ryland's refusal to rise, your half-hearted attempts to wake him, and the way you inevitably end up fast asleep with him anyway.
neither of you acknowledge that this is a weak excuse to feel close to each other; nor when you’re pressed up against the warmth of ryland's arms, it finally feels like home.
June 1st is TOMORROW. It means that GAY PEOPLE will exist, but only for ONE MONTH. Do not forget to buy your tickets to see them NOW, or else you will have to wait AN ENTIRE YEAR to be able to meet them AGAIN.
its so funny how mack is somewhere in switzerland chugging alcohol and strangling himself after the bronze medal loss while will is in massachusetts scoring 9 home runs in a charity softball game and winning a trophy
janainaart
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
2087
