HIHIHI, your slow kissing ryland drabble was INSANE like very rarely can i actually imagine and visualize whats going on, but you captured it so well omg. Im not 100% sure if requests are open or not, but if they arent open feel free to ignore this!!!!! if they are open however... could u write a little something about ryland x reader who is maybe a teacher, or just someone with a pretty stressful job and just how he like talks her down and helps her relax and not spiral that would be soooo cute! ok bye i love your writing you are #awesome
Firstly, thank you so so so much. you saying that means so much to me, anon :’) Yes my request are open!! so here it is, I really hope this meets what you wanted! I'm so sorry if it doesn’t
Ry x teacher!reader
A draining week leads to a mini panic attack, but Ryland, however, will always be there for you.
w.c: 1.06k
Warnings: spiraling, panic attack (?) (idk if it is truly is just putting it there just in case), shitty week, a lil self-indulgent if i do say so myself, hurt/comfort ish, Ryland is the best man ever i do not make the rules, written with fem reader in mind but can be read as gn.
Usually you love this job.
The kids love learning, and you love teaching and showing them new subjects. But this week has just drained everything out of you. And today was just the tip of the iceberg. Your alarm didn't go off (again), you forgot to prep your lunch for today, the printer decided to run out of ink halfway through getting today's worksheets, and the class would not settle once you got in. You felt suffocated.
The free period (after 3 disorganized, chaotic classes) was when you could finally take a breather. You sit at your desk, leaning back into your seat as you take deep breaths. You could feel the lack of energy, having slept badly these last few days, and not being able to rest means your performance at school is worse.
You groan into your hands, leaning forward and resting on your desk. The wood is cool against your skin, calming the nerves you feel, but it’s not enough. Your heart aches at the thought of having to teach more classes today, head pounding from the lack of nutrition since this morning. You could feel your throat closing up as you choke out a sob.
You’re so far into your head that you don’t hear the door opening, the quick steps rushing towards you, and the person calling out your name. What you do feel is the cold hand of someone on the back of your neck, rubbing gently, trying to coax you out of the state you're in.
When you finally lift your head, you see Ryland crouching beside you, eyes, brows furrowed, and looking so worried. He sighs in relief when you finally look at him, feeling an ache at the glossy look in your eyes.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” His other hand, which was holding onto the desk to stabilize him, came to cradle your face oh so gently; the cool contrast of his palm felt like bliss.
But he's quick to notice your shallow and uneven breathing, trying his best not to freak himself out and focusing on you.
“Can you hear me, sweets?” You nod, trying and failing to calm down.
This wasn’t supposed to happen; he shouldn’t see you like this. It only makes it worse, the sting in your eyes hurts a little more as you squeeze them shut, begging you weren’t crying. You try to mutter out an "im fine", but it comes out as gibberish, which just alarms him more.
“C'mon, breathe with me.”
He takes your hand and placed it over his chest, taking deep exaggerated breathes in hope that you could follow. But it wasn’t doing anything, you seemed to be mumbling to yourself now, and you were so out of it. His words felt miles away, your thoughts were going so fast you couldn't-
“Aahh!” A sudden high-pitched yelp snapped you out of whatever spiraling was happening, your eyes finally falling onto his.
“Wha-“
“I'm sorry you weren’t listening to me, please can you match my breathing, sweetie?”
You finally feel the rough fabric of his shirt, playing with the texture between your fingers, before firmly placing your hand onto his chest, feeling his steady, calm heartbeat under your palm.
His chest rose and fell, and he’s counting the seconds, breathing in, holding, and breathing out. His hand at some point slid on top of yours, giving you some extra grounding. In a few minutes, you felt more normal, looking at him with heavy eyes.
“Thank you.”
You sigh, melting into his gentle, comforting touch, your own hand coming up to hold the one on your cheek.
“It’s been a long week” you whisper, not wanting to raise your voice.
There was a silence that settled between the two of you, Ryland trying to decide what would be the best course of action here.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” The hand holding yours steady on his chest didn't falter, wrapping his fingers around yours, engulfing it completely.
He's noticed your distance and lack of words when asked about your day. He never pushed you to say anything, just assuming that it’s been a tiring week. And he knew you, knew you hated to “bother” him with your problems, but he has never considered you a burden, and never will.
You contemplate his offer, knowing that you could talk about it, that it would help you calm your mind. But it’s sooo much, and the last thing you want to do is add to his problems. But he’ll counter it like he always does.
“It’s a lot”
“I don’t mind”
“I don’t wanna add more to your problems”
“Your problems are also mine.”
“Ryland-“
He says your name reassuringly, eyes softening up.
You sigh and finally nod, allowing him to know what’s on your mind. It’s still so new, being able to rely on someone, but he has never turned it down. He hums happily, standing from where he was, hands slipping down to yours, helping to stand up from the seat, delicately letting you adjust.
“I'm free for 15 minutes since I let the kids off early. Let’s get some fresh air.”
You spend the next 15 minutes in the parking lot, your speech somewhere between ranting and pure silence, when your thoughts start to consume you. Ryland is quiet as he listens to you, only speaking when he notices your thoughts eating you alive and helping you not spiral again. He had his hand resting on your back, tracing slow lines and occasionally squeezing your shoulders in a comforting way. After, he will walk you back to your classroom for the next class, saying how he was going to eat lunch with you like always, kissing the top of your head softly. Your next class was bearable; they weren’t screaming at the top of their lungs, and they actually listened.
And for the rest of the day, he's around you whenever he can be, making sure that he can help in whichever way he can.
During lunch, he came in with his food and an extra bowl from the teachers' lounge. Before you could even argue he’s dividing his food equally, and already talking about his kids rage-baiting him in today’s lesson. When he notices you're not touching your food, because you obviously feel bad for taking half of his, that's when he comments on it.
“I noticed you didn’t bring your lunch bag, so I thought we would share.”
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Extra:
He definitely stays over that night, making sure that you don't overwork yourself by trying to get next week's work ready. He helps you cook dinner, washing the dishes afterward.
While you're cuddled in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, it's like he can hear your thoughts in the silence, and he's peppering kisses all over your face just to hear your giggles.
Summary: You and Henry Loomis flirt on the boat, tension building as the island gets closer.
Word count: 692
The boat engine hummed low beneath your boots, salt spray kissing the air as the island drew closer on the horizon. You leaned on the railing, one boot hooked on the bottom rung, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the early morning glare.
Behind you, footsteps—soft, hesitant.
“Do you always stand like that when you’re about to risk your life?” a voice asked, a little amused, a little nervous.
You smirked before turning around. Dr. Henry Loomis, in all his freshly-pressed, nervously handsome glory, was fiddling with the strap of his backpack like it might bite him.
“Only when I’m trying to impress the awkward paleontologist behind me,” you said coolly.
His mouth twitched. “Well, it’s working. I’m deeply impressed. Terrified, too. But mostly impressed.”
You raised a brow. “Terrified of me or the island?”
He took a step closer, lowering his voice like he was letting you in on a secret. “Both, honestly. But only one of them is wearing combat boots and a knife strapped to her thigh.”
“Smart man.” You turned to face the ocean again. “And here I thought you science guys were all talk.”
“I’m mostly talk,” he admitted, standing beside you now. “But I did pack a flare gun. So I’ve got that going for me.”
You laughed—short, surprised. “You really think a flare gun’s gonna save you from a Quetzalcoatlus?”
“I was hoping you’d save me, actually.”
You glanced sideways at him. He looked mostly innocent, but his eyes were glinting, and he definitely knew how to deliver a line. There was something boyish about it—earnest and curious, but with just enough nerve to try.
“You know,” you said, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”
He cleared his throat, flushed faintly. “Was it obvious?”
“A little.”
“I’m rusty,” he said. “Last time I tried flirting, I compared a girl to a protoceratops. It didn’t go over well.”
You snorted. “Please tell me you didn’t use the word ‘frill.’”
His ears turned red. “…I may have.”
You shook your head, grinning. “God help you on this mission.”
He smiled, then looked out toward the mist-shrouded island. “I’m more worried about the dinosaurs, if I’m being honest.”
You let the silence settle for a beat, the waves slapping rhythmically against the hull. The others were below deck prepping gear. Up here, it was just you and him—and the tension between your wild confidence and his endearing dorkiness.
“Hey, Loomis?”
“Yeah?”
“If you survive this thing, I might let you take me out for a drink.”
He blinked. “Seriously?”
“No frill metaphors. That’s the deal.”
His grin spread slow, eyes sparkling. “Deal. I promise to keep it strictly post-Cretaceous.”
You bumped his shoulder lightly. “Then try not to die, dinosaur boy.”
“I’ll do my best, trouble.”
And for the first time since boarding this boat, the thought of heading straight into danger didn’t feel so heavy.
Quiet; The Absence of Words - Leon Kennedy x quiet!DSOAgent!Reader
Summary: You are assigned as Leon's new rookie. It's been 6 months since that day, and you have never spoken a word to him. It's just not in your nature. But what happens when he collapses in front of you during the events of RE9? What happens after that?
Part 1 - Oh, Fuck!
Part 2 - The Five Times vs. 1
Part 3 - Smiley Faces and Sandwiches
Part 4 - Call the Repairman!
Part 5 - It's A Secret
Part 6 - Grandpa, Grandma, and Chocolate Chip Pancakes
Part 7 - Kindness
Part 8 - Spiral
Part 9 - Chocolate Chip Pancakes, the Reprise
Part 10 - Pulling Punches
Part 11 - Debrief
Part 12 - Silent Tensions
Part 13 - Freefall
Part 14 - Of Lab Rats and Poison
Part 15 - Violet Infections
Part 16 - From Bad to Worse
Part 17 - Don't Let Up
Part 18 - Nothing More
Part 19 - These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends
okay hear me out.. RE6 Leon is female!readers mission partner right… and she trained under him and whenever she would do something wrong he clicks his tongue. ACCIDENTALLY SORT OF CLICKER TRAINING READER and mayhaps it leads to some nsfw stuff during a mission??🫣🫣
I'm so sorry but I could not find a way to sneak the smut in there! But I really hope you like this either way. (Also RE6 is so underrated! I played it with my partner and it was a blast!)
Summary: Leon accidentally clicker trains you. Pavlov would be proud.
One Shot Masterlist
Pavlov was a Dick - Leon Kennedy x Reader
The first time it happens, neither of you notices.
Which is probably why it gets so bad.
Training under Leon Kennedy is, frankly, a nightmare. He’s not particularly cruel or unfair, no. Actually, you couldn’t be trained by anyone better. In a way, that’s the problem. He's annoyingly good at everything he does.
Every stance correction is perfect. Every critique is somehow correct. Every piece of advice immediately solves whatever problem you're having. It's insufferable.
"Your shoulders."
You immediately straighten. Leon nods once. "Better."
You hate how satisfying that approval feels.
You hate it even more when he clicks his tongue. It's never loud. Just a small little sound whenever you do something stupid.
Miss a target?
Click.
Forget to check a corner?
Click.
Nearly trip over your own feet during a drill?
He made the noise twice that time. Click click.
It's not even intentional. Half the time he doesn't seem aware he's doing it. But after months of training together, the sound becomes synonymous with one thing; you've done something wrong.
Unfortunately, your brain decides to take that information and run with it.
.
.
.
It becomes apparent during a mission six months later. Leon is crouched beside you, behind an overturned vehicle, while gunfire erupts across the street.
His hand comes up, holding up three fingers. You understand immediately.
Three hostiles. You nod.
He gestures again, this time waving his hand a little to the left.
Left side is mine. Another nod. With that, you start standing up, readying your weapon-
Click.
You sit back down so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Both of you freeze.
Leon blinks.
You blink.
"...Why did you do that?" The words are whispered, barely audible under the noise of the gunfire.
Your mouth opens. Then closes. You sit there a moment, mouthing out unintelligible words. Then, "...I don't know."
Neither of you thinks much about it.
… At first. Then it happens again. And again. And again.
A month later, while sloughing through the underground ruins of a cathedral, his newest tag along finds out.
She’s a nice young woman. A bit younger than him, with chestnut brown hair and kind eyes. Her name is Helena, if you’re recalling correctly.
You’re reaching for something when Leon clicks his tongue. Immediately, without hesitation, you pull back
Her eyebrow raises. "Wait.”
Both you and Leon give her a confused glance.
“Leon…” she takes a breath, “Make that noise again.”
He does. As if on cue, you step a little closer to him, your eyes snapping to his form, as if waiting for a command.
Helena’s eyes widen. "Oh."
You give her a confused look, before starting to walk again. Helena clicks her tongue.
You freeze. The room goes silent.
Then, Helena lets out a laugh. It’s the most genuine reaction you’ve ever heard from her. You can almost see tears forming in her eyes as she doubles over, chuckles falling from her lips.
"You clicker trained your partner!"
Leon’s arms come up in defence. "I did not."
"You absolutely did." The woman gestures towards you both.
"I did not."
"You made her into a golden retriever!"
More laughter. You can feel yourself melting into an embarrassed puddle as Leon just shouts.
"I DID NOT."
.
.
.
The worst part is that once everyone notices, nobody lets it go.
Chris finds out, while you both try to pursue Ada Wong. Then Piers. Then, Sherry and Jake. Suddenly everyone is testing it.
It's humiliating. It's horrible. It's nonstop.
Click.
You stop peeking out from cover.
Click.
You stop running and start listening.
Click.
You skid to a halt mid run.
The last one makes Leon groan loudly enough to be heard from feet behind you. "This is my fault."
"This is absolutely your fault."
He just rolls his eyes. "I didn't mean to do it."
Helena is quick to snort. "You Pavlov'd her."
"That's really not what Pavlov did."
"You know what I mean."
Meanwhile, you're standing still, watching helplessly while this argument happens around you. Honestly, you're still not entirely convinced it's real.
Until after the mission is over.
The two of you are alone in the safehouse. It's late. Everyone's exhausted. You're sitting on the floor cleaning your pistol when Leon walks into the room carrying two coffees.
Without thinking, you reach for yours. You don’t go for the handle. Instead, you reach for the mug itself.
The cup is hot. Very hot. Hot enough to burn. Leon’s brows raise.
Click.
Your hand jerks away before you even register the sound. The movement is instant. Automatic. Reflexive. The room goes quiet. Slowly, you both look down at the coffee. Then at each other. Then, back at the coffee.
"...Oh."
"...Yeah."
For some reason, that's the moment it finally hits him. Not necessarily because it’s funny, or because everyone keeps teasing him, no. It’s because he realizes how much you've trusted him.
For months.
Every correction. Every lesson. Every warning. Every tiny click of his tongue. Somewhere along the way, your brain decided that sound meant safety.
To listen to him. That he's trying to help.
The realization hits Leon right in the chest.
He looks away first, which is unusual. He's never been particularly good at hiding things from you.
"What?" you ask.
His jaw flexes slightly. "Nothing."
"You're being weird."
A pause. "...You listen to me."
Your brow furrows. "Usually? Duh?"
"No, I mean..." He exhales softly. "You really trust me."
The words make you freeze for a moment. He hands you the coffee carefully this time, turning it so that you can grab the handle. His shoulder bumps yours when he sits beside you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. He feels warm beside you.
Then, Click.
Your head immediately turns toward him.
Leon bursts out laughing. It’s the happiest he’s sounded in days.
please appreciate this very low quality meme i made out of official neopets art to reply to my friend (a relatively new neopets player) telling me that playing neopets is becoming a chore for him
So, in the book, Ryland actually watches the launches of the Hail Mary as it's being constructed in space. First of all, the little nerd would find it so exciting. Even in the face of the responsibility that he has on the project, it's amazing to watch humanity literally build an interstellar starship piece by piece. And yet absolutely terrifying because what would it mean for his future if something were to fail? Not just his future, but his kids?
Anyway, the first launch, he's not alone. There's plenty of others around him watching the small TV, all crowded into one another like sardines in a can. He's doing his best to seem calm and collected about it but he's overthinking every way this could potentially go wrong. You're seated next to him. And well, he knows you. Not like, really personally, more or less you're just acquaintances. Maybe you mutter something under your breath that only he hears and that spurs Ryland to look over at you and start a conversation.
The second launch is very similar to the first. He’s seated next to you, but he seems less tense talking to you about it. Less on edge. You two end up talking for almost the entire day/night, even after the launch is done and there’s nothing but static on the screen. Ryland’s not sure why. Maybe it’s just nice to talk to someone about things that aren't the end of the world and you’re nice enough to give him that.
And it just goes back and forth like that for a while. You two meet up for launch parties, you two talk and then go your separate ways. You work more with the documentation side of things, that’s why Ryland knows you but didn't know you. He’d heard you name plenty of times from Stratt, and if he recalled correctly, he was introduced to you the first day he was on the project. But, in the whirlwind of reality, you must have unfortunately gotten lost in the shuffle. He beats himself up about it quite frequently. More than he wants to admit because admitting that would be admitting to something deeper which Ryland was convinced he had no time for.
The third launch is where things get a bit different, or at least, in a Ryland Grace sort of way. He finds himself looking for you when he comes into the room, a few minutes late. Stratt needed something before the launch and it took him longer than he expected. And he wasn’t expecting you to be saving him a spot. He sits down with a warm smile for you right as the count down to launch begins. You don’t press him on where he’s been but something about your expression makes him feel… Safe.
The sixth launch goes according to plan, another payload delivered, more of the Hail Mary being assembled right on schedule. ‘I’m tired.’ You tell him and slide off your chair. He’s quick to follow you, his long legs almost stumbling over each other. Some part of him is sad that you’re leaving so early, he was really hoping you’d… want to stay and chat a bit. Maybe he’d open up a bit more about how he is in the real world, and not stuck in the orbit of the Petrova Taskforce. Maybe you’d want to listen!
‘Do you want to walk me back to my room?’ You offer, giving him just five more minutes of your company. Ryland nods wordlessly as you two walk together. Side by side, hands occasionally brushing each others as you. He doesn’t say anything; talking about himself like he had thought was just a fantasy. One he thought you’d…. Really like.
The ninth launch is statistically the most important. Ryland had been rambling about it during the eighth last week and was non-stop about it now. It was the payload delivering things like the cockpit, the lab and the dormitory. Literally the entire space that the astronauts would be living in. He is almost uncharacteristically quiet when the countdown begins and is silent the entire time after, watching the small screen with an intense mixture of awe and terror.
You knew deep down that you should be watching, it was history, but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to look away from him. And when it’s all done and the launch is deemed a success, Ryland finally lets the tension leave his shoulders. Some people cheer, some people high five. But Ryland just looked at you with a small smile and a nod. “I knew they could do it.”
The last launch is the most significant. The celebrations were strong, going on all over. You could hear them through open doors and down the corridors. People where cheering and clapping for the end of something that seemed nearly impossible. So much work, billions if not trillions of dollars, thousands of minds all culminating in 16 successful launches.
Ryland had disappeared the moment he could get away, never a big fan of parties or big, rushing crowds. And when you finally got yourself away, you found him standing outside, head tilted up towards the sky and far enough away that the sounds of celebration had faded into little more than distant noise. The night air was cool, and you admired his side profile for a few seconds as you came closer.
Ryland… Didn't seem too surprised when you came to stand beside him, and for a while, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable between you, and felt innately necessary as you both processed. After everything that had happened to lead you to this point, words seemed almost… Inadequate. The blonde tipped his head back further, his blue eyes scanning the sky and his golden frames shimmering slightly. “It’s up there somewhere.”
You found yourself following his gaze longingly. There was nothing to see, the Hail Mary was far too small, far too distant. Still, knowing that somewhere above the atmosphere, humanity’s first interstellar spacecraft was in orbit felt surreal. Like something had seriously shifted.
“It doesn’t feel real.” You admitted as Ryland let out a quiet laugh at that.
"Good. I was worried I was the only one." His voice sounded tired. Not exhausted perse, but drained in the way people became after carrying something entirely too heavy for too long.
“Any plans for the next…. Twenty something years?” You asked gently.
Ryland tilted his head at that. Down and towards you, his eyes now captivated by your side profile still staring up at the night sky. “Depends.”
“On what?”
His answer didn't come immediately. For a moment instead, Ryland just… Looked at you. The celebration lights spilling from behind you reflected faintly against his glasses, but his attention wasn’t focused on that. It wasn’t on the stars either. It was on you. You suddenly became aware of how close the two of you were standing; close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed, close enough that if you turned your head, you’d be almost nose to nose with him. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and enthralled you, a small flutter playing in your stomach.
“I guess… It depends on whether we’re talking about realistic plans or optimistic plans.”
You giggled, Ryland’s blue eyes staring at your mouth for a few seconds as you queried. “What’s the difference, Grace?”
“One involves spreadsheets.”
“Mhm… And the other?” You turned on the spot.
Ryland’s eyes widened at that as he looked away, back towards the stars. Toward something manageable. Toward the impossible ship hanging somewhere above the Earth. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “The other involves things I haven’t really… Let myself think about.”
The Molecular Biologist’s words settled, carried away now by the cool night breeze. Ryland swallowed hard, his gaze fixed stubborningly on the stars as if they were going to rescume him from the conversation he had accidentally wandered into. “I kept telling myself there’d be time later.” His voice was fragile, “After the next launch. After the next crisis.” A nervous laugh escaped him as he shook his head, blonde hair fluttering. “Turns out when you’re helping save the world, there’s always another crisis.”
Finally, he looked back at you and the vulnerability in his expression stole the breath from your lungs, “But, now it’s finished, and I realized that if I keep waiting for the perfect moment I’m probably going to spend the next twenty years making spreadsheets instead of doing the thing I actually want to do.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs as he took a hesitant step closer. “Ryland---”
“Let me finish, I’ve got the momentum now and can’t stop.” He admitted bashfully with a blush against his cheeks, barely noticeable in the deep night color.
A soft laugh left your lips as you nodded, a smile of fondness tugging onto your cheeks.
“So,” He said, adjusting his glasses, “My optimistic plan was maybe seeing if you’d let me take you to dinner sometime. A real dinner. One that doesn’t involve mission briefings, launch schedules or someone interrupting because another problem needs fixing.” For once, Ryland grace seemed completely out of calculations, stats and contingency places. He simply looked at you beneath the starlight, nervous and hopeful all at once. And maybe a bit nauseous. A lot. “Assuming that’s… something you’d… want to… do with me…”
You couldn’t stop the laugh from slipping out, incredibly soft and totally disbelieving. Ryland’s face fell immediately at the sound. “Oh, no… That’s not a good laugh, is it? I totally fudged up---”
“No!” You gasped, “It’s a very good laugh!”
Relief washed over him so fast it was almost funny as you recollected yourself and took a small step closer, tilting your head to look up at him. “Y’know, most people buy someone coffee before watching the launches of humanity’s first interstellar spacecraft with them.”
Ryland groaned and rubbed a hand over his face dramatically, skewing his glasses along the way. “I know. My timing is terrible.”
Your smile softened as you reached forward and grasped his hand gently. Your fingers tangled into his, “Good thing my answer is yes, then.”
It was movie night, you both loved movie nights!! Early on in your relationship, it was a way to spend time together after work, unwinding and talking about each other's day while you cuddled on the couch. You would put on some god-awful sci-fi movie that Ryland would be making fun of and pointing out all the incredibly inaccurate special effects they had. But you wouldn’t spend your nights any other way.
You were laying on top of him on the couch, his arm lazily encircled your back and draw figures of eight into the soft fabric of his borrowed shirt. He was mumbling something about there being no sound in space, which makes you smile at how ridiculous he could be sometimes. Your head moves to get a better view of his scrunched up nose and exasperated expression.
Ryland peaks down when he felt the movement on his chest, and his face instantly switched into a small smile when he looks at you, making your heart flutter. He always managed to make you giddy in the stupidest ways possible.
His hand came up to smooth the baby hairs at the top of your head, which didn't do much since they will never go down. Then it traveled back down, tracing the vertebrae of your spine. It was a soothing touch, one he does almost every single time he manages to have you this close to him.
“Are you liking it?” He asked
“Mmm nooo, it’s boring,” you admit, looking back at the tv. You felt his laugh, his chest rising and falling with each little noise he made.
“Yeah it is”, he responds. His hand stopped on the small of your back, lingering. You were about to turn back to him but he tapped you gently, “Gotta pee.”
You giggle, getting off of him and watching his figure retreat into the dark hallway. You take that as your moment to walk to the kitchen to grab something to drink. You don’t bother flicking the light on; you knew the place like the back of your hand at this point. Grabbing one of his mismatched cups from the drying rack, you fill it with water and bring it up to your lips to feel the cool liquid go down your throat. You turn around, hearing the TV still on in the other room, the light of it casting a cold shine into the hallway. As if on cue, Ryland's figure comes back into view, startling slightly when he sees you standing in the dark kitchen. You try not to laugh at the way he looks like he saw a ghost, skin turning pale, and all.
“What’re you doing there!?” He asked with a far too high pitch, making him cough into his hand to play it off.
You raise the cup, which he could barely see, “Water.”
He steps into the kitchen, and just like you, ignored the light switch on the wall as he walks past it, deciding to lean against the fridge, a few feet away.
“Kinda creepy.” He jokes, watching as you drink some more, crossing his arms over his chest.
You shrug, placing the cup on the counter so you could lift yourself up, trying to be eye to eye with him. He took it as an invitation to get closer, stepping between your legs and resting his hands on either side of you.
It took him a moment to realize what he did, but he didn’t falter. There was a shift in the atmosphere when he just stayed there, looking at you with that oh so in love gaze. There was a beat of silence, Ryland's eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, cocking his head to the side so gently.
“This ok sweets?” He muttered when he leaned in closer, hot breathes against your skin.
“Yeah” your response was barely there, but he heard it.
Ryland leaned in, closing the gap with a slow kiss. His hand came to cup your jaw, guiding you to follow his leisurely pace. He hummed against your lips, leaning away slightly just to look at you, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb, watching it bounce back into place with a lazy smile, before tenderly going back in for more.
His fingers felt soft against your skin, the frame of his glasses nudging against your own, something you’ve grown used to when you both kiss. Your arms came up to wrap around his shoulders, fingers running slowly through his hair before settling at the base of it, scratching lightly at the short hairs, earning a whiny noise from him. You felt his other hand grab your hip, rubbing up and down your waist for a few seconds, before it found its way to the hem of your shirt and nudged it upwards, letting his cold fingers settle against the warm skin of your waist. The contrast of it made you arch your body away from his hand, but he just pulls you closer to the edge, until you were just leaning on him.
You gasped at the sudden movement, and his freezing fingers (genuinely, you’d think he's a dead body or something), giving him access as his tongue slowly licked your bottom lip, prying your mouth open with ease. The movements were measured, he’s exploring every corner of your mouth, furrowing his brows because he can’t lean in more, can't have more of your sweet taste that he simply can’t get enough of.
At no point does he try to change the tempo; he kept it easy, slow, and steady because it was too late to even think about doing anything else. Besides, why rush something that he wishes could last forever?
“Can we go back to the couch?” You mumble your words against his lips when he pulls away for a sliver of a second. He licks his lips, his wide, dark pupils look up to meet yours, which are in the same state, and he nods sluggishly.
You were about to hop off the counter to walk over, but he pulled you closer by his hand on your hip, his other tapping your thigh, beckoning you to wrap your legs around his waist.
“Mmm heavy,” you slurred, pecking his lips so that he’ll let go, but he didn’t, just pulled you off the counter with a quiet grunt. You yelped, wrapping your arms around his neck tighter. “Ry-!”
“You weren’t gonna fall.” His voice was heavy, and you could sense the smile in it.
When he gets to the couch, he places you softly on your back, not missing a beat to settle his legs between yours. His chest pressed against yours for a second before he held himself up with his arms, resting near your head at the top of the couch. He’s smiling down at you with those sweet eyes, the light of the TV casting a blue hue on his face, which just makes him look even more angelic.
“Hi” you whisper, feeling your heart hammering in your chest. It’s not the first time hes this close to you, but you can’t help but get nervous at just how pretty he is.
And you’re not the only one. His own hands felt shaky, not because he can’t support his own weight, but because. God, how is it that you can be so pretty no matter how he looks at you?
“Hey” he responds, quickly pecking your lips once, twice, thrice, and pulling away to run his fingers through the front pieces of your hair, pushing them aside so he could get a full view of your face. “I’m so lucky to have you”
You laugh quietly when he comes back for one more, feeling that warm sensation forming again in the bottom of your stomach. Your nails take a slow path up his forearm, coming to a slow stop at his bicep, squeezing the muscle gently, earning a smile from him against your lips.
After a few more minutes of kissing and giggles between the two of you, Ryland pulls away, kissing the top your nose, and then nuzzled against it with his own.
“I want to write a fic about this but I don’t think anybody will be interested in it” ummm hello excuse me ma’am what do you mean you don’t think anybody will be interested in it??? YOU. YOU ARE INTERESTED IN IT???? write it because YOU are interested in it and YOU want to write about it. fanfic writing should always be first and foremost about YOUR enjoyment, not other people’s.
i think now more than ever i need things to be real, i need to see people with uneven facial features, real teeth, messy hair, muffin tops and acne scars and stretch marks, because if i see one more perfectly structured face stacked with veneers and airbrushed skin on my screen i might snap
As summer is approaching, I’d like to remind everyone that you are not entitled to ask someone to cover up their scars, self inflicted or not. I don’t care if they’re big, I don’t care if they’re noticeable, or purple, or all over their body, or what. You can’t police people’s bodies.
This also goes for my friends with feeding tubes, ostomy bags, central lines and urinary catheters. People are allowed exist in bodies that stray from the expected norm.
snowghoul
jbbartram-illu
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
areudirty
turnnoffyourmind
stormborns
