I see the lights, I hear the band, Feels like the whole world's in our hands, Soakin' it up, breathin' it in, One day we'll say, "Remember when"
We were so alive, I swear that night there was magic in the air, You had to be there.
♫ Now playing: You Had to Be There - Megan Moroney (ft. Kenny Chesney)
1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47
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strattland - I could put it off for another day, act like everything’s gonna be okay… it’s gonna break my heart, to see you cry, I know the next kiss, is a kiss goodbye.
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summary you and ryland got hit by some kind of dust
word count 8K
content 18+. smut. sex pollen. fuck or die. masturbation (m). penis in vagina sex. riding. humour (i tried). crack. ryland's glasses stay ON during sex.
a/n officially the longest fucking thing i have ever written. i'm not truly satisfied with this but it's whatever. i hope u guys enjoy it. english is not my first language
masterlist | read on ao3
you and ryland have been staring at yet another mysterious gift sent by rocky like it was a trunk shot from pulp fiction.
you know, the one where— okay so nevermind. that's not important.
what's important was what rocky had sent, which was another cylinder.
you glanced at ryland. ryland glanced at you. then you both glanced at the cylinder.
it sat in the center of the lab table, perfectly still, perfectly silent, and deeply, profoundly suspicious.
“so,” you said, arms crossed. “before you do anything impulsive and deeply stupid, let’s review our options.”
ryland didn’t even look up. “option one: we open it and potentially discover advanced human knowledge. option two: we don’t open it and i slowly lose my mind wondering what’s inside.”
“option three,” you added, “we don’t open it and you will forever be curious about the content but hey, at least you'd still be alive!”
he glanced up at you with a grin that immediately told you he was not going to pick option three.
“ryland last time you said ‘this’ll probably be fine,’ we almost suffocated.”
“counterpoint,” he said, straightening and placing a hand on the latch, “almost.”
you sighed.
“i just don’t like it,” you said for what was probably the fifth time.
ryland made a thoughtful humming sound that meant the exact opposite.
“you don’t like anything that comes from rocky.”
you crossed your arms without taking your eyes off the object. “that is objectively untrue. i like the parts that don’t explode, corrode, or attempt to rewrite the laws of physics.”
“so.... none of it?”
“exactly.”
pause.
just when ryland reached for the cylinder, you spoke out again.
“and just for the record....” you said, voice flat, “i am deeply against whatever you’re about to do.”
“come on. what’s the worst that could happen?”
you dragged a hand down your face, already bracing for disaster. “okay, i need you to understand that that phrase is cursed. like, historically cursed. civilizations have fallen after someone said that.”
he ignored you.
of course he ignored you.
the seal popped before you could argue more. the cylinder hissed open with a soft, pressurized sound.
for a second, nothing happened.
you leaned forward slightly, squinting, peering into the opening, expecting.... something. a device. a sample. anything.
“okay.... maybe it’s empty—”
poof!
a burst of fine gold dust shot out of the container in slow motion, catching the light as it drifted upward and outward, directly into both your faces before either of you could react.
“oh— come on—!” you coughed immediately, stumbling back and waving your hands uselessly through the air. “why is it always airborne—”
“i didn’t—” ryland coughed too, turning his head and blinking rapidly. “i didn’t know it was going to do that!”
“it’s a mysterious alien container, of course it was going to do that!”
the dust settled almost as quickly as it appeared, vanishing into nothing. no residue, no smell, no visible trace that anything had even happened.
you both stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other.
“....okay,” you said slowly. “status report.”
he blinked a few more times, then patted his arms, his torso, like he might find damage. “uhhh.... lungs: functioning. skin: not melting. vision: normal.”
“define normal.”
“i can see you glaring at me, so, yeah. normal.”
you exhaled. “great. fantastic. we inhaled space dust and survived. love that for us.”
“see?” he said, already relaxing. “nothing to worry about.”
you pointed at him sharply. “you do not get to say that. you lost that privilege the moment you opened it.”
“fair.”
then there was a beat.
“so.... that’s it?” you asked.
he peered into the cylinder, turning it upside down. only the residue of the dust fell, nothing else was inside.
“that’s it.” he confirmed.
“okay,” you said finally, though your voice carried a thin edge of disbelief. “either that was completely harmless, or we just inhaled something that’s going to kill us slowly and mysteriously.”
“statistically,” ryland said, already turning back toward the console, “it’s probably the second one.”
“great,” you muttered.
“yep.” he clicked his tongue and made a double finger gun. “nailed it.”
only for a while.
only for a while, it actually seemed like he was right.
you two ran scans, double-checked the air composition, monitored your vitals like you were waiting for them to spike into something dramatic and undeniable. everything came back normal. no toxins, no foreign pathogens, no radiation spikes, nothing that explained the golden dust or what it was supposed to do.
it should have been reassuring.
it wasn’t.
because about an hour in, you noticed something off.
not dramatic. not alarming. but subtle enough.
you shifted in your seat, tugging slightly at the collar of your yellow jumpsuit. the fabric suddenly felt too close, too warm against your skin.
“hey,” you said, not looking up from your screen. you were in your station in the lab, your back facing ryland. “did the temperature go up?”
ryland glanced at the panel beside him. “nope. holding steady.”
“huh.” you leaned back, frowning. “feels warmer.”
“maybe you’re just stressed.”
you snorted. “yeah, because inhaling unknown alien particles was such a relaxing experience.”
you tried to ignore it.
it didn’t work.
because by the second hour, it got worse. worse enough that it distracted you from doing your job.
you were restless now, shifting every few minutes, hyper-aware of your own body in a way that was getting increasingly distracting.
“okay, nope. something’s happening.” you said, standing up. you zipped down your suit. it pooled around your waist and left you in nothing but a dark green tank top you wore underneath. now you looked like a formula 1 driver walking around the garage in the middle of a malaysian heat.
except you were pretty sure that the heat in malaysia was tolerable enough and the drivers were used to it.
this, whatever this was however, was far from it.
“i'm sure it's nothing—” ryland finally turned but then paused.
“what?” you asked as you tied your hair into a ponytail.
he was sitting still. too still. his posture was stiff, shoulders slightly tense, like he was holding himself in place. his jaw tightened and his eyes that were currently fixated on you slightly dilated.
“....ryland?”
he flinched, snapping back to the present. he fixed his glasses while his eyes withdrew, focusing on somewhere else but you.
“yeah?” his voice came out a little too quick. a little too tight.
you narrowed your eyes. “you okay?”
“fine. totally fine.”
“you don’t look fine.”
he let out a short laugh that didn’t sound entirely natural. “well, looks can be deceiving.”
“you’re flushed.”
“it’s warm,” he said immediately. “i’m…. internally warm.”
“....that’s not a thing.”
“it is now.”
you crossed your arms, studying him.
“you’re acting weird.”
ryland scratched the back of his neck. you did not miss the way he licked his lips. and there was a faint flush creeping across his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears, subtle but unmistakable once you saw it.
“nothing. nothing. um—”
you frowned. “are you okay?”
“yes, yes,” he cleared his throat while still staring at a very specific spot on the floor, like he was avoiding your eyes.
“okay....” you turned, walking back to your station, trying to not let his sudden weird behaviour get to you. it's ryland. he was always a bit odd, even back on earth when you first met him on the ship.
by hour three, thankfully you finished your work quickly because the heat was no longer tolerable.
“fuck....” you muttered under your breath, standing up and started pacing around.
ryland was still busy with his duct-taped-computers, probably working on the algorithm to translate rocky's melodic language.
he stopped typing on the keyboard and grabbed his notebook, writing something there now.
your paces halted. and unfortunately your brain decided that right now was the perfect time to let your eyes wander to his arms out of all places.
you didn’t know why but it just happened.
you didn't get to stop yourself. you brain drifted, catching on the absolute ridiculous size of his biceps. since when did he work out? the thought of middle school science teacher ryland grace going to the gym and working out during the weekends got more ridiculous the more you think of it.
you should have stopped. should have sat back down and worked or went to take a nap or— oh my god his veins—
you flinched.
jesus, what the fuck?
since when the fuck did you notice that?
nope. absolutely not.
you squeezed your eyes shut briefly, exhaling through your nose like that might reset your brain.
it didn't.
you sighed, audible enough just to your ears. your gaze flicked, just for a second, and then immediately snapped back to somewhere else.
that was a mistake.
because now you knew, and knowing made it harder not to look again.
your brain, completely unhelpful, decided to supply additional commentary. since when does he have arms like that? it asked, again, like this was new information, like you hadn’t been working side by side with him for months.
you squeezed your eyes shut briefly, exhaling through your nose. get it together. this was ryland. your crew mate. your friend. the only other human being alive within literal light-years.
and yet—
“oh, for fuck's sake,” you cursed under your breath.
“what?” ryland immediately turned, ears sharp enough to hear you. he looked concerned for a bit.
“nothing,” you said quickly. too quickly.
he adjusted his glasses. “that did not sound like nothing.”
“it’s nothing.”
ryland tilted his head. a hint of amusement decorating his face.
“you were staring at me,” he pointed out.
you jerked your gaze away. “i was not.”
“you absolutely were.”
“i was not,” you insisted sharper, which would have been more convincing if you hadn’t immediately glanced back at him again.
he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “wow. okay. so it’s not just me. good to know.”
you pressed a hand to your forehead, giving up on your pretenses. “no, it is definitely not just you.”
you paced again a few more steps, trying to shake it off, but it didn’t help. if anything, it made you even more hyperaware of everything. your breathing, the air, him.
and by the fourth hour, denial was no longer an option.
“okay, that's it.” you said, pacing now because sitting still felt impossible, “we need to figure out whatever the hell this is.”
“yep,” ryland said, standing up simultaneously.
“define what you’re feeling,” you asked.
he hesitated. “uh, okay. so, scientifically?”
“obviously.”
“i feel.... distracted,” he started, frowning slightly as he tried to articulate it. “like my brain keeps derailing. and also—” he stopped.
he looked at you and held his gaze for a second too long.
“ryland.”
“....also very aware of you,” he finished.
pause.
“define 'aware'. like when you were staring at me?”
“i wasn't—” he stopped, then frowned, like he was trying to catch his own thoughts mid-escape. “okay, maybe i was.”
you crossed your arms. “why?”
“i don’t know,” he said immediately, which somehow felt worse than any actual answer. “i just— looked up and— there you were.”
“i’m always here!”
“yes,” he said, a little too quickly. “i am aware of that. conceptually. but right now it’s.... more noticeable.”
you stared at him.
“more noticeable.” you repeated.
he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “that sounded weird.”
“it sounded very weird.”
“i meant it in a normal, non-weird way!”
“there is no version of that sentence that is normal, ryland!”
“you were staring at me too!” he reminded.
you opened your mouth, then shut it again, abandoning whatever argument you were about to attempt. he got you there.
then you sighed. you realized that you both seem to be doing that a lot today.
“you know what? nevermind. just— are there any other symptoms? like what, hormones? perception? impulse control?”
“all of the above, probably.”
you exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to think. maybe it was—
“the dust,” you said suddenly, stopping in your tracks.
he went still. “what?”
you pointed at the cylinder. “it has to be that.”
“yeah,” he said, nodding slowly like he just pieced all the puzzles together now. “yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, that makes sense. mysterious alien substance, unknown effects, sudden onset of—” he gestured vaguely between you “—this.”
you raised an eyebrow. “'this?'”
“i don’t have a better word!”
“well, find one!”
“i’m a scientist, not emily brontë!”
you dragged both hands down your face. “oh my god.”
“okay,” you continued. “let's not panic. let us all calm down. so, we agreed we got exposed to an unknown particulate substance.”
“yep.”
“we’re experiencing.... thermal dysregulation.”
“yep.”
“and—” you hesitated, “—behavioral anomalies.”
he made a small, distressed noise. “that is a very scientific way to say that i cannot stop staring at your lips.”
you frowned. “you were staring at my lips?”
“and you were staring at my arms! we can do this all night!” he said defensively.
“did you just quote the sequels— nevermind. not important.”
you pressed your lips together. which, unfortunately, made his eyes drop there again.
you both noticed, and you both looked away at the same time.
“okay,” he said, pacing once, like movement might fix this. “okay, okay, okay, okay, we can figure this out. we always figure things out.”
“right,” you said, latching onto that. “we analyze.”
“we observe.”
“we hypothesize.”
“we do not panic.”
“we are absolutely not panicking.”
you were both very clearly panicking.
“let’s list everything again.” he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. “all symptoms. no judgment.”
“no judgment,” you agreed.
“elevated body temperature.” he started.
“check.”
“heightened sensory awareness.”
“check.”
“uh....” he hesitated, visibly struggling. “increased.... focus on.... specific.... features?”
you folded your arms tighter. “check.”
“compulsive attention,” he added weakly.
“check.”
he swallowed. “and a— a noticeable shift in, uh—”
“attraction?” you said bluntly.
he closed his eyes. “yeah. that.”
the word hung there, heavy but accurate.
you both went very still. because once it was said like that, clean, clinical, undeniable, something in your brain clicked into place.
not just the symptoms.
the pattern.
your mind started pulling threads together, faster now. the dust. the delivery method. the lack of any visible organism. the immediate onset being minimal, then escalating over time.
you frowned, thinking harder.
“okay,” you said slowly. “if this were any known terrestrial system, particulate exposure with delayed onset behavioral changes would suggest—”
“toxins,” he said automatically.
“but there’s no impairment,” you countered.
“cognitive function is intact. motor function is intact. we’re not disoriented.”
“right,” he said, catching up. “so not a neurotoxin.”
“and not a pathogen,” you added. “no immune response. no inflammation.”
“so it’s not attacking us.”
“it’s affecting us.”
you both went quiet again, thinking.
he ran a hand through his hair, pacing again, faster this time. “okay, so— delivery system: aerosolized particulate. effect: behavioral modification. targeted toward—”
he stopped.
you watched it happen. the exact moment the realization hit him.
his entire posture went rigid.
“....no,” he said.
your stomach dropped. “what?” you asked, even though something in you already knew but refused to acknowledge it.
he looked at you. then away. then back again, like he wished reality would swap out for a better option.
“no, no, no, no, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “that’s— that’s not—”
“ryland,” you said, sharper now. “what.”
he gestured helplessly toward the empty cylinder. “there were no organisms. no plant matter. nothing visible. which means whatever this is, it doesn’t rely on traditional biological structures.”
“okay....?”
“which means,” he continued, words picking up speed like he couldn’t stop them now, “it could be a synthetic analog. or an alien biochemical system that doesn’t follow earth-based taxonomy. something that mimics a known function without the same physical form—”
“ryland.”
he stopped and looked at you.
you held his gaze.
“say it.”
he hesitated. like if he didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be real.
“....on earth,” he started, carefully, “there are airborne particulates that influence behavior in very specific ways.”
your chest tightened.
“they’re typically produced by plants,” he went on. “released into the air. inhaled. they trigger physiological responses that.... alter attraction. increase reproductive drive. reduce inhibition—”
your breath caught.
he exhaled, defeated.
“....pollen,” he finished.
silence.
thick.
absolute.
you stared at him.
he stared back.
“that’s not possible,” you said, even as your brain was already connecting it. "that's not fucking possible. what the fu—”
“i know,” he said quickly. “i know. there were no plants. there’s no visible biological structure. it doesn’t make sense.”
“so it’s not pollen.”
“it’s not plant pollen,” he corrected weakly.
you both paused.
“but it’s doing the same thing,” you said.
“yeah.”
another silence. longer this time.
he let out a hollow laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “that’s— wow. okay. that’s just— fantastic. amazing. incredible. we got hit with alien.... pseudo-pollen that—”
he stopped himself.
you finished it for him. “that makes people.... like this.”
he nodded, looking like he wanted to walk directly into space.
you swallowed. your skin still felt too warm. thoughts still kept drifting back to him.
to his hands. arms. the way he was looking at you right now.
you dropped your hands. wanna know the worst part of this? it's that now that you understood it, it didn’t make it stop. it just made it clearer.
“we’re in trouble,” you said quietly.
he nodded, equally quiet.
“yeah,” he said. “we really are.”
“and rocky just gave it to us with no warning?”
“to be fair,” ryland said, “he might not have known humans would react like this.”
you stopped pacing. “react like what, exactly?”
“like this,” he said weakly. “he probably thinks this is how humans reproduce. like, 'here, have some breeding dust, make more crew for the mission!'” ryland continued.
“oh, jesus.”
another pause.
longer this time.
he shifted his weight. “okay. solution-oriented thinking. we just.... wait it out.”
“wait it out,” you repeated.
“yep. it’s a chemical thing, right? it’ll metabolize, wear off, we go back to normal, and we never speak of this again.”
“not even a little bit.” you agreed quickly.
“not even in a funny anecdote way.”
“especially not in a funny anecdote way.”
he removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut tight while his other hand was gripping the edge of his desk for dear life. firm, almost rigid, like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. “good plan. great plan. love that plan.”
you stopped pacing and looked at him properly.
really looked.
the flush hadn’t faded, it had deepened. his breathing was just slightly off, not enough to be obvious unless you were paying attention, but you were paying attention now. and the way he was holding himself. tense, contained, like he was actively stopping himself from—
“ryland,” you said slowly.
“yeah.” he did not look at you.
“why are you holding onto the table like it’s about to float away?”
he let out a short, strained laugh.
“because if i don’t,” he said, voice tight in a way that made something in your chest twist, “i might do something incredibly stupid.”
your stomach dropped. “define 'stupid.'”
his eyes flicked up to yours, and whatever you saw there made your breath catch.
“i think,” he said quietly, “you already know.”
pause.
you stole a look at him. ryland had gone very still, hands braced on the edge of the console, head bowed like he was trying to think his way out of this. he looked just as wrecked as you are. tense, flushed, jaw tight like he was grinding through it.
the lab suddenly felt too small, like the walls had inched closer, like the air had thickened into something you had to push through just to breathe. you were still standing too close to each other. close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. close enough that every tiny shift felt amplified. and neither of you seemed able to take that one simple step back.
you both pretended to think. which would’ve been easier if your thoughts weren’t constantly derailing.
“okay,” ryland said finally, too quickly, like he’d been holding the word in his mouth for a while. he wasn’t looking at you. he hadn’t been looking at you for a solid minute now, which somehow made it worse. “solution. we need a solution.”
you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “yeah. yeah, obviously.”
he paced once, twice, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “we don’t know the duration of the effect. could be hours, could be longer.”
“right,” you said, your voice coming out tighter than you meant.
“it might not get worse,” he said quickly.
you both paused.
“it’s definitely getting worse,” you said.
“yeah,” he admitted. “yeah, that’s fair.”
another stretch of silence followed, thick and charged and deeply unhelpful.
another beat. he stopped mid-pace, suddenly locking eyes on your lips again as you bit the lower one in concentration. a visible shiver ran through him.
you, meanwhile, were transfixed by the way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he breathed. arms. shoulders. that stupid little strand of hair falling over his forehead.
it was ridiculous. you were both adults. professionals. stuck on a ship light-years from home with an entire species depending on you not screwing this up.
and yet.
both of you looked away at the same time.
he continued pacing, then he straightened slightly, like he’d latched onto something solid. “okay. i’ve got it.”
you perked up. “yeah?”
“isolation.”
silence.
“what?” your voice came out small.
“we isolate,” he repeated, more firmly now, like saying it again would make it more reasonable. “separate areas of the ship. minimal contact. we wait for the effects to wear off.”
you stared at him. “you’re kidding.”
“i’m not kidding.”
“ryland, that’s not a solution. t-that’s— what if it gets worse? what if it doesn’t wear off?”
“then we reassess,” he said, easy. “but right now, the safest option is distance.”
you laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “distance? on this ship? we share literally everything. systems, controls, workload—”
“yeah,” he said, gaining momentum, talking faster now. “we separate. different sections of the ship. minimal contact. we only communicate over comms when absolutely necessary. reduce exposure to.... stimuli.”
“stimuli,” you repeated flatly.
he made a small, helpless gesture. “i’m trying to keep this clinical.”
you stared at him. really stared this time.
“ryland,” you said slowly, “we are on a single-crew mission with two people.”
“yes.”
“yao and ilyukhina are—”
“i’m aware.” his voice was tighter this time, jaw clenched.
“we barely manage everything together on a good day.”
“we’ll adjust.”
“adjust?” you let out a short, disbelieving breath, shaking your head. “we’re already compromised. you said it yourself. attention issues, cognitive interference. you think splitting up is going to make that better?”
his jaw tightened. “it removes the trigger.”
“it removes the only person who can help when something goes wrong,” you shot back. “we don’t have backup. we don’t have a third crew member to pick up the slack. if something breaks, and something will break, we need both of us functional.”
“we are functional,” he insisted, but it came out strained, like he didn’t fully believe it.
you took a step closer without thinking.
his entire body reacted.
it was subtle. so subtle you almost missed it. but it was there: the way his shoulders went rigid, the way his breath hitched just slightly, the way his hands curled like he was holding himself in place.
that alone made your point for you.
you gestured between the two of you. “this is not functional.”
he didn’t answer.
you softened your voice, just a little. “we don’t know how long this is going to last.”
“it could wear off in a few hours,” he said, but it sounded more like hope than certainty.
“or it could be days,” you said quietly.
he didn’t argue.
“or weeks or never at all!” you added, pushing it, because you needed him to really think about it, not just cling to the best-case scenario.
“it’s the only plan that doesn’t make things worse. it’s better than the alternative.” he replied.
you stilled. “what alternative?”
he didn’t say anything.
which, unfortunately, was an answer.
you exhaled slowly, your chest tight. “okay. no. we’re not doing this vague shit. we need to actually say it.”
“we really don’t,” he said quickly.
“we do,” you insisted. “because if we don’t, we’re just going to keep circling around it and nothing gets solved.”
he dragged a hand down his face. “no.”
“ryland—”
“no,” he repeated, firmer this time. “we are not— no. that is not the solution.”
you stared at him. you've never heard his voice went that rough. that low. “it’s the only solution that makes sense.”
“it’s not a solution,” he shot back. “it’s—” he stopped, jaw tightening. “it’s not something we should even consider.”
“we both know what this is doing to us,” you pressed, voice low but steady now. “it’s not just going to fade if we sit in separate rooms pretending we’re fine. it’s getting worse.”
“i said no,” he repeated, sharper this time.
“and what happens if it peaks while we’re in the middle of something critical?” you continued anyway. “a maneuver, a repair, a calculation— what then? we just hope we can think straight?”
“we will think straight,” he snapped. “we’re not animals.”
“no, we’re worse,” you shot back. “we’re aware of it and still can’t stop it.”
he looked away first, jaw flexing, like he was trying to clamp down on something.
“we are not going to make a decision like that under the influence of alien—” he gestured helplessly, “—whatever this is.”
“we might not have a choice,” you said.
“we always have a choice.”
“do we?” you asked. “because right now it feels like we’re both in agony and pretending that distance is going to fix it.”
he flinched. barely, but enough.
“you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said, quieter now. steadier. like he was forcing the words into place. “okay? whatever this is, it doesn't make that decision for us. you don’t—” he stopped, swallowing. “you don’t owe me anything. not for survival, not for the mission. nothing.”
your expression softened for half a second, before hardening again.
“this isn’t about owing anyone anything,” you said. “this is about reality. about what’s actually happening. we can’t function like this, ryland.”
“we can,” he insisted. “we will.”
“you don’t believe that.”
he didn’t answer.
you stepped closer without thinking. his shoulders tensed immediately, like proximity itself was dangerous.
“look at me,” you said.
he did.
“you’re telling me to isolate,” you said, softer now, but more intense. “to stay away from you, to fight this out on our own, when we both know exactly what would make it stop.”
his breath hitched. just slightly, but he held his ground. “knowing something doesn’t mean we should do it.”
“why not?” you asked. “if it works, if it stabilizes us, if it lets us actually do our jobs.... why not?”
“because that’s not a choice,” he said, the words coming out sharper than he meant them to. “that’s a reaction. that’s the pollen making the decision for us.”
“or it’s us making the best decision with the situation we have,” you countered.
“no,” he said, shaking his head, stepping back now like he needed the space. “no, that’s not the same thing.”
you followed without realizing.
“then what is?” you demanded. “we wait it out and risk compromising the mission? we split up and hope nothing goes wrong? how is that better?”
“because at least it’s ours,” he snapped.
the words hung there. then he froze, like he hadn’t meant to say it that way.
you frowned slightly. “what?”
he dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “if we— if we do this, it shouldn’t be because we’re backed into a corner. it shouldn’t be because some alien dust messed with our heads and left us with one option.”
“it’s still us,” you said. “it’s still our choice.”
“is it?” he asked quietly.
that got you. because there was something in his voice now. something deeper than just logic. something personal.
“i don’t want that,” he went on, more quietly now, but more intense for it. “i don’t want.... something like that to happen because we had no other way out. because we were trying to survive it. i don’t want it to be something we look back on and think, ‘we didn’t really choose that.’”
you stared at him.
he looked away again, jaw tight.
“that’s not—” you started, then faltered. “that’s not what this is about.”
“it is for me,” he said.
there was a beat.
“we don’t have the luxury of waiting for perfect conditions,” you said, more gently now. “we have a mission. we need each other functioning.”
“i know,” he said. “i know that.”
“then stop pretending this is something we can just outlast.”
“i’m not pretending,” he said, voice rougher now. “i’m choosing the option where you don’t wake up later and regret it.”
pause.
you blinked at him. your voice came out quieter than you intended. “you think i’d regret it.”
“i think,” he said carefully, “that this isn’t exactly a clear-headed situation.”
you opened your mouth but no argument came out. because he wasn’t wrong.
“i’m just saying that it might fix the problem.”
“at what cost?”
a beat.
he stepped closer. just one step, but it closed the gap enough that the heat surged again, sharp and immediate, both of you feeling it.
his hands flexed at his sides like he was actively resisting the instinct to do something else with them.
“you think you won’t regret that?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “you think we won’t look back at this later and realize we only did it because we didn’t have a choice?”
you didn’t answer right away.
he shook his head, almost to himself. “that’s not…. that’s not how that should happen.”
there was something else in his voice then, something quieter, buried under all the logic and resistance. something that didn’t quite belong to the situation at hand.
“if we’re going to—” he stopped, jaw tightening, then tried again. “if something like that ever happens, it shouldn’t be because we’re trying to survive some alien.... whatever this is. it should be because we actually—”
you watched him cutting himself off. the way his shoulders were locked, the way his whole body looked like it was braced against something internal, something he was refusing to let slip.
“isolating wouldn't work,” you said quietly. “we can’t do this alone. not here. not now.”
“maybe not,” he admitted.
“then—”
“i’m still not doing that,” he cut in.
you blinked. “ryland—”
“i’m not,” he repeated, firmer now. “we’ll figure something else out. we’ll manage it. we have to.”
“even if it makes things harder?”
“yeah,” he said. “even then.”
you searched his face. trying to understand. trying to find the line he wouldn’t cross.
“you’re really that set on this,” you said.
“yeah,” he said quietly.
another pause.
“fine,” you said at last, though it didn’t sound like agreement so much as reluctant acceptance. “we do it your way.”
he nodded once.
“we isolate,” you added. “but if it gets worse—”
“we reassess,” he said immediately.
neither of you moved.
just stood there, separated by a few steps and a whole lot of tension, both of you very aware of how fragile that distance felt.
like it could disappear in a second.
like he might cross it.
like you might let him.
his jaw tightened.
his shoulders went rigid again.
and for a split second, he looked like he might—
but then he turned away.
“i’ll take the lab first,” he said, voice a little rough. “you can have the cockpit.”
you swallowed. “okay.”
“we’ll.... check in. over comms.”
“right.”
—
you weren't sure what time it was, but two things for certain: you were going crazy because sleep refused to come and the ceiling was mocking you.
you had been lying in bed, tangled in your sheets for what felt like hours but was probably just twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling, flipping from one side to the other like a rotisserie chicken. the gold dust still simmered under your skin, turning every shift of fabric into slow torture. your tank top clung to your damp chest. your shorts felt too tight, too rough, too everything. you rolled onto your stomach, then flopped onto your back again, kicking the blanket off with a dramatic groan.
“this is stupid,” you muttered into the dark, dragging a pillow over your face like that might solve anything. “this is so fucking stupid. i am the pilot of the hail mary. i’ve navigated black holes in simulations. i should not be this horny because of some stupid alien dust.”
another wave of heat rolled through you, settling low and insistent between your legs. you whimpered softly, pressing your thighs together, but that only made it worse.
your brain refused to calm, looping the same thoughts over and over again.
ryland’s voice.
ryland’s face.
ryland's arms.
ryland's hair.
just him in general. the way he’d looked at you before you separated. the way his voice had tightened. the way his shoulders had gone rigid like he was holding himself together by sheer force.
you groaned softly into your pillow, pressing your face into it like that might smother the thoughts.
with a frustrated sigh, you shoved the covers off and swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor a brief relief against overheated skin. you sat there for a second, breathing, trying to steady yourself before started pacing.
“isolation,” you scoffed under your breath, pacing faster. “yeah, great plan, ryland. fantastic plan, ryland. terrific plan! it was never gonna fucking work.”
you sighed again before stopping to take a deep breath.
“okay,” you said to yourself. “it's fine. it's fine! you're okay. you're doing good. just— breathe. it’ll pass.”
you closed your eyes and tried to focus.
in.
out.
in—
“mhmmph—”
pause.
you blinked an eye open.
what—
“mhmphhh— fuckk—”
—the hell was that?
you tilted your head slightly, listening.
at first, nothing. just the low hum of the ship, steady and familiar. long enough you were starting to think that your brain was playing tricks on you.
but then—
“oh, please— please—”
it was soft and faint. slightly uneven. and came from the other side of the wall.
and the other side of the wall was ryland's room.
you froze. you heard it again. a low, muffled whimper drifted through the thin wall
unmistakenably ryland.
he was in the room next to yours.
awake.
and very clearly not handling this any better than you were.
he was trying so hard to stay quiet, really committing to the bit, but failing miserably. another whimper followed, shaky and desperate, quickly bitten off. the faint, rhythmic sound of skin on skin. a muttered curse. your name, whispered like he was cursing the universe for putting him in this position.
heat flooded your face so fast you probably matched the emergency lighting. you stood there, mouth slightly open, ears straining despite yourself.
is he—
no.
no way.
no fucking way.
another moan, softer this time, but unmistakably him. he was doing a terrible job at being stealthy. the wall might as well have been paper.
you paced faster, hands flapping uselessly at your sides like a malfunctioning robot.
dilemma time. big, stupid, pollen-fueled dilemma.
option #1: stay in your room. be responsible. respect the isolation plan he’d suggested earlier like the noble scientist he was. suffer in dignified silence until the dust wore off. maybe meditate. or count rivets in the ceiling. very professional.
option #2: march over there, bang on his door, and finally deal with whatever this is, together.
you stopped, pressing your ear against the cool wall, right where the sounds were loudest. another whimper from his side. your stomach flipped. your body voted very enthusiastically for option two.
“but he said isolate,” you argued with yourself in a harsh whisper. “he was all ‘we’re professionals, we can handle this.’ what if i go over there and he freaks out? what if it gets awkward? what if he opens the door with his dick in his hand and we both just scream?”
you frowned at the mental image. not very flattering thing to think about.
“fuck, no. i’m strong. i’m a pilot. i’ve done evasive maneuvers in asteroid fields. i'm on a mission to save earth. i can handle one night of alien-induced horniness without climbing my crewmate like a tree.”
you resumed pacing, arms crossed tight over your chest like that would somehow contain the fire. three steps. turn. three steps. the sounds from his room continued. another low moan, a bitten-off “shit” that sounded way too sexy for your sanity.
you stopped again, staring at your door like it was the airlock to certain doom.
your hand hovered near the door panel. you yanked it back like the button burned.
“no. professional boundaries. we have a mission. we have dignity. we—”
a particularly broken moan cut through the wall, followed by a muffled thump like he’d smacked his head against something.
you groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “okay, fuck it. i’m weak. i’m so fucking weak. if he doesn’t want this he can yell at me tomorrow when the pollen wears off.”
a beat.
“if.... it ever wears off.” you added.
before you could talk yourself out of it again, you marched to the door, heart hammering like a faulty thruster. you raised your fist and banged on his door, loud, impatient.
no turning back now.
inside, everything went dead silent. then frantic shuffling. something clattered to the floor. then the door finally slid open.
ryland stood there, flushed crimson, hair a disaster, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. his glasses were crooked. shorts wrinkled, barely even on, one hand still guiltily hovering near his waist. his eyes widened comically when he saw you.
you didn’t give him time to speak.
you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him forward, and kissed him hard.
he made a surprised noise that got immediately swallowed when you kissed him, the door sliding open the rest of the way as he stumbled back into the room.
for a second, he didn’t move. just froze, like his brain had short-circuited.
then his hands came up instinctively, one landing on your waist, the other tangling in your hair as he kissed you back with pent-up desperation. you stumbled forward into his room, mouths still locked, and kicked the door shut behind you with your heel.
the kiss was messy at first. noses bumping, tongues fighting. but neither of you cared. you poured every ounce of frustration and heat into it. his back hit the wall and he pulled you closer, hips pressing against yours so you could feel exactly how affected he still was.
after a long, dizzying minute you forced yourself to pull back just enough to breathe.
“wait, wait,” you said, out of air. “you were the one who wanted to isolate. if you want me to stop.... say it. we can pretend this never happened—”
“no— no, no, no, no. don’t you dare,” he said immediately.
you blinked. “what?”
“don’t say we can stop and then actually mean it,” he said, like that was a personal attack. “that’s— no. absolutely not.”
you huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “you were literally the one arguing against doing this.”
“i know,” he said. “i was wrong. past me was— misguided. naive. deeply out of touch with current events.”
“current events,” you repeated.
“yes,” he said, nodding once, very serious about this. “new data has come to light.”
“and that data is?”
“i need you.”
a beat.
“please.” he stared at you, eyes dark and glassy, lips swollen. his hands flexed on your hips like he was scared you’d vanish. for a heartbeat the only sound was your ragged breathing and the low hum of the ship.
“i tried— i really fucking tried to be good. but this dust is evil and you were just right next door and you look too good in that tank top and i’ve been losing my mind for hours. please.”
you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “oh, so that's what the staring was for earlier?”
“i.... well, i mean— yeah.” he stammered, realizing there is no point of pretending anymore.
you couldn't help but chuckled. “yeah, okay. the feeling's mutual.”
“yeah?” he laughed too.
“yeah.”
“can i kiss you again then?”
you smiled. “thought you'd never asked.”
this time it was him who surged forward, kissing you slower this time, deeper, letting the burn build deliberately. his glasses fogged up immediately, the lenses clouding over from the combined heat of your breaths. he didn’t take them off. didn’t even reach for them. just kept kissing you through the haze, like the fog made it somehow hotter. your fingers traced his jaw, his neck, the rapid flutter of his pulse. he shivered under your touch.
you walked him backward toward the bunk without breaking the kiss. when his knees hit the edge he sat down heavily, pulling you with him so you straddled his lap. the new position pressed you right against the hard line of him, making you both gasp into each other’s mouths.
slowly, you started undressing each other. your hands slid under his shirt, palms mapping the warm, flushed skin of his chest. he lifted his arms so you could tug it off. you tossed it somewhere behind you, leaving him in only his glasses. he returned the favor, peeling your tank top up inch by inch, kissing every new strip of skin he revealed. your stomach, the underside of your breast, your collarbone, until the fabric was gone.
his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. you rose up on your knees so he could slide them down your thighs along with your underwear. you kicked them away. then you focused on his shorts, tugging them down slowly, savoring the way his breath hitched when you freed him.
naked now, you settled back onto his lap, skin to skin. the contact was electric. you took your time, rocking gently against him without taking him inside yet, just feeling the slide and heat while you kissed him lazily, tongues tangling in slow, filthy strokes.
you reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him. he groaned loud, head tipping back, the sound vibrating through his chest. “fuck— your hand feels so good,” he breathed, hips twitching up into your grip. “please don’t tease me— been dying for this.”
“you sure about this?” you murmured against his lips between kisses, giving him one last out even as your hips rolled in a slow, teasing circle.
“never been more sure of anything in my life,” he breathed, hands gripping your thighs.
you laughed softly into his mouth, the sound turning into a moan when he shifted his hips just right. one of his hands slid between your bodies, fingers exploring with gentle, curious touches until you were trembling.
only then did you reach down, wrap your hand around him, and guide him to your entrance. you sank down inch by torturous inch, both of you moaning at the slow, perfect stretch. when you were fully seated you stayed there for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in while your bodies adjusted.
then you started to move.
slow rolls of your hips at first, savoring every drag and press. ryland’s head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat. you leaned in to kiss along his jaw, his neck, sucking lightly at his pulse point while you rode him with deliberate, unhurried patience. his hands roamed your back, your sides, your breasts, learning every curve like it was new data he needed to memorize.
gradually the rhythm built. your movements grew deeper, harder. the bunk creaked steadily. soft gasps and moans filled the small room. his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your rhythm falter and your breath catch.
“ryland— fuck, just like that—”
“you feel so good,” he panted, voice breaking on the words. “oh, baby— don’t stop, please—”
it hit you like a solar flare. you cried out his name loud, clenching around him hard, hips stuttering through the waves. he followed right after, burying himself deep with a broken, guttural moan.
“yes— fuck— coming— inside you— god, you’re perfect— take it all—”
you collapsed against his chest, both of you trembling, hearts hammering in sync. his arms wrapped around you tight, holding you close while the aftershocks rolled through, glasses still fogged and slightly askew on his nose.
for a long moment, neither of you said anything.
you were half sprawled across him, one leg tangled with his, your arm draped somewhere over his chest like you’d both simply.... collapsed and decided to stay that way. the room was quiet except for your breathing, slowly evening out, though not nearly fast enough to feel normal.
ryland was staring at the ceiling.
very intently.
like it had just revealed the meaning of life and he was still processing it.
“....so,” you said eventually.
“so,” he echoed.
another pause.
you shifted slightly, propping your chin on his chest so you could look at him. “on a scale from one to ‘we should never speak of this again,’ where are you at?”
he didn’t look at you.
“....i’m considering faking amnesia.”
you snorted. “wow. rude.”
“i’m kidding,” he said quickly, then paused. “mostly.”
“mostly,” you repeated.
“okay, no, that sounded worse than i meant it,” he said, finally turning his head toward you, eyes wide like he was trying to fix it in real time. “i don’t regret it. i do not regret it. i just—” he gestured vaguely with one hand, which was difficult considering you were partially pinning him down, “—need a second to emotionally catch up with my own life choices.”
you raised an eyebrow. “your life choices led you to space.”
“for the record, i did not consent to that.”
fair, but you ignored him. “and then to alien pollen.”
“unfortunately, yes.”
“and then to me.”
he hesitated.
“that part i’m less willing to categorize as a mistake.”
you stared at him for a second.
then narrowed your eyes. “that was almost smooth.”
“thank you,” he said. “i panicked halfway through it.”
“i could tell.”
another stretch of quiet settled in, but it was different now. looser. like the tension that had been buzzing under your skin all day had finally burned itself out, leaving something softer in its place.
“....for the record,” you added after a moment, “your ‘being quiet’ plan earlier? terrible.”
he made a strangled noise. “oh my god.”
“like, impressively bad,” you continued. “i heard everything.”
“you did not hear everything.”
“ryland.”
he covered his face with both hands, cheeks heated up. “i would like to be ejected into space now.”
“denied,” you said immediately. “we need you for the mission.”
“please, just kill me already.”
“also,” you added, very seriously, “for future reference, the wall is not soundproof.”
“i have gathered that,” he said into his hands.
“just making sure.”
he peeked at you through his fingers. “....are you going to bring this up again later?”
“oh, constantly.”
“i walked into that one.”
“you really did.”
another quiet moment passed.
you could feel his breathing steady under you now, less uneven, less strained.
“....hey,” he said after a while.
“yeah?”
there was a small pause before he spoke again, like he was choosing his words more carefully this time. “are you okay?”
it caught you off guard.
not the question itself, but the way he asked it. steady. grounded, like he needed the answer to mean something.
you blinked, then nodded. “yeah,” you said, softer. “i am.”
he turned his head then, just enough to look at you properly, like he needed the visual confirmation to go with it.
“okay,” he said finally, the word carrying more weight than it should have. “i'm glad.”
you nudged him lightly with your shoulder, a small, grounding kind of contact. “you?”
he let out a breath that sounded like it had been stuck somewhere in his chest for a while. “yeah. i think so. which is honestly surprising, given.... everything.”
another quiet stretch settled over you, but it wasn’t awkward. not really. just calm, in a slightly surreal, post haze kind of way.
eventually, the exhaustion caught up with you. real, actual exhaustion this time. not the restless, jittery kind from before.
you shifted closer without thinking, your head settling more comfortably against him.
he stilled for half a second then relaxed. his arm tightening just slightly around you.
“also,” he added, voice softer now, almost drowsy, “for the record…. i don’t regret it.”
your chest tightened. you didn’t lift your head, didn’t look at him. just let the words settle somewhere quiet inside you.
“…me neither,” you murmured.
that was the last coherent thing either of you said.
because a few minutes later, the exhaustion finally won.
"fuc— fudge— fudge, fudge, fudge—", he breathed. His hand besides your head now clawing the sheets so hard, you are certain you heard a pop. His breathe is uneven, hitting your shoulder. His other forearms just laying flat against the mattress, some of your hair underneath but you don't complain about it.
"are you alright?", you breathed. It was apparent that you were smiling. It could be heard in your voice, for Pete's sake! Your hand traveled from his ribcage, all the way up to his cheek. Oh, that made his breathe stutter.
"yeah— yeah, oh, I'm so fine—", he stuttered. His hips moved. Slowly. Every slow drag out, he closed his eyes. His lips pressing together like they were concealing every secret he had. And, every push in, his eyes opened. Not like he could see much, his glasses fogged up from his own breathing.
"I'm so okay— very okay. Everything is— greangh—", his head dropped on your shoulder when you hooked your legs around his waist. A teasing smile on your lips quickly turned into a open mouthed gasp when his hips snapped on their own.
The hand on his cheek moved to rest on the back of his neck. "Ryland—", you whispered. That seemed to catch his attention as he moved up from his position of laying over you. Now, you could see all of him.
His chest moving from the uneven breathes. His fogged up glasses. Hair slightly askew, falling over his forehead. His lips parted, you could see the sheen layer of sweat glisten under the mood light.
You could tell he was about to say something, your hips moved before his lips could. Grinding against his, begging, screaming for more friction or action or anything. The words stuck on his tongue immediately turned into a choked groan.
"wait— wait, wait, wait", his hand pressed on your stomach. Which did nothing to motivate you to wait. It just pressed you harder against the feeling of him inside, your back arched as you let out a moan, "oh—"
His hand lifted like he touched lava, literally. You opened your eyes, glaring. Was he really adamant on not letting you get off tonight?
Your hand wrapped around his wrist as you yanked him forward, his free hand scrambled to find a solace while yours just pulled him closer by the back of his neck.
"Ryland Grace, if you don't fuck me right now. I swear—", he didn't even have to let you finish. His hips already started moving. Making you take a sudden breath before falling back down on the mattress.
"sorry— I didn't realize I was stalling, heh—", he breathed. "Did you know, that sex functions as a moderate— oh my gosh", he moaned, his hand moving to rest on your hip.
"moderate—", his other hand pushed his glasses up, "exercise that burns 3 to— to", his hips moved. He talked so much, "4.2 calori—mphf—"
Your hand, that was resting on the back of his neck just moved. Two fingers prodding at his lips before resting in his mouth when he opened them to speak. You could feel the warm saliva and soft muscles around it, teeth careful not to graze your fingers.
"shh—", your eyes closed, focusing on the way he feels. But not before you saw the way he nodded and feel his tongue push your fingers to the roof of his mouth.
a/n: I need to make out with this man while he tells the weirdest and the most useless facts he knows while I'm trying to shut him up
cw: smut, MDNI‼️, masturbation, sex toy use, dry(wet) humping, oral f!receiving, face sitting, multiple orgasm, overstimulation, handjob, teasing, edging, power play, orgasm denial, praise, messy, NOSE!!! yeah his nose is very much involved, and ofc the glasses stays ON.
summary: Ryland has been spending far too much time at the lab, neglecting his girlfriend in favor of science. Unfortunately for him, she has evidence, grievances, and a very specific punishment in mind.
Ryland barely notices the silence in the house when he gets home.
After another exhausting day at the lab, his mind was still occupied with unfinished reports and tomorrow’s reviews. He removed his jacket as he walked down the hallway, already looking forward to collapsing into bed.
Then he hears it.
A breathless voice from behind the bedroom door.
“Ry~” His footsteps falter.
“Please…ahh-”
The sound’s soft, desperate.
“R-ryland.” Ryland’s head snaps up.
Was she calling for me?
For a moment, he simply stares at the closed door.
As he moves closer, he catches another sound coming from inside. A faint, steady buzzing that makes realization dawn all at once.
His hand freezes on the doorknob. “Is she?”
The moment he slowly pushes open the bedroom door, there you are sprawled across the bed, writhing and panting.
“hngghhh…”
“Need him-…ahh”
A few hours earlier, while going through one of your drawers, you stumble across something you haven’t seen in years. A vibrator your friend gave you as a joke for your birthday nearly three years ago. At the time, you laughed so hard you nearly cried, tossing it aside and forgetting about it entirely.
Now, though, with Ryland buried in work and your patience wearing thin, the forgotten gift suddenly feels a lot more useful than funny.
For weeks, you’ve barely seen him. He’s gone before you wake up and rarely makes it home before you fall asleep. Every plan has been postponed, every moment together interrupted by work.
The frustration has been building for longer than you want to admit.
And today, you finally have enough.
Turning the dusty box over in your hands, you let out a quiet laugh. It doesn’t seem as ridiculous as it once did. After a moment of hesitation, you pull it from the packaging and switch it on.
The sudden buzz makes you jump.
“WOAH!” You mutter, biting back a nervous smile.
That was strong…
A strange mix of embarrassment and amusement settles in your chest. The whole thing still feels a little ridiculous, if you’re being honest.
Then again, so is waiting around forever for Ryland to finish his research.
“Honestly, that’s on him for being too busy.” You huff, hesitantly pushing your shorts and panties down.
I miss him.
With a sigh, you sink back against the pillows, staring at the toy in your hand.
“How am I even supposed to use this?” You mutter. “Do I need to… prepare myself or something?”
You wait for an answer that never comes.
Whatever.
At this point, you don’t care anymore.
A soft hiss escapes your lips as the toy brushes against your folds. Moving it cautiously, you guide it with gentle, tentative strokes, trying to get used to the unfamiliar sensation.
The moment you switch it on, the sudden vibration makes you jump.
“Oh—” Your grip tightens instinctively. The feeling is startling enough to make your breath catch.
It feels good, but all it really does is remind you of what’s missing. Ryland.
You find yourself imagining his touch, not because this feels bad, but because it isn’t him.
“Ry~”
His name slips from your lips before you can stop it and to your annoyance, your eyes begin to sting.
Everything feels wrong.
You’re frustrated, yes, but more than that, you’re lonely.
You don’t expect to feel this way while being in a relationship. Not when Ryland cares about you as much as he does, not when he always makes time for you whenever he can. But lately, work has taken him away piece by piece.
If he were here, he’d know exactly what to do.
He’d pull you into his arms, kiss your forehead, and remind you that you aren’t alone.
And right now, that’s what you miss most.
It’s been nearly twenty minutes, and all you feel is frustrated exhaustion.
“hngghhh…need him”
The desperate cry leaves your lips, completely unaware that Ryland is standing in the doorway.
He freezes.
For a moment, he can only stare.
He watches how you slowly shift onto your knees, settling into a position that feels familiar. Your face is mushed into the pillow with your ass up. Usually, he is there behind you, his warm hands on your hips, his lips softly nipping at your shoulder as he pounded deliciously inside of you.
“Fuck…” Ryland breathes.
He can feel his own pants tightening at the sight, he can see everything, all bare and glistening.
Is it wrong that he finds you a little cute?
You look so frustrated, trying so hard to take care of yourself and getting absolutely nowhere.
Your hand tightens around the toy as you move yourself against it, searching for more pressure, more friction, anything.
But nothing feels right.
Nothing compares to him.
A wave of embarrassment washes over you.
This is pathetic.
You’re alone, desperate, and still can’t get what you want.
“Ry—hnnghhh…” The toy slips from your grasp as a broken sob escapes your throat.
You know you aren’t getting anywhere like this.
Before you realize what you’re doing, you reach for one of Ryland’s pillows instead, hugging it tightly against your chest.
The familiar scent only makes everything worse.
Your sobs grow louder.
From the doorway, Ryland feels his chest tighten. The guilt hits him immediately.
You miss him.
Yet when he watches you bury your face into the pillow, clinging to it like it might somehow replace him, another surge of heat curls through his stomach.
Especially when you start humping against it.
His jaw tightens as he watches. Everything makes it even harder to look away. He can feel himself reacting, his cock is twitching at your desperation.
And before he can stop himself, he walks closer to the bed.
“w-want more…hngghh”
Your voice cracks as you shift into another position, searching desperately for something, anything, that will finally help.
Still nothing.
Then suddenly, you feel a familiar warmth on your hips.
“AH—” You gasp, whipping your head around.
Ryland…
With an almost cocky smile tugging at his lips, the sight of it only makes your embarrassment worsen.
Your lips tremble.
The moment your eyes meet his, tears spill freely down your cheeks. With a distressed sound, you throw yourself forward, burying your face into the pillow.
“Y-you are so m-mean!”
Your accusation comes out muffled between sobs.
Immediately, Ryland’s expression falters. The guilt he’s been feeling hits him all over again.
“Baby~ i’m sorry”
“How l-long have y-you been watching me?” You ask, only peeking with one eye as your face is still hidden in the pillow.
“uh- I…” Ryland rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
His hesitation tells you everything. A mortified whine escapes your throat.
He’s seen the whole thing.
“This is all because of Y-YOU…” You lash out, pointing a trembling finger at him.
“M-me?” Ryland stutters, also pointing at himself.
“You’re always busy and working and all…ughhhhh” You let out a frustrated groan.
“You don’t have time for me anymore.” The words dissolve into another miserable wail.
“And i-…” Your voice cracks.
“I just needed you…”
The rest of your words become another sob as you bury your face deeper into the pillow.
Ryland is completely torn between feeling guilty and being worked up. You being all whiny and needy for him is too much of a turn on.
But at the same time, he knows he deserves some of the blame. Lately, the research has taken up so much of his attention that he hasn’t been giving you nearly as much time as you’re used to.
So without a word, he slowly climbs onto the bed behind you. His hand glides up your leg, over your thigh, before finally settling on your hip again.
“Baby…” He murmurs. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you, hmm?”
The back of his hand gently traces along your side, slowly caressing the soft skin of your waist.
“We can go as many times as you want,” He continues, leaning closer as he lightly nibbles at your ear.
“However you want.”
He adds it, leaving him just as eager as you are.
The promise is whispered against your skin.
He gently takes hold of your shoulder and turns you to face him. Brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
You don’t answer him, just quietly wrapping your arms around him, sinking into the warmth of his body as a content hum escapes your lips.
Ryland continues his trail of affection, pressing kisses to your temple, then each of your cheeks. When he kisses the tip of your nose, a small giggle slips from you before he finally captures your lips in his.
His kiss is slow, not demanding but deep. The gentle pace draws soft moans from you, each one swallowed and answered with an equally soft grunt from Ryland.
Slowly, he slips down from your embrace, dragging his lips toward your neck, leaving trails of wet kisses as his warm breath shudders against your skin.
He continues kissing his way down until he reaches the hem of your top, slowly pushing the fabric upward and exposing just enough skin. Grazing the tip of his nose from your navel back up to your still half-covered breast, he continues kissing over the fabric.
As if not having you close enough, he nuzzles his face against the soft curves of your chest, groaning at their softness.
He begins sucking on your nipples, leaving a wet patch on top of the fabric. If anything, the thin fabric acting as a barrier only adds to the friction with every drag of his tongue.
“Ry~” You call softly, your fingers tangling in his hair.
The feeling of you tugging softly on his hair only makes him realize how much he has missed this too.
Missed being this close to you.
Missed hearing your sweet sounds.
Missed feeling your hands on him.
Just as much as you miss him.
With both of your bodies still lying sideways, he continues kissing and nuzzling his way down your body until he is finally met with the sight of your glistening heat.
A sharp moan escapes his lips.
Carefully hiking one of your legs over his shoulder, he presses a soft kiss against your folds before teasingly nudging your sensitive bud with the tip of his nose.
A whimper breaks free from your lips at the contact.
He knows exactly what he is doing.
The frame of his glasses pokes against your skin as he buries his face completely in you. With his nose still pressing firmly against your clit, his tongue licks a wide stripe along your soaked folds.
“So wet and sweet for me.” Ryland murmurs, his voice roughened by a groan.
Your thighs instinctively closing around him, and Ryland’s head spins at the feeling of them clamping against him.
Both of his hands slide over your ass, pulling you even closer to him and holding you in place.
His tongue starts pushing past your entrance, drawing a sharp gasp from you as the new sensation makes your hips rock against his face.
One of his hands trails up to the small of your back, pushing gently to encourage your movements.
“That’s it, Princess…”
He pulls back just enough to talk.
“Just like that. The same way you were using my pillow.”
His eyes flicker up to meet yours through his lopsided glasses. Even though you can’t see it, you can feel a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
An embarrassed whimper escapes you at the memory of him catching you earlier, but you just can’t stop rocking your hips.
With his tongue delving deeper inside, your body starts writhing.
“T-too much—ahkk…Ry—” You choke out the words, trying to get away from him.
Your moans only grow louder as he continues, heat coiling tighter and tighter inside you.
“Ry!”
You yelp, and Ryland only moans in response, tipping you over the edge.
Eyes rolling back as your legs tremble through your release, broken moans spilling from your lips while he refuses to stop.
Suddenly, Ryland rolls you onto your knees before you even recover.
You try to push yourself up, but his hand immediately pulls you down flush against his face again, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
“hnnhhh-no…” You protest weakly, the sound coming out as little more than a squeak.
Your head falls back when his tongue goes right back inside of you, his hands sliding to your waist, tightening their grip as he guides your movements.
Ryland only has one mission tonight, to make up for every moment he has spent neglecting your needs.
Tears blur your vision as the pleasure becomes almost unbearable, but you love the dizzy, lightheaded feeling it gives you.
So you try moving as he demands.
“Yeah…r-ride my face, come on.” Ryland manages to huff out between breaths.
Your breath hitches at his words.
Both hands on either side of his head, your fingers dig into the sheets, crumpling them beneath your grip as you struggle to hold on, trying your best to roll your hips while following the firm guidance of his hands.
Ryland is practically suffocating himself, but he is exactly where he wants to be, drinking in every drip of you and basking in your reaction, every trembling movement, every desperate sound that falls from your lips.
“Ah—hAH…Ry-Ryland!” You almost scream.
Ryland just hums in response, focusing on getting you to finish.
Your body convulses, moans turning into faint little cries as you come again. Tears falling at the sight of his face covered in your slick.
You move quickly, turning around in an attempt to escape his grip, but Ryland easily pulls you back, seating you on his face once again.
“One m-more…please, Baby.” He pleads, breathing deeply against your folds.
“Ca-can’t—”
You desperately try to get away, but he just shakes his head, denying your plea.
This time, however, your back is facing him. The new position seems to encourage him even more. He presses his face deeper, breathing you in with an almost possessive desperation.
The feeling of him down there is so filthy that fresh tears start running down your face.
You scream out at the friction of his stubble brushing on your clit, far too much for your already sensitive body.
“Wait! Ry—! nnghh…”
You paw at his thighs, trying to push him away, only to feel his chin press harder with every frantic movement.
And that snaps something inside you.
Your whole body starts shaking uncontrollably, mind going blank, jaw falling open as you gasp desperately for air, squirting out streams of liquid drenching his face. Some of them even got on his glasses, trickling down to the bed.
“hanngh…S-sorry, m’sorry” You blabber, wishing you can stop yourself from dripping more.
You’re full on crying now, never expecting your body to react this way.
And Ryland is having the time of his life.
“Fuck~” He can’t help the whimper that escapes him at the sight of how much you let out. “That’s it.”
Yeah.
That’s it!
Your gaze lands on the toy from earlier.
With trembling fingers, you reach for it while your other hand busies itself with fumbling at his trousers.
Ryland doesn’t even notice what you’re doing.
So pussy drunk, completely focused on lapping you clean, far too occupied to pay attention to the mischievous look spreading on your face.
The moment you have the toy in your hand, you quickly switch it on, pressing it on his cock and holding them firmly together.
“W-what—AGH!” Ryland lets out a strangled cry.
A triumphant grin tugs at your lips.
Now, it’s his turn.
And you aren’t about to let him off easy.
His hands finally release their hold on you, only to clutch at the sheets as he struggles to hold himself together.
You slide down to straddle his stomach. Looking back at him through your lashes, you give him your best puppy eyes.
“However I want.”
You remind him sweetly.
The teasing smile on your lips only widens.
Once again, Ryland isn’t sure whether he should be turned on or alarmed by this.
The vibrations feel so good they nearly roll his eyes to the back of his head.
“Oh~…mmph—”
Without even realizing it, his hips jerk upward.
“You’re liking this, don’t you?” You pout, sounding almost offended by how much he seems to be enjoying himself.
Abruptly, you pull away, stopping everything.
“Fuck—” Ryland’s eyes shoot open at the sudden loss of contact.
“W-why’d you stop?”
He tries to sit up, only to be pushed back down by you settling on top of him. He could easily overpower you, but he enjoys being toyed with like this far more than he cares to admit.
“You’ve been a very bad boy, Ryry.”
You declare firmly, shaking your head in mock disapproval while wearing the most spoiled expression imaginable.
“I told you to stop, but you were being so mean.”
Ryland stares up at you through glassy eyes.
Amused by the sudden change in attitude, he decides to play along, completely unaware of the sneaky little plan already forming in your head.
“I-i’m sorry, Princess. I promise, i’ll be good”
He says it while shamelessly bucking his hips upward.
“Hmph.” You huff out sassily, refusing to drop the act as you press the vibrator against him again.
Ryland let out a shaky relief moan, instinctively chasing after the feeling, his hips rolling into your hand in search of more.
You let him enjoy it for a while.
Then you stop everything.
Again.
“NO! hannh—”
The protest bursts from him immediately.
“You. Are. Being. Greedy.” You scolded, jabbing your finger on his thigh at every word.
“No moving until I say so.”
Ryland nods dumbly at you, agreeing without hesitation.
Far too quickly, honestly.
Anything to make you start again.
The moment the vibrations return, his eyes flutter shut. Before long, he is panting openly, every breath coming out uneven and shaky.
You occasionally twist your wrist, adding more pressure as his precum begins dripping out.
“C-close…” Ryland breathes.
Only for you to stop all over again.
Testing him.
Punishing him.
And maybe enjoying your newfound power a little more than you should.
You repeat the process several more times, edging him, then stopping right before he can finish. Again and again, leaving him writhing and whimpering pathetically beneath you.
“Don’t you dare cum until I tell you to.”
His cock is now swollen and red, almost hurting, so hard and ridged with veins standing out prominently. Every texture of him gets soft whimpers slipping from your lips.
“Please~”
Tears start streaming from his eyes.
“Please—l-let me cum…” He begs.
Fuck…
He looks so adorable like this, cheeks dampened with tears, eyes puffy behind those pretty glasses.
Is this the same man who has you trembling and squirting earlier? Yes.
You start rubbing yourself on him, wetting the shirt that is still covering him.
“hahnnn~ I missed you so much Ryry.” You moan out, grinding against him harder.
“Yes…y-yes…miss y-you too, so much.” Ryland manages to say in between his pretty moans.
You can feel the firm lines of his muscles beneath the fabric, the texture only adding to the friction.
Ryland might intentionally tense them.
Eager to please you.
And far too worked up by the sight of you using him however you please.
You slide forward, letting your folds touch against him, body reacting instantly, growing even more sensitive from the contact, more of your slick dripping onto him.
Ryland lets out a strangled cry, realizing what you’re doing.
Slowly laying your body onto his, you call for him softly.
“Ry~.”
The sound of his name immediately catches his attention.
“Touch me…” You whisper.
Finally.
One of his hands instantly squeezes on your tits, fingers nipping and flicking on your nipples, his other hand moves down to help you hold on his length close to you. The tip pushes against your clit at every movements as it vibrates adding to the stimulation.
Both of you are now a moaning mess, desperately rubbing against each other.
One of your hands tangles in his hair, softly tugging at them. Each pull draws louder moans from him, while your own breaths come out in heavy pants against his cheek.
With everything building between you, neither of you has much composure left.
Yet Ryland still holds himself back, patiently waiting for your permission even after being denied countless times.
“C-cum on me, Ryry.”
You manage to choke out.
His entire body tenses.
“Make a m-mess.”
That’s all he needed.
“HANGHH—!”
His hips jerk upward as both of his arms wrap tightly around your waist. Finally letting go, spurting out ropes of hot cum landing on your skin.
You can’t help yourself, back arching at the overwhelming pleasure washes through your body at the same time, messing all over the bed.
The toy slips from your grasp as you finally let it go, leaving both of you trembling.
“T-thank you, thank y-you, Princess…hnnghhh”
Ryland’s words dissolve into incoherent moans as he continues to cling to you, still letting go, so overwhelmed after holding himself back for so long.
“hmmhh~ so much cum.” You moan out, enjoying the sticky mess out of him.
Ryland’s body shamelessly reacting to it, making one last tiny spurt even after he finally stopped.
You softly suckle at his ear, trying to soothe both him and yourself as you slowly come down from your high.
For several long moments, neither of you can do anything but cling to each other, lazily kissing each other’s warm skin.
Until.
“C-can you uh—do me…properly…”
You ask, voice so small as Ryland’s lips still sucking on wet marks along your neck.
He lets out a soft chuckle before answering.
“Okay, just give me a minute hmmm?”
You nod, smiling sheepishly as you climb off him and immediately curling up at his side.
Let’s just say, you end up pressed into the mattress, screaming all night long.
afterword: it’s crazy how his glasses didn’t break during all that… and now that i’ve finish this, i realize this could be from the same universe as “Needy” hehehe.
English isn’t my first language, so there might be a few awkward phrases or grammar mistakes here and there. If you spot any mistakes, feedback is always appreciated.
ANYWAYS, i’m postponing the steamy rom-com cause it’s longer than i expected, so i’m offering this one instead.
Thank You so much for reading this -actual Grace❤︎
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anyone else notice the insane amount of self-deprecating and self-hatred in ryland grace's discussions about his accomplishments, research, and credentials? how the only time we see him with any sense of 'light' or 'joy' is at the very beginning of the film with the children he teaches? the minute the conversation shifts into him, his work, his abilities, his studies, he shuts it down. when they talk about him going on the mission, he doubles down. 'i put the not in astronaut' comment included. he continues on with this belief once he wakes from his coma, feeling out of his depth and 'not worthy' of being there or incapable of doing so. even when rocky is asking about if he has a mate, he mentions that his girlfriend broke up with him because 'she thought i had my head in the clouds'. in this essay i talk about how ryland grace is a modern portrayal of men's mental health, how it is impacted by the rejection of a partner and how men's mental health is easily missed and dismissed in multiple manners-
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sometimes i wonder if we have forgotten that sharing creative work is, fundamentally, a bid for human connection. like I'm not posting art or fic for 'engagement' i'm posting it looking for other sickos to play with! i'd be making it anyway for my own gratification because there's something wrong with me, i'm sharing it hoping we can have something wrong with us together <3
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