sleep // rye
Choices: The Heist: Monaco - Rye x Reader, fluff
requested
Summary: Rye’s sharp eyes danced with humor, a smile pulling on his lips. “You need to go to sleep.” / “Sleep is for the dead.” / “We’re all dead men, (Y/n).”
Your eyes burned. Not wanting to shake your focus, you rubbed one eye at a time, still scouring the blueprints in front of you as though something else would appear to you. There had to be another way into the vaults - preferably one that didn’t include your safe-cracker becoming a contortionist and potentially snapping his spine. It was your job to find a way, and you wouldn’t rest until you could find some other entrance, some other opportunity...
“You’ve been at it for hours.” Rye walked over to you, one eyebrow raised as he considered your sleep deprived state. “If you haven’t found it by now—”
“There is another way. There always is.” You pulled your gaze away from the blueprints to look at his watch. Even as you focused on the tiny hands on it’s face, you couldn’t determine the time. You sighed and reached for the disposable cup of coffee at your side. It was mockingly empty. You scowled.
Rye’s sharp eyes danced with humor, a smile pulling on his lips. “You need to go to sleep.”
“Sleep is for the dead.”
“We’re all dead men, (Y/n).”
“Not if I can find a way in,” you argued, but your tired voice absolved your point of any credibility or sway it might have had.
The man before you simply shook his head. “You’re not going to make any headway like this - so I’m telling you, for the good of the job, to get some rest.”
You opened your mouth to object, to tell him that no matter how tempting his argument, you refused to leave your seat without a plan, but a yawn broke through your defenses, instead. Rye looked at you pointedly, and you pushed yourself out of your chair, mumbling your curses at his practicality. He chuckled lightly, following you to your quarters in the hideout - a small twin bed, your clothes and old coffee cups strewn across it.
“How much coffee have you had?” Rye furrowed his brows as you pushed everything off, creating a heap at the foot of the bed.
You laughed, having had this conversation before. It was true, you probably drank more than was deemed healthy this past week, but it had kept you going. The group needed answers and you would be damned if you didn’t find them in those godforsaken blueprints.
“I’m flirting with death,” you mumbled, pulling back the sheets and getting in. The old mattress felt like heaven compared to the unforgiving chair you had been clocking hours in earlier, and you sighed in relief. Maybe Rye was right about getting some rest...
“It’s not a good look.” Rye was staring at you, his gaze soft and affectionate, contrasting his words and speaking the truth.
“But flirting with you, is.” You winked between a yawn and laid down onto the soft bed, your eyes already starting to close.
Rye smiled, and you caught a glimpse of it before nodding off.
