hellloooo!! welcome! my name is Ali and I go by she/her pronouns 𖤐
i’ve made this blog because i’ve been inspired and want to start posting my writing! i’m mainly writing for the Joe Keery and Ryan Gosling fandoms, but I’m open to suggestions and requests! I also have a Joe and Ryan edit account on TikTok!
don’t be scared to say hi! i’d love to be friends ✩
hope to see you soon! ☆༄˖°.‧₊
- Ali ㅤ♡
(see masterlist below c: )
*ੈ✩‧₊˚masterlist!ㅤ♡
Joe Keery characters:
Gator Tillman:
★ just like him. - after your son’s late night upset, Gator reacts inappropriately. mortified and guilty, he accepts your supports and learns he isn’t his father.
★ horrid reflection - Gator’s getting older. And when he looks in the mirror all he sees in the reflection is Roy and his past staring back at him.
☆ pure (coming soon!)
☆ that damn guitar (coming soon!)
Kurt Kunkle:
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Steve Harrington:
★ honesty - when washing up doesn’t go to plan, you and steve learn how important it is to communicate.
☆ expectations (coming soon!)
Baron Lamram:
☆ what about us? (coming soon!)
Travis ‘Teacake’ Meacham:
☆ stupid song (coming soon!)
Walter ‘Keys’ McKey:
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Ryan Gosling characters:
Lars Lindstrom:
★ across the road - Lars’ morning routine is interrupted by a moving van across the road. Unknown to him, his life will change thanks to that van and a gentle knock on the door.
★ begged - pt.1, pt.2, pt.3 - life with Lars has been nothing but bliss, but eventually a mindless touch becomes the tipping point for him.
☆ masculinity (coming soon!)
Ken:
★ new barbie - when a new barbie appears in Barbie Land, Ken is confused by his feelings. she doesn’t look like all the others, but maybe that’s why he takes such a liking to her.
summary: after a confusing breakup, you and Lars battle with your emotions and on how to finally reconnect with one another.
warnings: none! just yearning and sad reader and Lars :c
note: i have been working on SO many different stories recently so I thought it would be better to post a mini chapter to keep you guys fed! Part three will be out soon <3 thank you millions for all of the support!
It had been three devastating days since yours and Lars’ breakup… if you could even call it that.
After that night, you’d wondered what to do. Whether to see if Karin knew what to do or try to talk to him at church. You wanted nothing more than to see him. To apologise. But you were worried it’d make him even more upset or make your relationship unravel further. You knew in times like these that he needed space, but it had never gone this far before. Deciding against it means potentially avoiding making things worse, but will they get better? You had no idea.
So alas, now you’re here. Sat on your bed watching shitty reruns with a tub of ice cream and a broken heart.
You dive the spoon into the tub for another bite of your favourite ice cream, but you’re greeted with the scratch of metal against cardboard - you’d eaten it all. Now heartbroken and hangry, you flop back against the bed with a bounce and a huff.
God, what you’d do to see him. To see his smile or hear his quiet giggle. He was everything to you. Lars was the best thing to ever happen to you and now that he was gone yo-
thump thump thump
The gentle knock on the door snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts. Wiping the cold tears from your cheeks after you pull yourself out of bed, you swing open the door, expecting the delivery person or-
Lars.
~*~*~*~*~
Stomping the snow off of his boots, Lars re-enters the garage to see you gone and his beloved blanket, the one he’d given to you in an attempt to desperately show his love, neatly folded on the bed.
All of the blood drains from his face, his expression one of pure devastation.
You’d gone. You’d left him. Your two year anniversary and he’d ruined it all.
His mind was spiralling with terrible scenarios. She’ll never speak to me again, he thought, she hates me and I’ve ruined everything and-
Breaking down into hiccuping sobs, Lars collapsed onto his bed and buries his face into the blue blanket, the smell of you overwhelming his senses.
He falls asleep like that. When he usually dreams of snowy walks or chopping wood, all he seems to be able to think about is you.
The next day, he can feel his heart breaking further when you don’t turn up at church. So he does the natural thing, spending the whole service sat pouting, shoulders hunched as he desperately tried to disappear into the pew.
Word had gotten around, as it does, and the snoopy old ladies were distraught to hear about your break up. Lars was always happy, especially with you, so to see him this down was nothing they’d ever seen before.
At the end of the service, Janet walked up to him, heels clicking against the old wooden floors.
“Lars, dear?”
He looked back, stopping in his tracks.
“Here,” she holds out a beautiful pink carnation, one she’d plucked from the bouquet which sat at the end of the aisle, “you go and make it better.”
And with a smile, she rejoins her group of friends and exits the church, leaving Lars stood in shock but with a new sense of determination.
“I’m patient, you’re learning. Pretend it’s not hurting” ♪♫✮༄˖°.‧
parts: part 2, part 3
summary: life with Lars has been nothing but bliss, but eventually a mindless touch becomes the tipping point for him.
warnings: break up, panic attack, upset!Lars and reader, snoopy old ladies.
note: i was listening to begged and had this idea and it’s been on my mind ever since! This will be the sad part, and part two will have a happy ending I promise! very excited to write this as Lars is everything to me. if you want to be tagged in part two just let me know :)
taglist: @djolivia
It started when the old ladies at church, the ones who wore floral cardigans and ballet flats, started to gossip.
They’d huddle together on the pews, Janet throwing the occasional paranoid glance over her shoulder to ensure neither of you were listening in.
“That Lars boy and his girl? They don’t touch much you know.”
“Sure… I did notice. But you know how he is.”
“Ladies won’t wait forever Doris, god bless that woman.”
Janet glanced back, seeing you two sat close as you could without touching, Lars smiling softly at you with doe eyes while you ranted on about a new obsession or your daily activities
“They seem happy, it’s fine.”
Lars wasn’t a toucher, everyone knew that. Certainly you. The way he’d unravel at the burning sensation even the slightest touch would bring.
You didn’t mind, not really.
Lars was attentive in ways others weren’t.
He’d listen and remember even the smallest of details, whether it was a gift you mentioned in passing or a favourite movie. He’d help you out when you didn’t even ask, whether it was fixing something broken or replacing a daily necessity. And he’d always put you first, whether it was holding the door or making plans, even always serving you first at dinner.
He was an absolute angel, so everything else outweighed his touch aversion, but after a while, you really struggled. Having always been a touchy person, being physically distant from your own partner really hit you. He’d said many times he was trying and learning and working on it- but was he? The most you’d ever been touched by him was a rare kiss on the head or hand hold, but he always knew it wouldn’t be enough.
Eventually, as you learnt more you began to understand him better.
How to feels, mentally and physically, to be touched. How it affects him, the nights he’s spent sobbing quietly into his pillow in pure loathing of his touch aversion.
You loved Lars, every fibre of your being was pulled towards him like your body was compass and its only job was to get to him. You knew he was your person, your rock.
All of the nights spent near but not touching began to mean more, and you learnt to wait. To be patient for the day he would finally loosen up. And you were okay with that, it hurt, but you would wait.
It all came crashing down one night - the night of your two year anniversary.
Lars had poured his heart into cooking you two a candle lit dinner, chicken a bit too crispy and a fire alarm having gone off twice, but it was perfect. You both ate in his tiny kitchen, talking about a new interest or something that happened at work.
Once dinner was done, you and Lars washed the dishes in happy silence. It was one of your favourite things to do with him, it felt warm and domestic, giving you a taste of how it would feel to grow old and live with the man you love. It was also an excuse you brush your fingertips against his when passing plates or cups.
Afterwards, the two of you sat on the couch, the cushions moulded around your body, as you watch shitty reruns deep into the night. The seat creaked as you shuffled towards him, desperately trying to get him to initiate contact.
Lars was wearing your favourite sweater of his, the one with the little reindeers on it, and his usual under layers, so thinking it was fine, you rested your head on his shoulder, a new point of contact.
The second your head settled onto his firm shoulder, he yelped, jumping up like a frightened puppy. You immediately shuffle back, creating distance between you and your other half.
“Lars? Im so sorry! Are you okay?” Panicking, you dart up from the couch and stand infront of him. His usually gentle doe eyes were clenched hard in overwhelm, and he buried his face in his hands. Chest rising and falling rapidly, he drags his hands through his hair and begins to pace, the floorboards creaking under his restless footsteps.
“Oh Lars please im so- im sorry…” you manage to whisper out, taking a step back to give him space.
“I can’t even touch my girlfriend.”
Your brows furrow in worry.
“What? Lars it’s okay, c’mon let-“
“No. No no no- I- I can’t even-“ sensing a panic attack coming along, you usher him to the sofa without touching him. It was times like these that made your heart ache. Seeing him in so much distress really upset you, but Dagmar and Karin had taught you what to do in this situation.
“Head between your knees baby, remember what Dagmar says?” You encourage, placing a warm hand on the middle of his back, something you knew helped ground him.
Taking deep shuddering breaths, he continues to mutter quietly.
“I’m so sorry. I-I can’t- I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”
The pure emotion in his voice is too much for you, leading to the both of you sat on the couch with teary eyes.
“Lars stop that please…”
Once he calms down as much as he can, he sits up, chin in his palm as he averts his wet gaze from yours. His normally perfectly gelled hair is messy, strands flying away and falling in front of his painfully beautiful face.
“You don’t deserve this.”
Confusion bubbles in your blood like a boiling kettle of worry. Lars gets upset sometimes, overwhelmed at life, but he never says things like this.
“What?…”
“I’m not good for you.” The gentleness of which he uttered your name shattered your heart. You knew what he meant, what this was leading to you. You felt it like impending doom. “You should go. We-we shouldn’t do this anymore.”
“No. No-no I’m not going. Don’t be silly Lars it’s fine.”
Lars simply shakes his head and gets up.
“I’m going to chop wood.”
And with that, he grabs his coat, fumbling with the zipper as he pulls it up, pulls on his gloves, the ones you got him for his birthday, and leaves.
Autumn leaves crunch under his feet as he travels further from the house. Further from his other half.
And then it’s just you.
Left alone on your… on Lars’ couch with a wet face and a broken heart.
Clearing your throat, you shakily grab your bag, gently pulling out Lars’ sacred blue blanket. He’d lended it to you the week before when you mentioned how much you miss him in the night. You fold it with immaculate care and place it on his bed.
It felt like taking off a wedding band.
With a kiss to the worn fabric and a teardrop falling off of your cheek, you stand up, the room feeling unnaturally cold in his absence, and leave.
i’m very excited to post it so I wanted to tell you guys that im working on my first two part story! it’s currently the longest thing I’ve posted (i know my posts are short anyway hah) but i CANNOT WAIT!!
It’s called begged, and is inspired by Olivia Rodrigo’s song by the same name! It’s a Lars Lindstrom x reader and the first part is QUITE SAD but part two is happy i promise!
summary: Gator’s getting older. And when he looks in the mirror all he sees in the reflection is Roy and his past staring back at him.
warnings: grumpy!gator, sweet!reader, memories of abuse (not graphic just shouting), fluff, gentle!gator
note: i am SO proud of this! as of now, this is probably my favourite out of the fics i’ve written. i hope you all love it too! please protect this grumpy cowboy </3
taglist: @oneddjo
Life was quiet. Quiet in a way that made you appreciate waking up every morning, a way that made you savour every breath. Over the years, Gator grew to love the quiet. All his life, he was surrounded by fear and noise.
But now?
He’s surrounded by you and your love. It had been heaven on earth for him, being able to finally leave his past in the dirt and devote himself to being a better man.
But it wasn’t always easy. And his past didn’t always stay buried deep in his memories.
It was a cold Minnesota morning, the frost sneaking in through the draft. He’d gotten used to it since he moved here to get closer to Dot. He wanted to help her, to redeem himself after his years of wrongdoings, and that’s when he met you.
Luckily, the cold wasn’t so bad when you were draped over him, covers somehow ending up on the floor and a drop of drool leaking from the side of your mouth.
Inhale… exhale…
God, he could stay here for years. Just like this.
With almost painful precision, Gator shifted you back onto the mattress and carefully stepped out of bed, back achy with age. Pushing 40 now, he’s grown used to the random cracks and aches his body creates. Practically dancing to avoid the creaky floor boards, he made his way to the bathroom, running a calloused hand over his face.
His gaze reaches the mirror, staring at what he sees. Crows feet by his eyes. Lines of age and experiences strewn across his face like contour lines on a map. A couple of stubborn grey hairs, and to Gator’s dispair, hints of something unmistakably Roy.
Yeah. No.
Horrid reflection.
Elbows braced on the sink, he buries his face in his hands.
And all of a sudden he’s back on that goddamn farm.
~*~*~*~*~
“You good fer nothin’ lizard. What’s gotten into you, boy?” Roy’s disapproving voice booms through the house. Gator was thrilled when his daddy finally gave him a job: track down and catch a robber who’s been sneaking round Stark County for weeks.
And he tried. Oh god did he try. But you can never help a bad day.
First, his car wouldn’t start. And once Roy came over to look, it started first try. Embarrassing.
Then, he hit a pot-hole and chucked coffee all over the fresh leather seats of his police cruiser.
It can’t get worse right? Oh it can. And it did.
Pulling up to the robber’s location, he placed a firm hand on his holster, stepped out of the car with all the confidence of an overzealous kid and projected his voice through the door.
“Hey! Stark county sheriffs department, open up!”
The smirk on his face was wiped off clean when the door opened and a gun was shoved in his face.
It went horribly. And the robber got away.
Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to send a fresh out of high school kid out to catch a felon.
Alas, here he was. Once again getting berated by his own father.
Roy was red with anger, shouting and ranting as Gator stood there and just took it. Years of this, years. And he was used to it, this was just how his daddy was when he got angry.
He can only hope he grows up to be like his momma.
~*~*~*~*~
“Baby?”
Your soft morning voice and gentle hand on his back jolts Gator out of the memory, causing him to flinch and take a wide step back.
“Oh, im sorry.” Brow furrowed, you take a step back. Over your relationship you’d learnt every in and out of Gator’s character, you know he needs space. “Do you need any-?”
Two strong arms curl around you, pulling you in to your other half’s firm chest. Hugging him back with a hold that could heal any wound, you whisper in his ear.
“Y’know hon, i had a dream ‘bout you last night.”
A weak attempt to cheer him up, but you can only hope.
He replies with a gruff hum and a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
“We went to the beach. I think it’s a sign.” You smile softly and move to cup his cheeks, his face scratchy with stubble.
“I look like Roy.”
You frown and use your thumbs to gently rub his jaw.
“What do you-?”
“I look like my dad. I look just like him.”
Gator steps back, huffs, and rubs his face.
“I’m old and grumpy and all i see in the mirror is a ‘hard man for hard times’. God.” He laughs, but there’s not an ounce of humour in there.
“Gator… hon, no. You’re not old. And yeah, you’re a little grumpy,” you smile softly, “but you’re not Roy. You’re Gator. You look like Gator and talk like Gator and you know what’s even better?”
“What.” His gaze is locked onto the floor.
“You’re my husband.”
That made him look back at you.
“You’re my wonderful, strong, handsome husband.” You hold his hand, giving him support.
“I love you Gator. You’re nothing like Roy.”
He hugs you again, tighter than you ever thought possible.
“Damn woman… I love you more.” Gator grumbles, but there’s only love in his voice.
And when he finally drags his eye line back to the mirror, he doesn’t see his father’s horrid reflection. He just sees Gator Tillman. Your husband. Yours.
I am back with another request this time Steve and you are sorting out the kitchen when you correct something that he is doing wrong. This turns into a heated argument where Steve accuses the reader that all they do is blame him
honesty
Steve Harrington x reader
summary: when washing up doesn’t go to plan, you and steve learn how important it is to communicate.
warnings: reader can be read as neurodivergent! upset!steve, silent treatment, couples argument, confused!reader, fluff at the end.
note: yet another superb request! i’m loving writing these and i hope you all love reading them just as much c:
The soft clink of dishes and cutlery echoes through your and Steve’s shared home. You loved days like this. Golden rays spread across the kitchen, your window open and welcoming the summer sun, Steve finally off work and all yours, it was perfect.
Washing up was always a two person job in your house, you washed the dishes while your other half dried them and put them away. This is your first time washing up since moving into your new house, a place you can perfectly picture having a family and growing old in with, of course, Steve.
You were a very precise person. Everything had its place. Your makeup, clothes, books, coats and even the dishes had to be put in its exact spot. It was hard for people to understand sometimes, with people just assuming you were helpful whenever you adjusted what they had done. Spending years biting your tongue around friends, you felt like you could finally give in to the urges with Steve.
“Baby, it doesn’t go there. You need to put the small cup in the big cup. O-oh! And the pairs need to be paired.” You speak up, head not raising from staring at your hands working in the sink.
The only response you get is a gruff hum from Steve, a rare sound indeed. Without seeing his face, you just assume he was nodding, agreeing with your request. But after minutes of the talkative Steve you know being nowhere to be seen, you begin to worry.
“Steve angel? Are you okay?” Stepping over, you place a gentle hand onto his firm bicep, his gaze locked onto the towel and cup in his hands.
“‘M fine.” Your other half murmurs, acting off.
“Hey… you can talk to me. Did i do some-“
“Yes. It was- of course it was you. I’m just-“ he huffs, chucking the towel and cup down onto the counter and running a calloused hand over his face, “i just can’t seem to do anything without being questioned or-or told im wrong.” Bright doe eyes stare into yours and you swear you can feel your heart melting. “I’m trying okay? I don’t get what your problem is with everything.” He says sharply, hitting too close for comfort.
“Hey, no need to get snappy Steve. I want to help okay?” You lift a hand to his face, but he pulls away.
“Don’t. Don’t tell me what to do.” The way he says your name under his breath absolutely wrecks your heart, the man you love clearly upset by your actions.
“I-im sorry…” You murmur, stepping back and giving him space, falling back into your now silent routine.
~~~~~
Crickets sing into the deep night air as you stare up at the ceiling, Steve turned away from you in your shared bed. It’s unbearable. This man you’ve grown so used to talking to 24/7, the man you love through sickness and health, was completely blanking you. And you’d had enough.
“Stevie baby? Can we talk?” Placing a hand on his shoulder, you pray he’ll respond.
Sitting up with a huff, he turns towards you, still not uttering a word.
“Listen… I’ve thought about everything and now i realise how… how unclear I’ve been. I don’t say any of it to make you upset or feel less, I just…” you shuffle closer with a sigh, “I have this thing. I’m a very meticulous person. Everything has to be in the right place or i just feel… wrong.”
Thank god. His face softens into a picture of concern and he turns himself to face you more.
“I’m sorry. I really am. It’s not you, i promise. It’s not a good habit and i need to lear-“
“Oh, sweet girl… im so sorry.” Big hands cup your face with almost painful care.
“I just… i was worried it was me. That i was doing something and didn’t notice it. I just don’t-don’t want to lose you…” forcing out a smile, Steve wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap.
“Never, Baby. You could never lose me.” You hum, “im sorry. Thank you for listening to me. I think I need to work on communicating things better.”
“Yeah angel, me too. Hey… Are we besties again?” You can hear the laughter in his voice.
“Yeah,” you giggle, burying your face and placing a kiss on his neck, “besties.”
Once sleep takes over the both of you, all worries seem to melt away, and you thank yourself for finding such a respectful man.
P.S: thank you for all the support guys! I really appreciate it! I’m always welcome to requests, questions or even constructive criticism! Thank you millions :]
A Ken one where the reader is the new Barbie around town and Ken actually starts to fall for her which is weird because she isn’t stereotypical Barbie please please please
new barbie
ken x barbie!reader
summary: when a new barbie appears in Barbie Land, Ken is confused by his feelings. she doesn’t look like all the others, but maybe that’s why he takes such a liking to her.
warnings: none! pure fluff and adorably flustered ken!
note: i am OBSESSED with this request! i’ve been waiting all day to get home and write this so I hope you enjoy it!!
Ahh. Yet another perfect pink day in Barbie Land.
Ken wakes up, everything going just as normal. Hair perfectly styled, clothes perfectly smooth, completely ready for his job, beach! He was lucky enough to be in the right mindset for his beach-off with Ken later in the day.
“Hi Ken!”
“Hi Barbie!”
“Hey Ken!”
“Hi Barbie!”
That’s the life. The perfect life in Barbie Land. Sun beaming down, he confidently struts down to the golden sands. The pink roads smooth with care, pavements perfectly framing the dreamhouses and a bright blue sky. This was the place to be. Ken always loved Barbie Land, he loved his friends: Ken, Ken, Ken and Allan. But he suddenly stops in his tracks, he’s distracted by the hustle and bustle of Barbies huddling together.
“There’s a new Barbie!”
“Oh! Yay!”
“I want to meet her!”
“She’s fun!”
Huh? A new Barbie? Woah. The crowd parts as he makes his way over and his eyes almost burst out of his skull at the sight of you. Looking nothing like the other Barbies. No straight blonde hair or clean pink dress in sight. Just you. Colourful, messy, unapologetic you. All colourful clothes, fun makeup, glitter, sparkles and a hint of something that none of the other Barbies bring to the table. Although, of course you’re wearing heels. Can’t have flat feet in this paradise!
“Hiya! Im Barbie!”
Ken is enamoured. The song of your voice drifts into his ears and he steps forward with a strong outstretched hand.
“Hey Barbie,” he smirks, “I’m Ken.”
Shaking his hand, you smile happily at him, excited to begin your life in this perfect pink world.
~~~~~
It’s been your first perfect fortnight in Barbie Land.
Living everyday happier than ever, smiling your way through your job as Fashion Barbie, you’re glad to have your best friend by your side.
“Ken! Hey!” Beaming, you run up to him with practised ease over the sands of the Barbie Land beach. He hugs you tightly, skin smooth and sun-kissed from his work.
Returning your greeting, you fall into step beside each other, taking in the sights of your perfect pink home town.
“Hey… Barbie?” Ken speaks up, fingers crossed.
“Ken?”
“Can I come to your house tonight?” He waits with bated breath. You, Barbie. You’re his entire world, so in his plastic brain, the fate of his life lays in your response.
“Sure!”
YES! YESYESYES!
Ken rejoices internally, pulling on a happy smirk.
“Great! I can’t wait!”
~~~~~
The time has finally arrived, and Ken masks his nerves with swagger as he walks up to your dreamhouse and knocks on the door.
You open the pristine pink door, and he feats his eyes on your soft, colourful pyjamas. He loves how you always are able to find a way to show your sparkle no matter the occasion.
“Ken! Come on in!”
The night flys by, full of fun and giggles and pure joy. It’s now late in the night, stars sparkling in the sky like the sequins on your favourite dress.
And Ken finally works up the confidence to ask you the question which is currently burning a hole through his throat.
“Barbie?”
“Yes Ken?” You hum with the sweetest smile.
“Would you like to be… girlfriend and boyfriend!”
You squeal.
“Yes! Oh Ken, yes I would love to!”
Ken blushes hard, a painfully happy smile smack bang on his face.
“Give me a moment please…” he hastily stands up and turns around the corner, barely 6 feet away from you.
…
…
“SUBLIME!”
And the night drifts away in giggles and finally confessed feelings.
summary: Lars’ morning routine is interrupted by a moving van across the road. Unknown to him, his life will change thanks to that van and a gentle knock on the door.
warnings: none! some mentions of touch aversion and pain but just pure fluff c:
note: Lars you mean the world to me. as always, no use of y/n !
Wake up, brush teeth, make bed, eat breakfast, get ready for work, grab blanket and go. That was the routine which Lars followed to a T every morning. And it was going perfectly. The snow outside his window danced and fluttered through the sharp winter air, each one glistening and twinkling as the gentle early January sun hit them.
With a deep breath, his face morphed into a small smile as he tucked himself further into the blue blanket wrapped around his neck. It was very important to be in the right mindset for work, so every morning Lars had his quiet time while staring out of the garage windo-
BEEEP. BEEEP. BEEEEEP!
His gaze locks onto the moving van which is parked outside the little cottage across the road.
Great. More people to muster up the courage to talk to. More awkward conversations to come. More- oh my god.
With wide eyes, Lars frantically shuffles away from the window to hide from the unfairly pretty girl walking down his drive. The unfairly pretty girl who is holding a plate of homemade cookies.
thump thump thump!
At the gentle knock on the door, his eyes shut tight for a few beats before hesitantly opening the creaky garage door.
Radiant. Fresh. Kind.
Your smile is so radiant it almost burns a hole through Lars’ face. Forcing himself to peel his line of sight from your lips, his eyes lock onto the plate of cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. Slightly burnt and crisp where they should be soft, but cookies you made.
“Hello!” You beam at the adorably flustered man behind the door, and give him your name. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you! I’ve just moved in across the road. This place is adorbs!”
Adorbs? Goodness, you’re something. But something someone Lars wants to get to know.
With a simple nod and a small, nervous smile, Lars manages to murmur out a quiet “hm.”
“Well, I brought you some cookies. Handmade!” Enthusiasm practically oozes from you, and he can tell how genuine and kind you are. “What’s your name?”
“Lars…” he almost whispers.
“Lars.” You repeat, as if you’re testing how it feels on your tongue. “That’s a very nice name. Anyways, I’d hate to further disrupt you.” With a timid step back, you hold out the steaming plate of cookies. “Here! For you!”
It’s like the sun itself knocked on his door and brightened up his lonely life. Everyday like the other, Lars desperate for love and touch he knows only hurts once given to him. But you, you and your real smile and work scarf. You and your easy kindness.
He wants to try.
“Thanks…” Taking the plate with glove-clad hands, he places down on the table next to him.
Panic rises through him like a flood as he sees you move to return to your new house.
“W-wait!”
You turn, met with the sight of Lars’ hand, for once not protected by his glove, out stretched towards you. Waiting.
As if he touched a cloud, the warmth of your hand linking with his fills him with excitement. Excitement to see you again, to learn all about this new girl he got blessed with.
You shake his hand with a gentle grip, and Lars doesn’t even seem to notice the burning sensation sparking up his arm at the rare skin on skin contact. All he seems to be able to notice is you.
P.S: sorry it’s a bit short! i had this idea and just wanted to get it out :) feel free to leave suggestions!!
summary: after your son’s late night upset, Gator reacts inappropriately. mortified and guilty, he accepts your supports and learns he isn’t his father.
warnings: mean!gator (only for a little bit I promise), memories of trauma and abuse, soft!gator, kind reader.
note: in my mind, this takes place after the events of season five, but Gator’s injury didn’t happen. This poor baby’s been through enough :c thank you so much to my best friend @djolivia for the idea for this ㅤ♡ kind of badly proofread so sorry if there’s any mistakes!
A peaceful nights sleep. That’s all Gator wanted. Hours of soft slumber while wrapped up in your arms. He had just about settled down, the tension flowing out of his muscles as he relaxed and softened into you. Gator knew he’d stay here forever if he coul-
“Momma!? D-Daddy?”
Your six year old son’s shaky voice echoes through the walls of your house, his distress evident. With a groan, Gator reluctantly peels himself away from you.
Placing a hand on his arm, you say, “Gator, I’ve got it. Don’t worry.” with a soft smile.
Shaking his head, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and eases you back down before slipping away. After finally escaping Roy and his past, Gator way slowly getting used to normal life and intimacy. It was hard at first, having a child was something he never saw in his future. When you grew heavy with his baby, he filled with dread. Fears of becoming just like his father. Ruthless, uncaring, cruel. But this was his chance to break the bitter cycle and let it all go.
“Hey little man, what’s up?” He leans against the door frame of your son’s room, brow furrowing as his gaze lands on your child’s distressed face.
“I- hiccup- I had a bad dream”
Scooping him up in his arms, Gator tries his best to soothe him in his own tired, inexperienced way.
But what seems like hours pass and Gator’s little boy is still crying.
“C’mon kid, calm down for me.” Dread rushes through his body. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He just wants to help. To be there. To end whatever pain his father passed into him to plague his families future generations. But Gator doesn’t know how the hell to do it.
“Son. Deep breaths. Copy me.” He tries to use the same methods he uses on you when you get overwhelmed or upset, although even that is still a struggle.
More time passes and all he can hear rushing through his head is his son’s cries and pure frustration.
“God, can you just man up!” Gator snaps at the shaky boy who’s now nestled back under his sheets. His little fingers white with the force of his grip on the bedsheets and his eyes wide in fear and confusion at his father’s outburst.
A moment of silence passes.
And the boy sobs.
“No… n- c’mon. I didn’t- I didn’t mean it.” He stutters out, desperately trying to redeem himself.
The padding of footsteps echoes down the hall to the bedroom.
“Gator? Baby? What’s going on- oh.” Your face falls, eyes darting over the scene in front of you. Gator’s wide, mortified eyes, distraught at his actions towards your son. Your child’s pout and wet cheeks, imperfect trails of tears running down his fresh face. You immediately understand what happened.
Placing a soft kiss on Gator’s forehead, you gently guide him up and off of the bed, giving the young boy some space. Heart pounding, he stands by the door, restless with the need to correct his mistake.
“I-I really didn’t mean to! I-I just- he wouldn-“
You cut him off with a small sympathetic smile and a raised hand.
“I know. Hang on baby.”
Gator watches you with bated breath as you soothe the boy down from his fuss.
“Let me talk to daddy baby. Okay?” Smiling gently, you step out of the room, taking a very remorseful Gator with you.
His gaze is locked to the floor, hair falling down in front of his face in a painfully soft way.
“I didn’t know what to do.” He manages to murmur out.
“I know. I know baby. You tried.” Cupping his cheek, you lift his line of sight to yours.
“All I thought… after I shouted, was like… huff… I- I’ve tried so hard not to be him. You believed in me so much. Knew it could do it. But- but at the end of the day I’m just a fuck-up like him.” The rare sight of tears roll down his face as his lip wobbles, shutting his eyes tight like he couldn’t bear to face whatever your reaction might be.
“Gator. Look at me.” He lifts his gaze, your eyes meeting his impossibly perfect face.
“You’re not him. You’re not Roy.” Your soft hand, juxtaposed with Gator’s rough ones, lifts to mirror the other, cupping his face with painful care.
“That boy loves you. And he knows you, we both do. You made a mistake and that’s okay. It’s all you knew Gate. I’m not mad, or upset, and you’re not Roy.” A gentle smile blossoms across your dimly lit face, warm light spilling from your son’s room.
“I’ll… I’ll go and apologise.” He rubs a calloused hand over his face and gives you a slow peck on the lips before heading back in with painful care.
The little boy sits under the sheets, his fingers dancing through the air and he softly hums to himself.
“Son? Can daddy have a word?” He nervously croaks out as he plops down onto your son’s bed.
The child sits up and curls into his daddy’s lap, sniffling still.
“Listen kid, daddy’s very very sorry. So very sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. Sometimes grown-ups can be a bit mean and make a mistake. But you’re still my little man.” He wraps his son in a secure hold. Not painful, but enough to make him feel safe.
“It’s okay Daddy. Can we read a story?” He looks up at his father with a toothy smile.
“Of course kiddo.” He beams at his little boy, but it softens when he lifts his gaze to meet yours. Soft, loving, understanding. And he feels seen.
