Green Witch From The Woods

Aneta (she/her). misguided ghost, introvert, scribble writer, infj, feminist. in her 30s / [+18]

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

✨ MASTERLIST ✨

Welcome to my space! Thank you for choosing to spend your time here and read my scribbles. I try to tag my stories appropriately (smut, angst, fluff, 18+), so feel free to choose whatever suits you. Remember, I’m only human—I’m still learning and I make mistakes, just like all of us—so please be understanding. Thank you for being here.

💜 Pedro Pascal characters

💙 Ryan Gosling characters

I’m a full-time working mom and a student. My time is limited, so I may not write regularly. Writing is my hobby, but sometimes life has other priorities… Also, English isn't my first language. Thank you for your understanding. ❤️

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Gentle Monday 🤍

storage room. l Ryland Grace

Ryland Grace x Reader

warnings : tw: panic attack ; Ryland is soothing; tears; difficult conversations; together we are safe

note : the night sometimes brings out the most terrible things in us.

[Ryland Grace masterlist][main masterlist] [gentle monday series]

At first, Ryland didn’t notice.

He’d been sleeping too deeply, and you… Yeah, you had always been good at being quiet. The mattress beside him dipped ever so slightly, your soft footsteps disappearing into the hallway. It was only the faint feeling that something had shifted that finally pulled Ryland awake.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around. Dim lighting filled the dormitory, just like it always did whenever the Hail Mary switched into night mode. The low hum of machinery echoed through the ship, steady and familiar, nothing alarming. Certainly nothing serious enough to make you get out of bed.

Still, Grace listened for another moment before pushing himself upright. Somewhere on the floor he found his glasses, then tugged on a pair of sweatpants and headed after you. The ship was quiet. Terrifyingly quiet. Without a word, he checked the control room first, then the lab, but there was no sign of you anywhere.

“Hey?” he called softly. “Where are you?”

Nothing. Silence.

Now he was genuinely worried. He walked the corridor again, more alert this time, listening for even the smallest movement or sound. Then his eyes caught the storage room door, slightly ajar. Ryland pushed it open further.

And saw you.

You were sitting against the wall with your knees pulled tightly to your chest, arms wrapped around them so hard it looked painful. And your eyes… 

“Oh no.”

You looked up immediately at the sound of his voice, glassy-eyed and full of panic.

“I’m fine,” you said instantly.

Maybe you could’ve convinced him if your hands hadn’t been shaking so badly. Ryland slipped inside and crouched down in front of you without hesitation.

“No,” he said gently. “No, you’re not.”

Your breathing hitched again.

“I just… I wanted to calm down first,” you whispered helplessly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you…”

“Hey, hey.” His voice softened immediately. “Don’t think about me right now. Look at me.”

You tried. Your eyes filled with even more tears, your lips trembling before you looked away again. Ryland’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs.

“What happened?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t know.” The answer came out painfully honest. “Something woke me up… just this weird feeling, and then…” You sucked in a sharp breath. “Everything hit me at once. I didn’t want you to see me like this. Like I’m… broken.”

Something heavy dropped into Grace’s stomach.

“Jesus,” he murmured, swallowing hard. “I would never think that about you.”

Because he understood exactly what you meant.

The ship. The mission. The isolation. The stress.

All of it together was a dangerous combination, and eventually people cracked under that kind of pressure. You’d been strong for too long. Been the support he needed for too long. This day had been coming. When his warm hands finally touched yours, you flinched like a frightened animal. God, that hurt to see.

“Can I?” he asked quietly. “Is this okay?”

You nodded. Your fingers tightened around his almost immediately, like you were clinging to the only stable thing left in your world.

“We’re gonna breathe together, okay?” he said softly. “I know it sounds stupid, but scientifically speaking, steady breathing actually works. Can you do that for me?”

Your voice was so quiet he barely heard it. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Yes, you can,” he assured you instantly. “I’ve got you.”

Another tiny nod.

Ryland inhaled slowly through his nose, deep into his lungs. He noticed you trying to copy him, a little too fast at first, but you did it. When he exhaled through parted lips, you followed again. And again. And again.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “Seriously.”

“Ryland…” Your voice cracked. “I think I’m dying.”

He shifted even closer, close enough that all you could really see was him. Close enough to pull your focus away from the walls around you, from the endless emptiness outside the ship.

“You’re not dying,” he promised gently. “Your body’s panicking. Your brain’s trying to protect you. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Something flickered across your face then - relief mixed with exhaustion, with surrender. You trusted him completely because, right now, you didn’t know what else to do. Your hands were still gripping his tightly. You were still trying to breathe.

“This’ll pass, okay?” he murmured. “The worst part’s already behind you.” “We can stay here as long as you need.” “Although our backs are probably gonna hate us later.” “Maybe we should file a complaint with mission control. Unsafe working conditions. We deserve compensation.”

The broken laugh that escaped you was probably the most beautiful sound Ryland had heard in weeks.

“There she is,” he said with a relieved smile. “If I can still make you laugh, we’re gonna be okay.”

You tried to smile back. God, you tried so hard, but your muscles still wouldn’t cooperate. You didn’t know how long you stayed there on that cold floor with Ryland beside you. Not once did he say he was tired. Not once did he tell you to pull yourself together or act like this was ridiculous. His quiet, steady voice kept grounding you.

“Stay with me.” “That’s it, keep breathing.” “You’re doing better already.” “You’re doing amazing.”

And when you finally closed your eyes and let your head rest against the wall, he felt your body slowly start to unclench. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered eventually.

Ryland looked at you, genuinely startled. “What? No. Don’t say that.”

“I woke you up and…”

“You had a panic attack,” he interrupted softly. “You were alone in a storage closet.” His expression gentled even more. “I’m glad I found you.”

You looked at him then, but after a second it was Grace who broke eye contact first. Like there’d been something too honest in his own words. Something dangerously intimate. Something that might reveal more than he was ready to say. Still, after a moment, he spoke again.

“You don’t have to disappear whenever things get bad, okay?” he said quietly. “I’m here for you.”

Your fingers tightened around his again, and he felt it instantly. A simple gesture. One that said more than words ever could.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered. “You will.”

And then he did something that felt both completely natural and somehow surprising all at once. Before he could overthink it, Ryland lifted your hand and brushed his lips against your knuckles. The second he realized what he’d just done, his brain short-circuited completely.  Instinct, maybe. 

But when he looked back at you, fear flickering behind his blue eyes, he didn’t find judgment there. You were looking at him gently now, the corners of your lips lifting into the faintest smile.

“Thank you, Ryland,” you whispered.

“Next time, wake me up, deal?” he said softly. “I don’t want you going through this alone.”

You nodded, but then your teeth caught your lower lip hesitantly.

“Am I…” Your voice faltered. “Am I weak?”

The question had clearly been haunting you for a while. Ryland felt the weight of it the second it left your mouth.

“No,” he answered immediately. “No, you’re not.”

He leaned back slightly against the wall beside you.

“Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and it suddenly hits me where we are. What’s around us. And it’s overwhelming. I get it.” He glanced at you carefully. “But here, on this ship, we have each other, right? We’re not robots. We’re not machines. Human brains and bodies just… sometimes they…”

“Break,” you finished quietly.

Ryland nodded. Today it had been you. Tomorrow it could just as easily be him.

“Ryland?”

He looked over at you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you admitted softly. “You make me feel like I’m not losing my mind.”

He smiled at that. Because he’d been thinking the exact same thing.

Having you here beside him felt like some impossible stroke of luck — like the universe had decided to give him one miraculous thing in the middle of all this disaster. Someone who had somehow become so important to him without him even noticing when it happened.

One day, he’d tell you. One day, maybe he’d finally find the courage.

But for now, he’d just hold onto moments like this for as long as the two of you were willing to let them exist.

thank you for reading <3

[rockylandphm]

grows old

pairing: ryland grace x reader

synopsis. a quiet night after a wedding turns into something far more significant when ryland realizes that every version of his future begins and ends with you (0.7k words)

note. hi this is just extremely tooth-aching fluff bc imagine a domestic life with ryland grace wow ... the dream honestly .

Click.

Ryland sighs the second the front door shuts behind you, rolling his shoulders like the weight of the entire evening is still sitting there. His exhaustion, evident in his half-lidded eyes and the laxity in which he tugs at the knot of his tie, leaks where only you can see.

“How’s the best man?” You smile, making small steps over where your boyfriend is still struggling. 

“Mmm.” Ryland hums, long and low, instinctively leaning into your touch. “Tired.”

“Tired?”

You carefully undo the tie yourself, hands lingering on the soft fabric of his dress shirt in the process. It reminds you of his characteristic shyness, and the first time he met your family over five years ago. 

Ryland simply lets you do your work, hands dropping to his sides, and eyes—trampled with fondness—watching you. 

"Poor thing," you tease.

"I had to talk to people."

"You like people."

“Missed you.” He sighs, wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening in silence with you. His arms have found their way around you, finding rest in the curve of your back. 

Ryland holds the world in his arms. Though, even ‘world’ doesn’t seem the right word to use. It doesn’t go far enough.

You laugh. You’d come to the ceremony with him, and you’d only really been separated a few hours as you’d decided to come home during the reception to tend to unexpected work, but to him it certainly felt like forever.

“Honey, I was only gone for four hours.”

"Longest ten hours of my life."

"That's not even the right number."

"Time is relative."

"Now you’re just being dramatic."

Ryland just hums. At least he's self-aware.

For a moment, the pair of you just stand there—by the door of your shared apartment, quiet, unassuming. You let him process the weight of the night, fingers idly playing with the open collar of his shirt. There is no pressure. It is far too big of a thing for someone you’ve known almost your whole life to get married. 

You drift into daydream, and he stays anchored at the sight of you. Tired or not, grumpy or not, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else at this moment. The air starts to fade into something softer, something sweeter. You tilt your head against his chest, and Ryland just… stares.

And maybe it’s just the beauty of the evening, the lingering sentimentality of watching his best friend promise forever to someone, but suddenly, Ryland can see it. His own future. 

With you.

Most things in Ryland's life follow a pattern. Cause and effect. Actions and outcomes. Things happen for reasons. But you have always felt like the exception. The wonderful, impossible exception. Because no matter how many times he thinks about it, he still can't quite believe that out of everyone in the world, he found you. 

And that you chose him too.

And he can see you standing at the end of an aisle, bathed in the glow of something golden and endless, looking at him the way you’re looking at him now—like he’s your favorite thing to come home to, like you are his. 

He sees a lifetime of moments just like this one—soft, quiet, easy. And God, he thinks, if this is what it feels like now, just standing here and holding you, how much more will he love you in a year? In five? In forever?

The thought settles deep in his chest, something tender, something terrifyingly real. Before he can stop himself, the words slip out, soft and certain. 

“I’m glad I met you.”

You blink up at him, momentarily surprised by the quiet confession, and then—you smile. And Ryland? He swears, right then and there, he’d fallen in love with you all over again.

“Me too.” You whisper, and he exhales. 

Ryland thinks about saying more, but his consciousness fails him. Instead, he quietly hands over his heart to you in the way he holds you, in the way he lets himself fall unrestrained, in the way he bares himself his most vulnerable only with you. And there is truthfully no one else he would ever trust with his entirety. 

Nobody but you.

And he can only hope, pray when no one’s looking, that you’d hold his heart until it grows old. And that you’d let him keep yours too.

[cloudytimelapse]

Ryland asks you to be his partner officially after a few months of seeing each other. The hands that usually work with precision in labs now shake with nervousness. He has loved every second he’s spent with you and wants to take the next step, he wants the title of being your boyfriend. However, he is terrified the moment the words, “Would you like to be my girlfriend/boyfriend?” leave his mouth.

Actually, the exact words that come out are, “Hey, um, I-uh, I wanted t’ask you something. Uhhhh, do you……would you, uh, sorry, I didn’t mean for it to fall. Okay, um, alright, so, back to the point…. wouldyouliketobemygirlfriend/boyfriend?” His speech is filled with sighs, and his phone clatters to the ground because he was anxiously fidgeting with it. All of that chaos for a question you didn't even manage to catch.

When you ask him to repeat himself, slower this time, he lets out another long sigh and shuts his eyes tightly, as if mustering every ounce of courage in his soul. “Heh, I’m sorry, um-”You gently cut off his nervous spiral, “Ry, just ask whatever it is. It’s okay, it’s just me”.

Your reassurance works. His voice steadies, and his words finally come out clear, “I just wanted to ask - would you like to be my girlfriend/boyfriend? Only if you really want to, of course. Or you can say no, there’s absolutely no pressure-” This time, his rambling is cut short because your lips press firmly against his.

“I would love to” you murmur against his lips as you pull back. Ryland typically hates being interrupted, but when you do it like this, he decides it is easily one of his favourite things.

Ryland says "I love you" for the first time while you are helping him craft paper planets for his science lesson the next day.

“Baby, the sun is actually white. Earth’s atmosphere scatters shorter wavelengths, so what reaches our eyesight is yellow and orange” he laughs, looking down at the bright yellow paper sun in your hands. “Let the kids have their colours, Mr Grace” you quip playfully, holding the craft sun up between you.

Looking at your smile, his heart squeezes with a sudden, overwhelming wave of love. His soft laughter is immediately followed by a quiet “I love you”. It is so quiet that he doesn’t even realise he has said it - his tongue running ahead of his brain, as always. You hear him clearly, though. It feels as if every other noise in the room has suddenly stopped.

When he notices the brief silence from your side, he starts panicking internally, thinking he has completely ruined the progress you two have made. Before he can spiral, you say, “I love you, Ry”.

It’s the way you say it - with complete honesty, not as a polite obligation, but as a genuine confession of your own. Ryland never liked to dwell on thoughts of the future, but looking at you now, surrounded by craft paper and stationery, he can clearly see a future with you by his side.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Life Status: Update

Two weeks until my son's school year is over. Two weeks until the end of my academic year (one more weekend and three exams to go). I'm sorting out my internship for next semester. I'm taking on overtime at work. I'm going through an emotional, mental, and physical crisis. I feel like crying and screaming at the same time.

I'm fine.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

✨ a friendly reminder ✨

this week looked like this…

✤ i notice you. l Driver x Reader

✤ imagine this...argument with Holland l Holland March x Reader

✤ what if... l Ryland Grace x Reader from Gentle Monday 🤍 series

✤ a few words too many. l Holland March x Reader from [how we came back series]

thank you ❤️

[hollandmarrch]

The Notebook (2004)

[binchidavinci]

anything ANYTHING WITH HOLLAND MARCH as long as he keeps his suit on please that is my only request

The Knack

(Dad! Holland March x Mom! reader)

‘After the birth of your first daughter (and his second), you and Holland try to figure out how to do it right, together.’

The nursery was quiet except for the soft creak of your rocking chair and the occasional fussy whimper from your newborn (who you were affectionately referring to as 'the baby' because you still hadn't named her. Holland wanted to call her 'David' after David Bowie, then, after realising she was a girl, proposed 'Bowie'— which you also refused). You were in the nursery, silently crying, tears wetting your cheeks in exhaustion: it was 2 a.m., and no matter how many times you patted, rubbed and tapped your daughter’s back, she just wouldn’t burp. She was obviously uncomfortable and wouldn't stop fussing because of it.

Six weeks into motherhood and you already felt like you were failing; it didn't help that Holland, as wonderfully helpful as he was, couldn't always stay up late with your baby because he had work the next day: he'd tried to take as much time off as he could, but Healy needed his partner back for a huge case that they were so close to cracking and would pay well. Nonetheless, Holland appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Even exhausted, he looked ridiculously handsome in his worn, white t-shirt and boxers. He'd felt you get up from the bed when the baby started fussing, and had expected you'd be back soon enough. Twenty minutes later, you were still in the nursery. Concerned, he'd traipsed through to check on you, even though you told him you wanted him to be well rested for work— someone had to bring some money in; motherhood was expensive. “No luck, sweetheart?” he asked gently from the doorway, voice rough with sleep. “I’ve tried everything. She just keeps crying.” You shook your head in disbelief, hardly looking up. Still, Holland caught sight of your puffy face and tear stained cheeks. “Oh, babydoll," he murmured. He stepped closer and kissed the top of your head tenderly. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel inadequate, but he couldn't stand seeing you like this. "Can I try help?" You nodded and carefully passed the baby up to him. Holland took her with practiced ease, rocking her in his arms like he’d done this a thousand times before— because he had with Holly, many years ago.

You leaned back in the rocking chair and wiped your eyes, relieved to stretch. You watched as he positioned her upright against his chest, one large hand cradling her head, the other rubbing firm circles on her back. “I was twenty-two when Holly was born,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Way too young. Thought I knew everything.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “Holly's mom passed and suddenly it was just me and a little girl, figuring it out. She'd cry all night and I just wouldn't know what she needed," he paused. "It takes trial and error, even if you're the best mom in the world,” he said, looking across at you. "N' I'm always gonna be here to help." You watched him in silence, heart aching with a mix of irritation for your own inexperience, love for Holland's tenderness, and sadness for his loss.

Holland switched to gentle but steady pats, bouncing gently to jostle her. A few seconds later, your daughter let out a big burp, followed by a tiny sigh of relief: she visibly relaxed in his arms, tiny fists coming unbunched. Holland smiled brightly, amused by how such a loud sound could come out of such a tiny body. “There we go,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Better?” he cooed. She burbled and he took this as his cue to put her back into her crib. In three big strides, Holland gently lowered her down, brushing his thumb over her cheek as her eyes began to flutter close. He gazed across at you, eyes soft but tired before he spoke. "You know, you made us feel like a family again. Me and Holly, I mean. We were fine just me and her, she's a great kid and so she made do. But you sort of...glued us.” He looked down at your daughter, his expression full of wonder and fear. “And now we’ve got this one.” He beamed down at her as he brushed her cheek with his thumb, leaning over the crib as you sat. "Wanna get this right," he murmured.

You stood up from the rocking chair and moved toward him, wrapping one arm round his waist and one on resting on the side of the crib. He leaned into your touch as you both peered down at your baby. “You’re such a good dad, Holland. Holly adores you, and look at her— she’s completely calm when you're here. Wish I had the knack the way you do.” Holland smiled faintly as you let your head lull onto his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, mindlessly tracing patterns there. “I was a mess when Holly was born; barely keeping it together after her mom died," he admitted. "It's only a knack 'cause I've done it once before— and even then, I'm rusty," he scoffed and lowered his voice. “As long as you keep loving her the way you do, she's gonna be one spoiled little girl.” You peered up at him. “You think so?” He let out a long breath and reached across to pull you fully into his arms, resting his chin on top of his head. "I know so."

For a long moment, the two of you stood in adoring silence as you gazed down at your baby, finally sleeping under the soft lamplight. Holland pressed a kiss to your temple. “So, how about that name... 'Bowie'...?” "No fuckin' chance," you whispered, grinning into his chest.

[hollandmarrch]

RYAN GOSLING in THE NOTEBOOK 2004, dir. Nick Cassavetes

[doctor-ryland-grace]

☾ ⋆➜ Ryland who always wants to touch you. His long, slender fingers are constantly seeking yours during those rare moments of silence when it seems like his brain is finally quiet enough for him to relax. He finds himself tracing patterns on your skin, it brings him a sense of comfort he’s not had in years. Because for Ryland, it isn’t just a desire, it feels almost… Essential. Like breathing, you’ve become a constant in his life, a reassurance that he’s worth more than what he’s been told his entire life. He hopes you know that when he’s touching you.

☾ ⋆➜ Holland who is always touching you - but with his eyes. His blue gaze never seems to cease finding you across rooms, whether crowded or not. They always seem to linger on the soft pulls of your chest as you inhale and exhale, and he finds himself memorizing the details of your body with an intensity that makes you feel both exposed and cherished when you catch him looking at you. By the time he feels the overwhelming desire to physically touch you, his hands know exactly where to go because he’d spent so much time admiring you beforehand.

☾ ⋆➜ Lars who wants to touch you, but he’s never sure how. His large mittened hand hovers near you, but always seems to pull back at the last second in self-doubt. Lars rehearses situations where it might naturally happen - reaching out for your hand, but when the moment comes, even in the cold Winter air, his palms grow sweaty and his courage falters. He thinks about it a lot, though. The trail of almost-moments - fingers that nearly brushed your cheek when he gave you his scarf, arms that almost grasped your waist when you slipped on ice.

☾ ⋆➜ Colt who always needs you to touch him. He’ll consciously angle his body towards you after a stunt, his sweat hitting your nostrils, and ultimately creating a subtle invitation for your hand to find his shoulder, up his bicep as if checking for an injury that both of you know wasn’t there. Despite his outward appearance, the blonde finds himself melting under your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you bring your fingers to trace his jawline or to run through his hair after another dangerous stunt. His own hands? Useless until you’re holding them.

☾ ⋆➜  Driver who has a knack of getting you to touch him with actions. He’ll put himself just right in the driver's seat, creating perfect openings for your hand to be caressed by his, his long, gloved fingers encasing yours as he urges you to explode your grasp against his thick jean-clad thigh, the muscle shifting just a bit under your grazing. He’ll never acknowledge it, his blue gaze stays on the road, but there’s a minor tug at his lips as you move your hand upwards then back downwards without a word, feeling him tense and relax in response.

☾ ⋆➜  K who is terrified to ever touch you because doing so admits to feelings that he denies having in the first place. His hands often stay clenched at his sides or in his pockets when you’re near, almost like a self imposed prison of restraint that is juxtaposed to the turmoil you make him feel. He maintains a careful distance, but there’s still something that jolts him when you disregard boundaries and linger too close to him. He wants to brush the hair plastered to your face in the neon-kissed streets. He wants to, but he can’t bring himself to. Yet.

☾ ⋆➜ Court who grazes his touch along your body to make sure you’re still real. His fingers are somewhat calloused when they find your wrist in the dead of night, as if his first instinct was to check your pulse. You’re not just another ghost haunting him, and that’s enough. He finds himself resting his land on the small of your back. With passion, sure, but more tangled with desperation and need to anchor himself to something good in the world he found himself in. His touches are so fleeting, always questioning until he feels you and then it all becomes too real.

☾ ⋆➜ Noah who is so desperate to get you to touch him that he’s willing to do anything. He’ll perform elaborate favors without being asked just to get you to kiss his cheek, he’ll create a problem only he can solve to get you to smile at him. He’ll ‘accidentally’ fall into the lake, your instinct being to grab his arm before he falls all the way but you both ultimately end in the water, causing a string of loud laughs to burst into the air, one of his arms tangling around your waist and tugging you towards him before his lips come crashing onto yours, water-soaked.

[souwrites]

Mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

✨ a friendly reminder ✨

this week looked like this…

✤ i notice you. l Driver x Reader

✤ imagine this...argument with Holland l Holland March x Reader

✤ what if... l Ryland Grace x Reader from Gentle Monday 🤍 series

✤ a few words too many. l Holland March x Reader from [how we came back series]

thank you ❤️

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

how we fell apart 🥀

on my side. l Ryland Grace

Ryland Grace [The Project Hail Mary] x Reader

warnings : Earthly Ryland; friends; argument; trying to convince someone to try something more; hidden feelings; broken hearts

note : Friends should support each other. Friends should…feel something.

a/n : If you are new here, I will explain the rules of this series. I break hearts, then I mend them. i did the sam thing in this series too 💔 a few ways to break your heart 💔 [masterlist]. don't be scared!

[Ryland Grace masterlist][main masterlist] [how we fell apart series]

The email had been sitting in his inbox for three weeks and he still didn’t answer. A research position. Prestigious. Temporary. The kind of opportunity scientists spent years chasing, and somehow Ryland had been offered it without even trying. And that was the end of it.

You stood in his kitchen, watching his broad shoulders as he prepared coffee for the two of you.

"Did you ever answer them?" you asked.

Ryland didn't even glance your way, focused on what he was doing. "No."

You sighed and settled onto one of the tall stools. "Ryland..."

"Nope." He shook his head.

"You could at least consider it."

"I did."

"When?"

"Just now." He turned and smiled at you as though he'd made an excellent joke.

You didn't smile back. "Ryland..." you sighed again.

He pointed a spoon at you. "Careful. You're using my full name. That's how I know I'm in trouble."

Still nothing. His smile faded. Leaning back against the counter, Ryland crossed his arms and waited. He knew where this was going. You'd been having versions of this conversation ever since the email arrived.

"Okay," he said. "Go ahead."

"You are one of the smartest people I've ever met."

The sincerity in your voice was unmistakable, but Ryland rolled his eyes anyway. "Oh, God."

"And every time someone offers you an opportunity…"

"There it is," he muttered.

"...you immediately run away."

His jaw tightened. You noticed it instantly. His arms folded more firmly across his chest, his T-shirt stretching across them. "I don't run away."

"You do," you groaned. "So many people would kill to have your brain, your skills, your opportunities..."

He turned away from you, suddenly finding the coffee far more interesting than the conversation. He didn't answer. 

And then you said it. The thing you'd regret the moment it left your mouth.

"I just think you're wasting yourself."

Silence. Heavy and immediate. Ryland wasn't even pretending to make coffee anymore. You felt it yourself, the invisible line you'd just crossed. There was no stepping back from it now.

"You think I'm wasting myself." His voice was calm and quiet. That somehow made it worse.

A stone dropped into your stomach. You swallowed hard. "Ryland, that's not what I meant."

"No?" He turned around.

Ryland wasn't angry. He looked hurt. Maybe even disappointed. In you? His best friend?

"You know what's funny?" he asked with a quiet laugh.

His eyes met yours and suddenly you felt smaller.

"I spend every day teaching kids who think they're stupid. I spend every day trying to convince them they matter. That science can be exciting. And fun. That they're capable of more than they think." 

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going.

"And I love it."

"I know you do," you said, almost pleading.

"Do you?"

The question hit harder than anything else he'd said. Because suddenly you weren't sure. He shook his head.

"Everybody hears 'middle school science teacher' and immediately starts talking about what I could be doing instead."

"That's not fair."

"Maybe I don't want to spend my life chasing grants. Maybe I don't want conferences."

"Ryland..."

"Maybe I like my life exactly the way it is."

The room fell silent. You could hear the hurt beneath every word. Years of people telling him he could do more, be more, achieve more. As if who he already was could never quite be enough. 

You stood and stepped closer. Your heart hammered against your ribs. "I wasn't saying your life isn't enough."

His eyes lifted to yours. "Then what were you saying?"

And that was the problem, you didn't know how to explain it. How to tell him that watching someone you cared about turn down every opportunity was frustrating. How to explain that believing in him wasn't the same thing as wanting to change him. That you saw something extraordinary in him, and if only he'd let himself…

"I just..." You swallowed. "I want you to see what everyone else sees."

Something flickered across his face. A mixture of emotions you couldn't quite identify. Then he said quietly,

"That's the thing." Your heart sank. His voice sounded different now. Softer and more vulnerable. "The only person's opinion I actually care about..." He stopped, looked away, then started again. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours."

The kitchen became impossibly quiet.

"Ryland..." Your voice broke into a whisper. Tears stung your eyes. Your throat ached.

"I know." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I know that's pathetic."

"No. It's not."

His laugh was hollow. Then he looked at you again. And suddenly all the walls he'd spent months building seemed to crack. Just a little. Because of you.

"You know what really hurts?" You already knew. But he said it anyway, and hearing it out loud was somehow worse. "It hurts because it's you."

Your chest tightened. Tears slipped down your cheeks.

"If anyone else said that, I wouldn't care." His eyes never left yours. "But you're supposed to be on my side."

The words hit like a punch. Because you were on his side. You always had been. You just hadn't realized that this conversation was never really about careers or research positions. It was about him. And how desperately he wanted you to understand him.

For a long moment neither of you spoke. Then Ryland shook his head.

"I can't do this right now."

"Ryland, please..."

But he'd already turned away. Both hands braced against the counter. Head lowered. And somehow you knew that anything you said now would only make things worse.

You didn't even dare touch him, though you wanted to. Desperately. 

What you didn't know was that Ryland wasn't upset because you'd pushed him. He was upset because he was in love with you. And hearing you imply he wasn't enough hurt a lot more coming from the person whose opinion meant everything.

There was nothing left to do. You bit your lip.

"I think I should go." The words barely came out above a whisper.

When the door finally closed behind you, Ryland felt as though you'd taken a piece of him with you.

thank you for reading <3

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

That repost means we now get the second part for Seb? 🥺

I have it in my draft, sweetie. If I don't have a crisis this weekend, I'll work on it.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

how we fell apart 🥀

choose me. l Sebastian Wilder

Sebastian Wilder [La La Land] x Reader

warnings : feeling of being left out; a few hurtful words; tears

note : another evening when you waited for him, and the one when you finally broke

[Ryland Grace masterlist][main masterlist] [how we fell apart series]

The worst fights were never the loud ones. But the quiet ones. The ones that slipped in unnoticed and waited patiently until both of you were vulnerable enough. Then they sank beneath your skin, into your bloodstream, and made you hurt each other with surgical precision. No shouting. Because sometimes words hurt more when they're spoken softly. Maybe that was the problem.

It started like any other night. Another dinner gone cold while you waited for Sebastian. Another promise he hadn't kept. Another evening spent swallowing the ache in your throat as you fought back tears.

His club was doing well. Oh,better than well. You were proud of him. Every glowing review, every sold-out night, every successful performance, you celebrated all of it. Nobody was happier for him than you were.

Sebastian was busy and you understood that. Sometimes too well. That had become your role, somehow. To understand. To be patient. Even when it hurt a little more every time.

It was well past midnight when the apartment door finally opened. Sebastian spotted you immediately. Curled up on the couch in an oversized T-shirt and shorts, waiting. Like you almost always were. But it was your eyes that made him pause.

"Hey." He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair.

His sleeves were rolled up, his tie long gone. He looked exhausted, but there was still a trace of satisfaction lingering from the night.

Until he looked at you. When you didn't answer right away, he knew. He sighed heavily. "Don't." Your eyebrows drew together. "Don't start, okay? I've had a hell of a day."

Something inside you cracked. Not because you wanted to fight. You hadn't. You just wanted him to see you. For once.

"I wasn't going to start anything." Your voice sounded distant. Hollow.

"Good." He dropped his keys onto the counter. The sharp clatter echoed through the apartment. "Because I really don't have the energy tonight."

You watched him for a moment before speaking again. "And when will you?"

His jaw tightened. "What?"

"When will you have the energy?" You stood slowly. 

Sebastian suddenly became aware of how tired you looked. How small. How far away. The adrenaline from the club was still racing through his veins, while you stood there carrying the weight of countless lonely nights.

"Tomorrow?" you asked. He didn't answer. "Next week? Next month? When?" Your voice trembled. "Or maybe when your club finally matters more than everything else in your life?"

Sebastian's head snapped up. Immediately, you wished you could take it back. Not because it wasn't true. Because it was cruel. You weren't usually cruel, but tonight felt different. Tonight you felt cornered.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"You know exactly what it means."

"No." His voice sharpened. "Explain it to me."

And there it was. The anger. Neither of you stopped it so you let it happen. You folded your arms across your chest.

"It means I'm tired of being the thing you squeeze in between everything else."

The words hung between you. For a brief second, Sebastian looked hurt. Then defensive.

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" You raised an eyebrow.

"No." His voice rose. "You knew who I was when we got together."

A short laugh escaped you. "Wow. That's your excuse?"

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair.  Frustrated. He hated fighting with you and tonight it felt like you'd walked into the apartment looking for a war. But if that was what you wanted…

"You think I don't do all of this for a reason?" he asked.

"There it is." You shook your head. A bitter smile pulling at your lips. "Everything always comes back to the club."

Because it did, and you both knew it. Silence stretched between you. Then Sebastian said the thing he shouldn't have. The thing he'd regret the second it left his mouth.

"If you don't understand why this matters to me by now..."

He didn't finish and he didn't need to. The damage was already there. He could see it in your eyes. You stared at him as if he'd slapped you. Because the sentence beneath the sentence was obvious.

If you don't understand me. If you don't support me. If you really loved me.

Sebastian saw it too late. The exact moment your expression changed. The exact moment something shut behind your eyes.

"That's not what I meant."

But you were already stepping away. Physically, emotionally. Both.

"No." Your voice became dangerously quiet. "Maybe it is."

"Come on, baby."

He stepped forward but you stepped back. Somehow that hurt more than the argument itself.

"You know what the problem is, Sebastian?"

His face hardened. "What?"

"You always ask me to wait." You laughed softly, without humor. "You ask me to wait until things calm down. Until the club succeeds. Until you're less busy." Your eyes filled with tears. "And somehow that day never comes."

The apartment fell silent. Neither of you moved and neither of you looked away. Your words echoed through the room long after you'd spoken them. Then Sebastian said something terrible. Not because it was cruel. Because it was honest.

"I don't know what you want from me."

The words landed like a punch. Because you realized he meant them. He genuinely didn't know anymore. Your eyes burned. Your throat tightened. Without realizing it, you dug your fingernails into your own arms.

"I want you to choose me sometimes." The whisper was barely audible. But Sebastian heard every word.

And for the first time that night he didn't have an answer. That was what frightened you. Not the anger and not the fight. The silence. The fact that the man who always had something to say suddenly had nothing at all, and somehow that felt an awful lot like the beginning of the end.

The moment the apartment door closed behind you, the argument was over. Not resolved, just over. Because there was nothing left to say.

Sebastian stood frozen in the living room and watched as you walked past him, grabbed your coat and your bag, and left exactly as you were.

"Wait."

You heard him behind you. The word followed you into the hallway, but you didn't stop. For the first time in a very long time, you didn't stop for him. By the time the elevator doors slid shut, your hands were shaking. Not from anger, not from fear. But from the horrible feeling that something inside you had finally broken.

Like someone had reached into your chest and torn away a piece of your heart. And somehow that hurt far more than screaming ever could.

thank you for reading <3

[dovebuffy92]

Credit: Alef Vernon

[thepeacefulgarden]