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]

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]

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

i notice you. l Driver

part #1

Driver x Reader

warnings : strangers to lovers ; one pushy guy ; one who stares ; (in the near future) some violence, sadness, tears ; now - gently ; don't get into strangers' cars ; 'no' is a full sentence ;

note : he noticed you and couldn't stop seeing you everywhere, but does he have a chance for a bit of happiness?

a/n : I don't know how this happened. It started with a single thought, and then it grew and grew… Will it work? It depends on whether anyone wants to read it and whether my feelings cause me to quit halfway through. Things have been a bit rough lately, mentally. Thank you for being here. I'll leave this here.

[Ryland Grace masterlist][main masterlist]

The first time Driver paid attention to you was because someone else couldn't stop talking about you. Shannon was in one of his strange moods, leaning against a workbench in the garage with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"There's this girl," he complained. "I ask her out, she says no. I ask again, she says no. I smile, she says no. I swear she's doing it on purpose."

Driver barely glanced up from the engine he was working on. His hands were stained with grease, and the air was humid enough that he could feel it sticking to his skin.

"Maybe she doesn't want to go out with you."

Shannon scoffed. "Why wouldn't she? Am I missing something? She couldn't do better."

That earned him a brief look. "Sure."

The conversation could have ended there. They could have forgotten about it and gone back to their routines, but a few days later, Driver finally saw the girl Shannon kept talking about.

You were standing outside a coffee shop, waiting for your order. Shannon was beside you, gesturing animatedly and trying his hardest to charm you. Driver watched from across the street. He saw how politely you listened. Then Shannon said something, and you simply smiled, shook your head, collected your drink, and walked away. Just like that.

As though that single answer was enough to end a conversation you had no interest in continuing. Shannon threw his hands up in frustration. 

"You think you're better than everyone else, huh?" he shouted after you. "Fucking princess..."

You didn't even turn around. That probably stung more than anything. Eventually Shannon shook his head, pulled his cap lower over his eyes, and lit another cigarette. For some reason, Driver watched you until you disappeared around the corner.

A week later he saw you again. This time in a grocery store. You were trying to carry too many things at once, and predictably, your paper bag gave out. Several items rolled across the floor.

"Shit..." you muttered.

Without thinking, Driver crouched down and caught a can before it disappeared beneath a shelf. You looked surprised.

"Oh. I’m sorry."

He handed it back. "You dropped something."

"Thank you." You slipped it back into the bag with a sigh. "I should probably stop overestimating my abilities."

An orange promptly escaped the bag and Driver caught that too. You laughed softly. That caught his attention more than anything else. Meanwhile, you gathered the rest of your groceries, packed them more carefully, hugged the bag to your chest, and after another quick, "Thanks for the help," headed toward the exit.

Outside, the sky had already gone dark. The lingering heat in the air promised rain. You hadn't even made it to the parking lot before the first drops started falling. You felt them immediately on your skin. You had only taken a few steps when you heard the same voice again.

"You need a ride?"

The man from the grocery store stood beside a car. A very nice car. You looked at him suspiciously. Then at the car.

"No."

The answer came immediately. Short and simple, no explanation. 

Driver blinked. "No?"

"I don't get into cars with strangers."

More raindrops began falling around you.

"Fair." He nodded. "I'm Driver."

The corners of your mouth twitched. "Driver?" you repeated. He nodded. "That's your name?"

"It's what people call me."

You studied him carefully. As though the rain wasn't bothering you at all. Most people would have gladly accepted the ride. You didn't. Instead, you took a step backward. "Maybe another time."

Then you walked away. Just like that. Just like you did before.

The rain grew heavier, and by the time you got home you were probably soaked through. But you'd stuck to your decision. And for some reason, Driver found that fascinating.

After that, he couldn't stop thinking about you. Whenever he saw someone dressed similarly, he'd look twice to make sure it wasn't you. Whenever he drove past the coffee shop, he wondered if you'd already been there or if you still were. And every time Shannon complained about you, Driver found himself getting more irritated.

Because Shannon didn't know anything about you. Driver didn't either, but somehow, he felt like he'd noticed more. 

The way you never seemed impressed by other people. The way you weren't looking for attention. The way you simply lived your life.

For someone who had spent most of his life alone, you should have been just another person passing through the edges of his world. Instead, it only made him think about you more. The next time he saw you, he already knew two things.

First, Shannon didn't stand a chance. And second, he was going to need a better introduction than, "I'm Driver."

Shannon, however, seemed completely unaware that his chances were less than zero. He was talking about you again. Complaining. Putting out a cigarette in an ashtray, he grumbled about how you'd ignored a perfectly polite compliment when he'd run into you at a flower stand.

"I swear, one day she's gonna regret turning me down," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Driver looked up from his toolbox. Shannon laughed.

"I'm serious. She thinks she's better than everyone. Somebody should put her in her place."

Something heavy settled in Driver's stomach. He didn't like the way Shannon talked about you. Not at all. Your rejection had become a personal insult rather than what it actually was, a polite no. As though you owed Shannon something simply because he wanted it.

"Leave her alone." The words came out before Driver could stop them.

Shannon raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"She said no." Driver returned to what he was doing.

"That's not the point."

"It is."

Silence followed. Shannon lit another cigarette and snorted. It was probably meant to sound like a laugh.

"You like her."

Driver didn't answer. Or maybe, by staying silent, he did.

Meanwhile, you'd started noticing him too. No, he definitely wasn't trying to get your attention. If anything, the opposite. You'd spot him in the grocery store. Near the coffee shop. Across the street from the bookstore you visited. Eventually, you stopped believing it was a coincidence.

You recognized that distinctive jacket from a distance now. The calm expression. The way he never seemed surprised when your paths crossed.

One afternoon you left the coffee shop and found him standing beside his car. He wasn't waiting for you. He was simply there. You could've said he was people-watching, but when your eyes met, he nodded. A simple greeting. Nothing more. You nodded back and kept walking. This time, though, you glanced over your shoulder. He wasn't following you. He was already looking somewhere else.

Driver told himself he wasn't watching you. It felt safer that way. He was simply noticing you. Your habits, the streets you walked, the flowers you bought. The effortless way you moved through your life. His eyes found you as naturally as they found exits in crowded rooms or signs of danger. And that should have worried him.

Instead, it felt strangely comforting.

He saw you again. You'd stopped beside a bench to rearrange your bag. Once again, you were carrying more than your arms could reasonably handle. Driver intended to keep driving. To leave it alone. But by the time he reached the first intersection, he'd already changed his mind. With a sigh, he turned back. 

When he pulled up beside the bench, you didn't immediately look up. You were busy trying to force a water bottle and a book into an already overstuffed bag. Eventually, however, the feeling of being watched made you glance up.

"You again." You recognized him immediately.

"You again," Driver echoed.

You slung the bag over your shoulder and narrowed your eyes slightly. "Are you watching me?"

The question could have sounded fearful. It didn't. For days now, you'd been exchanging nods and small smiles. Seeing Driver wasn't surprising anymore. Part of you had even started expecting it.

"A little." His answer was immediate. "And you still don't want help?"

"I'll manage." A faint smile tugged at your lips. "You're weird, you know that?"

He nodded. "Maybe."

He didn't offer you a ride. He already knew the answer.

"Most people would've given up by now." you said.

His expression barely changed. Still, you had to admit he was handsome. And those blue eyes, despite rarely revealing much emotion, were impossible to ignore. You noticed the way he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. The way he glanced toward the road. Then back at you.

"I'm patient."

"That's good."

And somehow, that was enough. For a moment longer, Driver watched you walk down the sidewalk. Then he drove away.

He shouldn't have done it. And yet he did.

He stopped at the flower stand where he always seemed to see you. He wasn't entirely sure why. A few minutes later, the florist was wrapping a bouquet of white and pale yellow flowers in brown paper. The same flowers you'd always chosen. The same flowers he now found himself choosing too.

As he reached for his wallet, the bell above the shop door chimed. He felt your presence before he saw you. When he turned around, you were staring directly at the bouquet in his hands. Your eyes met.

"Well," you sighed, "there goes my plan."

"What plan?"

"I wanted to buy those flowers."

Both of you ignored the florist, who was openly watching the exchange with interest.

"You wanted to buy these?" Driver asked, lifting the bouquet slightly.

"Yeah. They're pretty."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "They are."

Eventually, you shrugged and took a few steps farther into the shop. "I guess I'll have to find something else," you said. "Which is a shame. Those are my favorites."

His fingers tightened slightly around the bouquet as he watched you examine the other flowers. He liked watching you. A little too much.

"Are you buying them for someone?" The question pulled him from his thoughts.

He didn't actually know the answer. He'd seen them, thought of you, bought them. It sounded ridiculous, even in his own head.

"Maybe."

You smiled. "Lucky person."

His eyes found yours again. For a brief moment, neither of you looked away.

"Maybe," Driver said.

Something about that answer seemed to catch your attention. Your smile changed. Softer and more curious. Then you turned back toward the flowers while the florist began showing you other arrangements. A few moments later, you heard Driver speak again.

"You can have them."

You looked at him. "What?"

"You like them."

"Yeah," you admitted slowly. "But you can't just give flowers to random women."

"Why not?"

You laughed softly. "Because that's how people get ideas."

"Bad ideas?"

The question sounded so genuinely confused that you almost laughed harder. You looked at the bouquet. Then at the man standing in front of you. And sighed. "They really are beautiful."

"Yeah."

You bit the inside of your cheek. Driver knew you'd surrendered. Or at least he hoped he wasn't imagining things. Finally, you nodded and accepted the bouquet.

"Thank you."

For the first time that day, Driver truly smiled. And you discovered that his smile was somehow even more dangerous than his eyes.

You left the flower shop together. Dark clouds had gathered overhead once more. The air felt heavy with the promise of rain. You walked slowly along the sidewalk and talked. At least, you talked while walking. Driver mostly listened.

You told him about a book you'd recently finished. A movie you'd watched. Something ridiculous one of your neighbors had done a few days ago. Nothing important. And yet neither of you seemed eager to part ways. 

Eventually, Driver stopped beside his car. "You heading home?"

"Eventually."

"I can drive you."

You opened your mouth to refuse automatically. The same polite but firm refusal you'd given every other time. Then you looked at him. At those impossibly quiet eyes. At the familiar figure standing beside the car. A man who had spent weeks earning your trust instead of demanding it. 

And to your own surprise, you said, "Okay."

Driver hadn't expected that. You could tell by the look on his face. A few minutes later, rain drummed softly against the roof as you settled into the passenger seat and he started the engine.

"You know," you said, fastening your seatbelt, "if you turn out to be a serial killer, I'm going to become incredibly annoying."

For a moment Driver kept his eyes on the road. Then he nodded. "Fair."

You laughed. His lips twitched upward. This time he didn't bother hiding it. Because after weeks of watching you walk away, you were finally sitting beside him.

The city blurred past outside, softened by rain and streetlights. You talked about everything and nothing. Driver noticed something alarming, he genuinely liked listening to you. Your voice. The way you told stories. The way your thoughts wandered from one subject to another. Being around you made him feel lighter. Quieter. Less alone. If that even made sense. Just having you there felt comforting.

"Do you do this often?"

Driver blinked. "What?"

"Give rides to strangers."

The car turned down another street.

"No."

"Good."

Now it was his turn.

"Do you do this often?"

"What?"

"Get into cars with strangers?"

You smiled. "No."

"Good."

This time Driver laughed quietly. A real laugh. Not just the ghost of one. You noticed how much more relaxed he seemed now. For a while you watched the rain-streaked city through the window before speaking again.

"You know, at first I was a little scared of you." 

He glanced at you. "Scared?"

"You barely talked. You stared. You appeared out of nowhere."

"Hm."

"Those are legitimate reasons to be concerned."

You caught another glimpse of his smile. It suited him. Far too well.

The drive ended much sooner than either of you would've liked. Soon the car rolled to a stop outside your apartment building. Rain still tapped steadily against the roof. Neither of you seemed particularly eager to say goodbye. Eventually, though, there wasn't much choice.

"Thank you." You unbuckled your seatbelt.

"For what?"

"The ride." You lifted the bouquet slightly. "The flowers. And for not being a complete weirdo."

Driver shook his head. "You should get inside."

"Probably."

You picked up the flowers and your bag. Then paused. "I'm glad I got into the car."

For a second, Driver forgot how to respond. The words caught him off guard. You watched something soften in his expression. Something warm and honest. And it made you smile.

"Yeah," he finally said. "So am I."

For a moment neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away. Then you opened the door. Cool rain-scented air filled the car. A second later the door closed behind you, and suddenly all that remained was the faint trace of your perfume.

Driver watched you hurry through the rain toward your building. He waited until you disappeared inside. Then he waited a little longer. A light flickered on in one of the windows above. You were home. Safe.

Only then did he pull away from the curb. As the city rolled past outside his windshield, he realized something he probably should have noticed sooner. He couldn't stop smiling. And for the first time in a very long time, the warmth filling his chest didn't feel dangerous.

It felt like hope.

thank you for reading <3

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Imagine this...

warnings : argument ; two angry people; but happy ending ; Holland March

Holland March x Reader

The argument started over something trivial, and by the time it really got going, neither of you could even remember what it had been about. But the fight was already underway. New grievances mixed with old classics. It was as if you'd both been waiting all week to get to this exact point.

“You always do this!” Holland snapped, following you through the house. “Oh, I do this?” Your voice came out as a cheap imitation of his. You grabbed a pile of clothes from the couch. “That's rich coming from you.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “You know exactly what it means!” Holland threw his hands into the air. “No, I really don't have a damn clue!”

The two of you stormed from room to room like a hurricane leaving destruction in its wake. By now, every little thing - a missed phone call, being late, a sarcastic comment - had become ammunition. You folded clothes a little too aggressively. Holland paced the room. He ran a hand through his hair. 

“You're impossible,” he muttered. “I'm impossible?” You scoffed and tossed one of his shirts at him. “Take a look in the mirror, March!” “Oh, very mature. Really mature,” he shot back. “About as mature as you sulking every time someone says something you don't like!”

His jaw tightened. “Fine.” “Fine,” you answered. “Great.” “Great.” Silence fell. You could feel Holland staring at you, but you kept folding clothes. Eventually, he pointed down the hallway. “You know what? I've had enough.” “Good.” “I'm going to my room.” “Excellent."

He stared at you. You stared at him. Neither of you backed down. A moment later, a door slammed so hard it made you jump. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. Neither of you felt like the winner. If anything, you both felt worse.

Eventually, you heard the bedroom door open. Holland emerged, scratching the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. “Can I come back now?” he asked. The absurdity of the situation hit both of you immediately. The entire argument. Everything you'd said. The childishness of it all. You laughed. Holland laughed too, feeling a weight lift from his chest.

Before either of you could say anything else, you were already moving toward each other, meeting halfway. Holland wrapped his arms around you. “Oh, thank God,” he mumbled. “I'm still mad at you,” you replied, though your smile softened the words. “I know.” “I mean it.” “I know.” You kissed him anyway.

A second later, he was lifting you into his arms, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, laughing against his mouth. “Holland...” “I'm sorry.” “I'm sorry too.” Another kiss. Another apology. And then another, and another. The journey to the bedroom became more difficult than it should have been, mostly because neither of you seemed capable of going more than a few seconds without stopping to kiss each other again.

The argument was forgotten. At least until the next ridiculous thing one of you did. Which, knowing Holland March, probably wouldn't take very long.

[dovebuffy92]

Credit: Stephanie Blum

[lifeisweird2002]

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

i notice you. l Driver

part #1

Driver x Reader

warnings : strangers to lovers ; one pushy guy ; one who stares ; (in the near future) some violence, sadness, tears ; now - gently ; don't get into strangers' cars ; 'no' is a full sentence ;

note : he noticed you and couldn't stop seeing you everywhere, but does he have a chance for a bit of happiness?

a/n : I don't know how this happened. It started with a single thought, and then it grew and grew… Will it work? It depends on whether anyone wants to read it and whether my feelings cause me to quit halfway through. Things have been a bit rough lately, mentally. Thank you for being here. I'll leave this here.

[Ryland Grace masterlist][main masterlist]

The first time Driver paid attention to you was because someone else couldn't stop talking about you. Shannon was in one of his strange moods, leaning against a workbench in the garage with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"There's this girl," he complained. "I ask her out, she says no. I ask again, she says no. I smile, she says no. I swear she's doing it on purpose."

Driver barely glanced up from the engine he was working on. His hands were stained with grease, and the air was humid enough that he could feel it sticking to his skin.

"Maybe she doesn't want to go out with you."

Shannon scoffed. "Why wouldn't she? Am I missing something? She couldn't do better."

That earned him a brief look. "Sure."

The conversation could have ended there. They could have forgotten about it and gone back to their routines, but a few days later, Driver finally saw the girl Shannon kept talking about.

You were standing outside a coffee shop, waiting for your order. Shannon was beside you, gesturing animatedly and trying his hardest to charm you. Driver watched from across the street. He saw how politely you listened. Then Shannon said something, and you simply smiled, shook your head, collected your drink, and walked away. Just like that.

As though that single answer was enough to end a conversation you had no interest in continuing. Shannon threw his hands up in frustration. 

"You think you're better than everyone else, huh?" he shouted after you. "Fucking princess..."

You didn't even turn around. That probably stung more than anything. Eventually Shannon shook his head, pulled his cap lower over his eyes, and lit another cigarette. For some reason, Driver watched you until you disappeared around the corner.

A week later he saw you again. This time in a grocery store. You were trying to carry too many things at once, and predictably, your paper bag gave out. Several items rolled across the floor.

"Shit..." you muttered.

Without thinking, Driver crouched down and caught a can before it disappeared beneath a shelf. You looked surprised.

"Oh. I’m sorry."

He handed it back. "You dropped something."

"Thank you." You slipped it back into the bag with a sigh. "I should probably stop overestimating my abilities."

An orange promptly escaped the bag and Driver caught that too. You laughed softly. That caught his attention more than anything else. Meanwhile, you gathered the rest of your groceries, packed them more carefully, hugged the bag to your chest, and after another quick, "Thanks for the help," headed toward the exit.

Outside, the sky had already gone dark. The lingering heat in the air promised rain. You hadn't even made it to the parking lot before the first drops started falling. You felt them immediately on your skin. You had only taken a few steps when you heard the same voice again.

"You need a ride?"

The man from the grocery store stood beside a car. A very nice car. You looked at him suspiciously. Then at the car.

"No."

The answer came immediately. Short and simple, no explanation. 

Driver blinked. "No?"

"I don't get into cars with strangers."

More raindrops began falling around you.

"Fair." He nodded. "I'm Driver."

The corners of your mouth twitched. "Driver?" you repeated. He nodded. "That's your name?"

"It's what people call me."

You studied him carefully. As though the rain wasn't bothering you at all. Most people would have gladly accepted the ride. You didn't. Instead, you took a step backward. "Maybe another time."

Then you walked away. Just like that. Just like you did before.

The rain grew heavier, and by the time you got home you were probably soaked through. But you'd stuck to your decision. And for some reason, Driver found that fascinating.

After that, he couldn't stop thinking about you. Whenever he saw someone dressed similarly, he'd look twice to make sure it wasn't you. Whenever he drove past the coffee shop, he wondered if you'd already been there or if you still were. And every time Shannon complained about you, Driver found himself getting more irritated.

Because Shannon didn't know anything about you. Driver didn't either, but somehow, he felt like he'd noticed more. 

The way you never seemed impressed by other people. The way you weren't looking for attention. The way you simply lived your life.

For someone who had spent most of his life alone, you should have been just another person passing through the edges of his world. Instead, it only made him think about you more. The next time he saw you, he already knew two things.

First, Shannon didn't stand a chance. And second, he was going to need a better introduction than, "I'm Driver."

Shannon, however, seemed completely unaware that his chances were less than zero. He was talking about you again. Complaining. Putting out a cigarette in an ashtray, he grumbled about how you'd ignored a perfectly polite compliment when he'd run into you at a flower stand.

"I swear, one day she's gonna regret turning me down," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Driver looked up from his toolbox. Shannon laughed.

"I'm serious. She thinks she's better than everyone. Somebody should put her in her place."

Something heavy settled in Driver's stomach. He didn't like the way Shannon talked about you. Not at all. Your rejection had become a personal insult rather than what it actually was, a polite no. As though you owed Shannon something simply because he wanted it.

"Leave her alone." The words came out before Driver could stop them.

Shannon raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"She said no." Driver returned to what he was doing.

"That's not the point."

"It is."

Silence followed. Shannon lit another cigarette and snorted. It was probably meant to sound like a laugh.

"You like her."

Driver didn't answer. Or maybe, by staying silent, he did.

Meanwhile, you'd started noticing him too. No, he definitely wasn't trying to get your attention. If anything, the opposite. You'd spot him in the grocery store. Near the coffee shop. Across the street from the bookstore you visited. Eventually, you stopped believing it was a coincidence.

You recognized that distinctive jacket from a distance now. The calm expression. The way he never seemed surprised when your paths crossed.

One afternoon you left the coffee shop and found him standing beside his car. He wasn't waiting for you. He was simply there. You could've said he was people-watching, but when your eyes met, he nodded. A simple greeting. Nothing more. You nodded back and kept walking. This time, though, you glanced over your shoulder. He wasn't following you. He was already looking somewhere else.

Driver told himself he wasn't watching you. It felt safer that way. He was simply noticing you. Your habits, the streets you walked, the flowers you bought. The effortless way you moved through your life. His eyes found you as naturally as they found exits in crowded rooms or signs of danger. And that should have worried him.

Instead, it felt strangely comforting.

He saw you again. You'd stopped beside a bench to rearrange your bag. Once again, you were carrying more than your arms could reasonably handle. Driver intended to keep driving. To leave it alone. But by the time he reached the first intersection, he'd already changed his mind. With a sigh, he turned back. 

When he pulled up beside the bench, you didn't immediately look up. You were busy trying to force a water bottle and a book into an already overstuffed bag. Eventually, however, the feeling of being watched made you glance up.

"You again." You recognized him immediately.

"You again," Driver echoed.

You slung the bag over your shoulder and narrowed your eyes slightly. "Are you watching me?"

The question could have sounded fearful. It didn't. For days now, you'd been exchanging nods and small smiles. Seeing Driver wasn't surprising anymore. Part of you had even started expecting it.

"A little." His answer was immediate. "And you still don't want help?"

"I'll manage." A faint smile tugged at your lips. "You're weird, you know that?"

He nodded. "Maybe."

He didn't offer you a ride. He already knew the answer.

"Most people would've given up by now." you said.

His expression barely changed. Still, you had to admit he was handsome. And those blue eyes, despite rarely revealing much emotion, were impossible to ignore. You noticed the way he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. The way he glanced toward the road. Then back at you.

"I'm patient."

"That's good."

And somehow, that was enough. For a moment longer, Driver watched you walk down the sidewalk. Then he drove away.

He shouldn't have done it. And yet he did.

He stopped at the flower stand where he always seemed to see you. He wasn't entirely sure why. A few minutes later, the florist was wrapping a bouquet of white and pale yellow flowers in brown paper. The same flowers you'd always chosen. The same flowers he now found himself choosing too.

As he reached for his wallet, the bell above the shop door chimed. He felt your presence before he saw you. When he turned around, you were staring directly at the bouquet in his hands. Your eyes met.

"Well," you sighed, "there goes my plan."

"What plan?"

"I wanted to buy those flowers."

Both of you ignored the florist, who was openly watching the exchange with interest.

"You wanted to buy these?" Driver asked, lifting the bouquet slightly.

"Yeah. They're pretty."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "They are."

Eventually, you shrugged and took a few steps farther into the shop. "I guess I'll have to find something else," you said. "Which is a shame. Those are my favorites."

His fingers tightened slightly around the bouquet as he watched you examine the other flowers. He liked watching you. A little too much.

"Are you buying them for someone?" The question pulled him from his thoughts.

He didn't actually know the answer. He'd seen them, thought of you, bought them. It sounded ridiculous, even in his own head.

"Maybe."

You smiled. "Lucky person."

His eyes found yours again. For a brief moment, neither of you looked away.

"Maybe," Driver said.

Something about that answer seemed to catch your attention. Your smile changed. Softer and more curious. Then you turned back toward the flowers while the florist began showing you other arrangements. A few moments later, you heard Driver speak again.

"You can have them."

You looked at him. "What?"

"You like them."

"Yeah," you admitted slowly. "But you can't just give flowers to random women."

"Why not?"

You laughed softly. "Because that's how people get ideas."

"Bad ideas?"

The question sounded so genuinely confused that you almost laughed harder. You looked at the bouquet. Then at the man standing in front of you. And sighed. "They really are beautiful."

"Yeah."

You bit the inside of your cheek. Driver knew you'd surrendered. Or at least he hoped he wasn't imagining things. Finally, you nodded and accepted the bouquet.

"Thank you."

For the first time that day, Driver truly smiled. And you discovered that his smile was somehow even more dangerous than his eyes.

You left the flower shop together. Dark clouds had gathered overhead once more. The air felt heavy with the promise of rain. You walked slowly along the sidewalk and talked. At least, you talked while walking. Driver mostly listened.

You told him about a book you'd recently finished. A movie you'd watched. Something ridiculous one of your neighbors had done a few days ago. Nothing important. And yet neither of you seemed eager to part ways. 

Eventually, Driver stopped beside his car. "You heading home?"

"Eventually."

"I can drive you."

You opened your mouth to refuse automatically. The same polite but firm refusal you'd given every other time. Then you looked at him. At those impossibly quiet eyes. At the familiar figure standing beside the car. A man who had spent weeks earning your trust instead of demanding it. 

And to your own surprise, you said, "Okay."

Driver hadn't expected that. You could tell by the look on his face. A few minutes later, rain drummed softly against the roof as you settled into the passenger seat and he started the engine.

"You know," you said, fastening your seatbelt, "if you turn out to be a serial killer, I'm going to become incredibly annoying."

For a moment Driver kept his eyes on the road. Then he nodded. "Fair."

You laughed. His lips twitched upward. This time he didn't bother hiding it. Because after weeks of watching you walk away, you were finally sitting beside him.

The city blurred past outside, softened by rain and streetlights. You talked about everything and nothing. Driver noticed something alarming, he genuinely liked listening to you. Your voice. The way you told stories. The way your thoughts wandered from one subject to another. Being around you made him feel lighter. Quieter. Less alone. If that even made sense. Just having you there felt comforting.

"Do you do this often?"

Driver blinked. "What?"

"Give rides to strangers."

The car turned down another street.

"No."

"Good."

Now it was his turn.

"Do you do this often?"

"What?"

"Get into cars with strangers?"

You smiled. "No."

"Good."

This time Driver laughed quietly. A real laugh. Not just the ghost of one. You noticed how much more relaxed he seemed now. For a while you watched the rain-streaked city through the window before speaking again.

"You know, at first I was a little scared of you." 

He glanced at you. "Scared?"

"You barely talked. You stared. You appeared out of nowhere."

"Hm."

"Those are legitimate reasons to be concerned."

You caught another glimpse of his smile. It suited him. Far too well.

The drive ended much sooner than either of you would've liked. Soon the car rolled to a stop outside your apartment building. Rain still tapped steadily against the roof. Neither of you seemed particularly eager to say goodbye. Eventually, though, there wasn't much choice.

"Thank you." You unbuckled your seatbelt.

"For what?"

"The ride." You lifted the bouquet slightly. "The flowers. And for not being a complete weirdo."

Driver shook his head. "You should get inside."

"Probably."

You picked up the flowers and your bag. Then paused. "I'm glad I got into the car."

For a second, Driver forgot how to respond. The words caught him off guard. You watched something soften in his expression. Something warm and honest. And it made you smile.

"Yeah," he finally said. "So am I."

For a moment neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away. Then you opened the door. Cool rain-scented air filled the car. A second later the door closed behind you, and suddenly all that remained was the faint trace of your perfume.

Driver watched you hurry through the rain toward your building. He waited until you disappeared inside. Then he waited a little longer. A light flickered on in one of the windows above. You were home. Safe.

Only then did he pull away from the curb. As the city rolled past outside his windshield, he realized something he probably should have noticed sooner. He couldn't stop smiling. And for the first time in a very long time, the warmth filling his chest didn't feel dangerous.

It felt like hope.

thank you for reading <3

[primafawnagirl]

[d0minguicidixs]

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

A new Driver story is coming today. The first chapter. Hopefully not the last one... I hope you'll enjoy it. ❤️

[slaughterhouse-loser]

The Theory of Belonging

Ryland Grace x single parent reader

They/Them used for reader , mentioned child not having a father figure || domestic fluff, no cws || long-form version of this fic idea

≈ 2k words

Summery: your son has always had trouble in school, one teacher has managed to change that. He's ended up changing you, too.

A/N : this one's been in the works for a minute! Let me know if yall prefer longer fics like this or the shorter ficlets/ideas I post more regularly.

your son has always had trouble in school, he never had a proper father figure and tended to attach himself to male teachers. one in particular had caught his adoration since he started at Grover Cleveland middle; Mister Grace. Noah often came home rambling and raving about what they did in class that day or how mister Grace made things sound so easy to understand.

you were supportive, happy he had found a teacher who seemed to be on the same wavelength as him who seemed to be a good teacher too. Noah would burst through the front door, backpack half-unzipped and shoes barely kicked off, immediately launching into a story about something that had happened in science class.

"And then Mister Grace dropped the egg from the ladder and everyone thought it was gonna break, but—" he had rambled, telling you all about the amazing demonstrations and lessons given by this mysterious mister grace.

The few times you'd interacted with Mister Grace at pickup or school events, he'd struck you as the sort of teacher who genuinely cared. A little disorganized, maybe. The type who always seemed to remember every students birthday, even when he's forgot where he'd left his coffee. Still attentive. Engaged.

You met him properly for the first time at parent teacher conferences. He greeted you with a smile and pulled out a little file of Noah's work from the quarter, a little yellow sticky note sitting on top of it. "Ah! Here we are" he flipped through papers precariously until he found what he was looking for "Noah's test scores are good, great even. He's always engaged in class and really one of my best kids" he grins, handing you one of Noah's assignments to look at; gold star sitting proudly at the top. He glances around, giving Noah a tense but kind smile "hey, buddy, you should show them your model, it should be with the rest of em" Noah lights up, excitedly rushing across the lab to find it.

As soon as Noah is out of earshot Mister Grace lowers his voice, frowning "I have a few concerns—Noah seems incredibly emotionally attached to some of his teachers, myself included—" he swallows hard "not that there's anything wrong with that! I'm just a little concerned…is everything okay at home?" Your cheeks flush, and you laugh awkwardly "oh—yeah he, doesn't really have a father figure yknow? Its just me at home so" you shrug helplessly "I'm sorry, he really looks up to you"

He frowns, nodding as he scribbles something down "I'm sorry to hear that, that's perfectly normal in kids his age" he smiles warmly at you as Noah comes back carrying a model of an atom made of pipe-cleaners and pompoms, showing it to you proudly rambling about each part and what they represent and to your delight Grace continued to encourage him.

As you and Noah left, Grace slid something into your palm as he shook your hand. his cell number, accompanied by a note reading "in case you and Noah need anything. or not. :)"

The number sat on your kitchen counter for nearly a week.

You weren't sure why you kept it.

Teachers gave parents their contact information sometimes. It wasn't strange. It wasn't inappropriate. Still, there was something about the little smiley face at the end of the note that made you hesitate every time you looked at it.

Then Noah got sick.

Nothing serious. Just a nasty fever that kept him home for three days. By the second afternoon he was miserable, sprawled dramatically across the couch beneath three blankets while cartoons played quietly on the TV.

"Can you tell Mister Grace I'm gonna miss the project presentation?" he groaned.

"I'll email the school."

"No," Noah insisted. "Mister Grace." You rolled your eyes. "You act like he's the president." "He'd answer faster."

You laughed despite yourself but that evening, while Noah slept, you found yourself staring at the number again. After a moment's hesitation, you typed out a quick message.

Hey. This is Noah's parent. Sorry to bother you. Noah's been home sick and wanted me to let you know he'll probably miss the project presentations tomorrow.

You expected nothing. Instead your phone buzzed barely thirty seconds later, like he had been waiting, you let yourself hope.

No bother at all. Tell him his project wasn't nearly ugly enough to earn an extension, but I'll give him one anyway.

You couldn't help smiling.

A second message followed.

How's he feeling?

The conversation should have ended there. Instead, somehow, it didn't. One message became two. Two became five. five became discussing Noah's science project, then school funding, then the terrible cafeteria food that apparently violated several laws of nature.

You found yourself laughing quietly in your kitchen at nearly eleven at night.

Ryland Grace was funny. Not in the polished way some people were. His humor seemed accidental, like he'd simply let every thought wander out of his mouth and somehow they all ended up entertaining.

You started texting often. More often than just checking in on Noah or asking for help with homework he was struggling with. Actually texting. Nearly every day you were talking to Ryland every chance you got, and he would respond in minutes—seconds if he was able—it made you feel special.

He asked you out for coffee on a foggy Tuesday, that's what friends do right? Get coffee? You assumed it was friendly, it was your son's science teacher no way would you cross any professional boundaries with him. No matter how badly you want to.

The coffee shop sat tucked between a bookstore and a florist downtown, warm light spilling through fogged windows onto the damp sidewalk. By the time you arrived, Ryland was already there.

Of course he was.

He spotted you through the glass and nearly knocked over his own coffee trying to wave.You couldn't help laughing as you pushed through the door.

"That was smooth" you laugh "I know," he said gravely. "They love a man with zero spatial awareness."

What was supposed to be a quick coffee somehow became two. Then pastries. Then a conversation that drifted from Noah's science fair project to favorite movies, childhood disasters, weird students he'd taught over the years, corny jokes, and everything in between.

When the sky outside finally darkened and the coffee shop employees started stacking chairs, neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave. Still, eventually you found yourselves outside. The evening air was cool, carrying the smell of rain.

"Can I walk you to your car?" Ryland asked. Your heart immediately decided to become a problem. "Sure." The walk wasn't long. For someone who never seemed to stop talking, Ryland had gotten remarkably quiet.

You found yourself smiling. When you finally reached your car, neither of you moved to leave. There it was.

The awkward, impossible moment. The one that only happened in movies. Streetlights glowed softly through the fog. Ryland stood with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking suddenly unsure of himself.

"Well," he said.

"Well."

"That was fun."

"It was." Another pause. A longer one.

His eyes flickered down toward your mouth before immediately darting away. Your pulse stuttered. For one terrible, hopeful second, you thought he might kiss you. The possibility hung between you, fragile and terrifying.

Ryland took a small step forward. Then stopped. You could practically see the argument happening behind his eyes.

The war of professionalism, friendship, and the fact that you were the most captivating person he had ever met. You listened when he rambled, laughed at his stupid jokes, you even had some of your own to share. He adored you. And that was terrifying. If he had misread this as a date when it wasnt and you simply wanted to be friends, he could ruin his relationship with not only you, but one of his favorite students.

He wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

He stepped forward again, just a little and let his hands hover in the air "can I—" he clears his throat "I'm sorry can I kiss you?" He whispers, looking around as if to bolt as soon as the words leave his lips. "Yes" you plead "please" you bare get the words out before his lips are on yours, hands shakes and breathing hard but he's kissing you.

You pull back for air and he looks just as flustered as you, biting his lip to hold back a grin. "Uhm" he starts, small and afraid of sounding needy "drive safe. Maybe text me? So I know you got there in one piece? You don't have to, just—" "I'll text you" you agree, climbing into the car.

You think about him the whole drive home.

Its 3 months in that Noah starts talking about it. "Mister Grace kept checking his phone today, can you believe that?" Or "Mister Grace is happier, I think he had a girlfriend" he would theorize, spinning on a bar-stool and completely unaware that the object of his theories was making his lasagna.

"Thats nice, sweetie, I'm happy for him" you dismiss despite the way your heart flutters and flips at the thought of you making him visibly happier.

6 months into the relationship, you decide you need to tell Noah. You tell him you've been seeing someone (he already figured this out, but now you've confirmed it) and that you wanted to introduce them, he was tentatively receptive as you assured him it would be okay if they didn't click.

Ryland arrived thirty minutes early, saying something about helping set up, and brought a bouquet of pink and white Chrysanthemums—the stems already cut and in inch deep water in a small vase with a baby blue bow tied around it.

You let him help you set the table, three plates, three cups, three forks. It felt so domestic, you could get used to this; fluidly moving through the kitchen with him by your side.

When everything is ready, you call for Noah, bracing preemptively for his reaction. You could tell Ryland was too, he loved Noah, really. He was a great kid and a good student, there was little not to love about the kid (or his parent).

Noah descended the stairs with little care, not so much as looking up from his phone until he reached the dining room, to which he was greeted by a smiling Ryland offering him a seat at the table. His phone slipped out of his hand and his jaw hit the floor "Mister Grace?!" He gaped, looking from you to Ryland to you again. You offer a sheepish smile. "Mister Grace is your boyfriend?!" It would have felt like an interrogation if it wasnt for the grin beginning to split your son's cheeks.

You had never seen Noah so lively at dinnertime, usually it was idle chatter about school or plans or nothing at all; his eyes never meeting yours. Now he was rambling, smile bright as he tried to very hard to make it clear he was happy about this development. Ecstatic even, his two favorite adults. Together. He loved it.

After dinner, Ryland stayed to help with dishes (to which he was shooed out of the kitchen) and chat with Noah for a while longer. It was nearly 10 by the time he finally left, with a Tupperware of leftovers and a promise to help Noah with his homework.

That night, you got a barrage of texts from Ryland, raving about how well it went and how much he adored the two of you. He insisted on repaying you and Noah for such a wonderful evening, though you insisted it wasnt necessary.

So you two made abstract plans to take Noah out somewhere, to dinner maybe or to do something. As long as it was with you Ryland didn't care what you did.

You knew it went well when the next morning, Noah looked a little sheepish at breakfast and asked, in an uncharacteristically soft voice, if you could have Mister Grace over for dinner again soon.

Yeah, you said, knowing entirely that it wouldn't even be a question to Ryland.

You could.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Would anyone be interested in something romantic with Driver?

[midniqhtt]

HOLLAND MARCH RECS .ᐟ

꒰ MASTERLIST I RYAN GOSLING I 06/08/26 ꒱

a collection of fics i’ve read and thoroughly enjoyed all in one spot! read each warning before diving in and please give writers some appreciation for all their hard work by reblogging and/or commenting! ꨄ

A: angst F: fluff S: smut C: comfort H/C: hurt comfort

desperation I @barnes-babydoll I F + S I Temptress might be your middle name because seeing you in that dress has Holland begging for a sliver of your attention and not to go out tonight. You can only be so resilient when it comes to him.

fighting and biting I @surturedberries I F I holland and healy have really made a name for themselves with their new detective company, the nice guys. things really couldn't be better. apart from the alcoholism, his reliance on his daughter, and the steadily growing number of injuries he gets throughout his life. but things take a turn when he meets you through an incident with his daughter, and he realizes that this single dad is oh so lonely.

apologizing I @/surturedberries I F I holland march apologizing with a boom box outside your window

declarations of love I @greenwitchfromthewoods I F

neighbor!holland pt2 pt3 I @rockyhatemark I F

don’t be mad I @/rockyhatemark I A + S I holland misses out on family date night and you're not pleased. he uses his hands to try and make it up to you

blurb I @/rockyhatemark I S

can you read me? I @miyomeyo I F I In a conversation over far too many cigs and a few drinks in, when Holland's routine pet names sink into your ribs and swarm your stomach with abrasive butterflies, you finally protest. But because Holland is Holland, he pushes back—unfortunately for you, quite hard. 

not for stealing (my heart or my jewels) I @romanticgumchewer I F I you are a mystery writer from maine with a penchant for ending up solving murder cases. during a stay in la, your friend is murdered and you have to team up with private eye holland march to solve the case. only problem is, he drives you nuts.

tabletop confessions I @scandalscontained I F I reader and holland are partners in the PI buisness and he's been in love with her for a long time. he finally confesses.

crazy, stupid, flirt I @/scandalscontained I F + S I

2 + 1 I @/scandalscontained I A + F I the two times you tell holland to lock in— and the one time you kiss it better

pine and scotch I @bibigo-lover I F I you spend the night over at the march house after tasking yourself with babysitting. your feelings, holly's gossip, and holland's drinking are a worrying combination.

an evening show I @/bibigo-lover I F I holland is making a big fuss out of holly inviting you to her upcoming school play. he’s pleasantly surprised by the way you show up for the both of them.

blurb I @larsandthewritergirl I F

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Thank you ❤️🥹

[romanticgumchewer]

orbiter series masterlist

summary: you and colt were in a relationship before his accident eighteen months ago. he pushed you away and you started over. now, you're the set designer on Metalstorm and Colt just got called in as the new stuntman. only problem is: you weren't ready for Colt to meet his daughter.

collective tags: fem!reader, secret kid, mentions of guns/weaponry/alcohol/drugs, swearing/harsh language, inaccurate movie set things, altered movie plot, violence, blood, angst, fake death, whump you might say

☀️ - no warnings ♥️ - fluff 🔥 - smut/sexual content 🩸 - violence/blood 🥀 - angst

➷ feel less far (3.3K) - ☀️🥀 - your life was finally gluing itself back together after falling apart 18 months ago. but will a certain stuntman coming back into your life break everything again?

➷ i'm an astronaut