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. ❤️
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You and Ryland have a small…incident, leading to a broken bed that a very curious Rocky has to come and fix.
𝐀 / 𝐍: short fic/drabble type thing. there’s no description of smut in this…but it’s implied in the concept ig ++ pretty suggestive so i’ll put the 18+ banner on
“You’re staring at me.” You announced groggily, eyes still closed yet your boyfriend’s gaze burned into your skull; piercing through bone and settling in your frontal lobe.
“What are you gonna do, sue me?” His response coerced you into slowly opening your eyes, lashes fluttering elegantly as you did so. “I don’t know how good the legal representation is here.”
His voice was gruff, but he looked wide-awake, all bright-eyed and ready for the day ahead. His glasses sat askew on his nose, loving eyes peering over them; his fox cardigan was pulled over the top of his clothes, indicating that he’d likely been on a walk already.
Instinctively, you shuffled closer to him; laying your hand against his chest, head eagerly coming to meet its placement. Your leg lifted over his body to cage him in and shove him further onto the other side of the bed, a motion provoked by the feeling of being far too close to the edge on your own side.
All of a sudden, you felt yourself tumbling onto the floor — taking Ryland with you as your body thumped off the ground, causing Ryland to let out a yelp from underneath you. His hands shot to your hips, steadying you on top of him so you wouldn’t continue rolling across the harsh-floor.
“I forgot about that.” You admitted embarrassingly, feeling how Ryland’s hands now caressed up and down your hips to your waist, smiling up at you before he cocked an eyebrow.
“You forgot about the best night of your life?”
You laughed at his outburst, hands coming to playfully steal his glasses from his nose to which he protested, a small pout playing at his lips as you held them above your head — swinging them like a pendulum, enticing him to come and get them.
“Oh, you break the bed once and now you’re mr cocky, is that it?” You teased, narrowing your eyes while you looked down at him, watching as his expression twisted into something you rarely saw from him; a confident kind of mischief.
A few moments passed between the two of you as cogs seemed to turn inside Ryland’s head.
“No.” He spoke simply with a shrug, shooting upwards to sit you in his lap; hands coming to harshly tug at the bottom of your thighs to pull you closer to him. He bit down on his bottom lip at the friction, letting out a brief noise of struggle.
A small yelp left your lips, followed by a giggle as you settled into his lap; watching how he leaned in closer, eyes scanning all over your face.
“Technically, it’s Dr.” He smiled cockily, bringing a hand to travel up your arms to retrieve his glasses, settling them back onto the bridge of his nose as he pushed them up with a single finger.
Before you could get too carried away, there was a hurried knocking on the door — causing Ryland to gently lift you off him, standing up tall and kindly offering you a hand to get up aswell.
Fearing his already-inflated ego, you swatted his hand away jokingly whilst rolling your eyes, scrambling up from the floor as Ryland left the room for a moment, coming back in with Rocky trailing just behind him in his xenonite ball.
“Good morning, humans of Erid!” Rocky announced energetically, clicking his claws. “Grace come to me early, say needed fix—“ He seemed to trail off as he noticed the odd-silhouette of the bed with his limited vision, unnaturally caving to one side, sheets and pillows now discarded over the floor.
Ryland wasn’t paying too much attention to Rocky, only staring at you with a knowing look that made you nervous, knees almost buckling with desire.
“I see problem.” Rocky sounded out, rolling over towards the broken bed, seemingly inspecting the break. “This is made of Eridian strongest material. How this happen, question? Eridians made to withstand great force!” He continued, turning back in his ball to face you.
You suddenly felt scrutinised by the alien, feeling like you’d just been accused of a heinous Eridian crime you didn’t know existed — and Ryland was no help, his previous cocky demeanour shifted into a wave of apprehension and embarrassment when Rocky began questioning the ‘how?’ of the situation.
Immediately, a smirk fell on your face noticing how Ryland turned sheepish, an idea popping into your head to tease him even further for his ego-fuelled activities from minutes before.
“Well Rocky.” You began, crouching down to match his height as your hands steadied themselves against your knee caps ready to explain the whole process to the unsuspecting alien.
You practically felt Ryland freezing up beside you, the air in the room shifting.
“Sometimes when two humans love eachother very much, they get this feeling.” You looked to Grace for a moment, watching as he seemed to turn red in the face, silently begging for you to stop; but you wanted to see how far you could take it.
“Feeling!” Rocky repeated in confirmation, evidence that he was hanging on every word.
“It’s a very strong feeling, an urge to—“
“Can you just fix it? Rocky. Please.” Ryland sounded out urgently, his hands coming to gesture aimlessly in the air, before his hand came to aggressively press against his forehead in frustration.
A smug expression overcame your features, standing up proudly with your hands firmly pressed against your hips in a sassy stance as you turned to Ryland.
“Grace have attitude problem! Grace need human-sleep-box fixing. Maybe then will be nice to Rocky.” The alien seemed to grumble, begrudgingly following behind Grace on his adventure of apologetically picking up the discarded sheets and pillows.
You smiled obnoxiously at the two, leaning against the wall whilst letting out a pleasant sigh of contentment as your plan had worked.
Although, Ryland didn’t allow much room for you to revel in the blissful, prideful moment — immediately tossing a pillow to bounce off your chest, softly falling to the floor as he mouthed sarcastically.
Pairing | Lars Lindstrom x reader
Summary | You and Lars—two awkward humans, clumsily orbiting around each other for months. And before you know it, you're in the midst of a developing crush, and he isn't helping with his "accidental" run-ins with you.
Warnings/tags | strangers to potentially more, awkward lil babies ahead, Lars is too nervous to talk to reader, fluff, Karin and her kid make an appearance, single use of 'ope' (because latrg is apparently set in wisconsin, and it's my culture), the cat's name is Goose (sorry, i had to...ever since my doggy was born, i've called him goose), no use of y/n
Word Count | 4.3k (this was supposed to be short, idk what happened)
A/N | hi :3 i think i'm slowly drifting to the goose fandom. i still have my toothbrush and my own drawer at bucky's place, but i think i need a wee lil break. apologies:( fun fact...it was my one year anniversary of writing on tumblr dot gov a week ago. i wanted to post something, but...life. so here's...whatever this is, enjoy:)) (please, let me know if i should continue this 𖹭)
In a small, rural town where everyone knew each other, you knew Lars Lindstrom. Had you shared a conversation? No. Had you ever even introduced yourself to him? No. But you were familiar with him all the same.
He was a popular topic of conversation around town—one you were constantly included in because you just had to meet Lars. You tried. You really did try to introduce yourself.
You were fairly new to town, of course, you would want to meet everyone. It was kind of a priority for you, something your grandmother instilled in you since you were little. 'First impressions are everything, make the effort to get to know them,' she'd said before presenting you to one of her many friends. She was the kind of person to greet you with a homemade casserole and a friendly conversation if you were a new arrival.
But now roles were reversed, and you were the new arrival. You had moved in with her in a cottage beside a long, winding creek at the beginning of Fall. Now, it was Winter—the time of year when a thin layer of frost covered car windshields and snow was scattered on the sidewalks, the powdery snow softly crunching beneath your worn boots.
The grocery store was the first time you had seen Lars in person. Your grandmother asked you to run uptown to pick up milk, a carton of eggs, and two boxes of cream cheese. Easy enough.
However, as you were pacing up and down the cramped aisles, you spotted an unfamiliar face at the far end, towards the canned fruits. Or he spotted you, and you just noticed, since his eyes were locked on you, scanning you like you were the nutrition label on a cereal box. As if your features and frame were ingredients he was having difficulty sounding out in his head, and he had to read you all over again.
Feeling slightly vulnerable under his intense scrutiny, you offered him a tight-lipped smile—one that he did not return. Instead, he froze, limbs locking and eyes widening. He tried to duck behind the corner, peeking through the gap between the cans.
Amused by his embarrassment, you softly snorted. You took a hesitant step forward, closing the distance. You raised your hand to give him a small wave, and he only blinked rapidly in surprise.
"Hi," you greeted, giving your full name in case he connected it to your grandmother’s. "I moved here a couple of months ago, and I don’t think we’ve met before."
As if you hadn’t said a word, he kept staring blankly at you. Still, you reached out your hand, letting it hang in the space between you for what felt like forever until his eyes finally dropped to it. Even then, he didn’t move to take it. He seemed frozen. Suspended in time. Like a photograph of a man with a piercing gaze and gloved hands at his sides—only the frame that once held him had fallen away, and no one had thought to tell him.
Being this close to him, you registered how…handsome he was. He had soft features where it mattered, and sharp lines where it made sense. His blue eyes were kind, gentle, even if they were intense. You could almost sense the emotion beneath his unwavering gaze—an unexplainable grief that you clocked right away. Perhaps it was because it was the same one you buried deep within yourself. The one you hid behind forced smiles and the bright, distracting colors of scarves wrapped snugly around your neck, not unlike the one you were wearing now.
His mustache was neatly trimmed along his upper lip, and his hair was slicked back as though he’d run a comb through the dirty blonde strands several times before heading out. The navy blue and cream coat he wore was zipped to his chest, revealing just a sliver of the white dress shirt collar beneath.
Two hard blinks, and then he was moving. He was speed-walking in the other direction before he disappeared from your view completely.
You stood there with your hand still outstretched for three full seconds before you dropped it back to your side. You should've been insulted by the way he fled, but it was quite the opposite. You found the action…endearing in a strange way. Gently shaking your head, you huffed a laugh, going right back to your task.
You saw him four more times after that. Around town. In passing at the mall, or in the church parking lot. And every time you waved or grinned at him from afar, he'd get that same look in his eyes. A deer in the headlights until a loud horn would go off in his head, and he'd sprint away.
It wasn't until you started working at the local bookstore that you finally addressed the oddity. You were scanning one of the romance novels that Karin had placed on the counter, along with a book titled Terrible Twos: All the Ways to Deal with a Misbehaving Child. You had been well acquainted with Karin, knew she was married with a kid, and, more importantly, knew her relation to Lars.
You lifted the second book, a too-big smile stretched on your lips. "It's already that time, huh?"
"Yeah," she sighed in defeat. "It honestly snuck up on us. I didn't even have time to catch my breath. I swear that little rascal only behaves for her uncle."
You froze for a second too long before moving the scanned book into a brown paper bag. Karin noticed the subtle slip in your demeanor and tilted her head.
"You know Lars, right?" she asked as she unzipped her burgundy purse and dug for her wallet.
"Yeah," you answered too quickly. "Yeah, no, I know Lars. I mean, not really, but y'know…"
"The two of you have never talked?" she prodded, handing you her credit card.
You swiped it before you replied, busying your mind with the purchase instead of making her worry about your internal problems with her brother-in-law. But you couldn't hold it in any longer, so you spilled.
"I don't think he likes me."
She scoffed. "Don't be silly. Lars likes everyone."
"Yeah, well, does he sprint the other direction with everyone else?" Your confession came out as a whisper, not really ready to admit that it was affecting you. That maybe it hurt you that he hadn't even spoken to you, yet he'd already made up his mind about you.
"Oh," she breathed, then it tumbled into a giggle. Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion at her amusement. She pressed a palm to her parted lips, muffling the sound. "I'm sorry…it's just…" she paused, retrieving her card and shoving it back into one of the empty slots in her wallet.
Sighing, she restarted. "I think someone has a little crush, is all."
Your cheeks heated as you felt somewhat flustered by her revelation. Regardless of it being his secret, it still bothered you that it was exposed in such a way.
"He was so quiet at dinner the other night, and he's been asking for dating tips. I guess I never put two and two together that he might be interested in someone," Karin trailed off, her eyes locking back on yours.
You had gone quiet, fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater. Your mind had gone into a downward spiral as you listened to her ramble on about a crush you had no inkling of.
The realization crept in slowly. Honestly, it wasn’t something you noticed until someone outright spelled it out for you. A giant neon sign flashing 'they like you' in bold letters wouldn’t have made it click. But after Karin pointed it out, it all made logical sense. The nerves that made it difficult for him to speak to you. The stopping in the middle of something just to look at you.
"Ope, I shouldn't have said anything," she inhaled sharply. "I only wanted to assure you that he doesn't hold any ill feelings toward you."
"Well…good," you said, voice slightly wobbly.
"I'll have a talk with him."
You offered her a thumbs-up, lips pressed into a tight line, then instantly regretted it, and pretended you were only trying to slide her purchases closer to her instead. Eventually, she slid her wallet back into her purse, slung the bag over her shoulder, and picked up the paper bag of books. The smile she gave you before exiting the shop was beaming, as if she had been gifted the juiciest secret.
And that juicy little secret occupied your thoughts constantly.
About a week later, there was a shift. And it wasn't subtle either.
You started seeing Lars more often. And it wasn't the 'oh gosh, we just so happened to bump into each other' kind of way. It was more intentional. It seemed like he had learned your routine.
He started showing up at the same café that you'd swing by before work. Sometimes, he'd be at the corner table, sipping from a mug. Other times, he'd be right behind you in line, humming some tune that sounded way too familiar. You always wanted to ask about it, but somehow talked yourself out of it every time; you didn't want to scare him off again. But for the rest of the day, that same melody would play in the back of your head like he was lingering in the ridges of your brain.
The park became your go-to place for a bit of peace during your lunch break or after work. The cold persisted in the last days of winter, but it was warm enough to stay outside without freezing your ass off. You’d settle on the bench nearest to the river, unwrapping whatever your gran had packed, and there he’d be—almost always by the tree line, holding a slice of bread, tearing it into pieces to toss to the birds. He’d meet your gaze for a moment before shying away first, leaving you with a silly grin at the sight of his flushed cheeks and trembling fingers.
Slowly, he grew bolder with the eye contact, holding your gaze a little longer each time. Then came the shorter distances between you. And finally, the moment that surprised you most—a wave paired with a full smile that reached his eyes and rounded his cheeks.
The first time he did it, your breath caught.
Lars was leaving the corner music store as you were strolling down the opposite sidewalk on your way to your morning shift. It stopped you mid-step, almost tripping over your own feet. Yeah, you'd seen it in passing. You'd seen him smile in conversations with Mrs. Gruner after Sunday service, or around his work friends. But for some reason, it seemed forced then, or at least fairly strained. But this one—this one—was real. It lit up his entire face, creasing the corners of his eyes and dimpling his cheeks.
After your initial shock wore off, you mirrored his grin, waving back. His expression faltered for half a second, smile dipping at the corners before lifting again. As if your world hadn't just tilted onto its axis, he kept moving toward his car, a plastic bag swaying in his grip. You continued on your walk, and maybe you had an imperceptible pep in your step that you didn't have before.
Your co-worker, Holly, noticed the boost in your attitude. She pointed it out whenever she got the chance. The smile that stayed plastered on your face for the next couple of days was persistently questioned. You blamed it on the change in the weather. The sun wasn't hidden behind the clouds anymore. The snow was beginning to melt, and you could see more of the grass being revealed as spring closed in.
But after you kept your cool with a particularly rude customer, Holly sensed something deeper than a mere shift in temperature.
"Who is he?" she asked, hoisting herself onto the edge of the counter.
You had your nose buried in a novel you had snatched from the 'new arrivals' shelf. It was a sci-fi novel that had instantly captured your attention from the introduction alone. Technically, you weren't supposed to read potential purchases, but your boss wasn't around. So, what was the harm in a little light reading?
"Who's who?" you chirped back, half pulled into the discussion.
"The guy who’s made you so…happy."
Lowering the book a hair, you arched a brow. "A guy? There's no guy," you lied, tone rising an octave.
"There's totally a guy. I can see it all over your face."
"Why is it that every time a woman is happy, it immediately has to be connected to a man?" you muttered, rather annoyed.
A flat look washed over her face, not buying it. "Just give me a name, or how you met, or something."
"No," you said, like it was final, turning back to your book.
She laughed, wiggling on the counter. "So, you admit it. There is someone."
You only rolled your eyes in return, blocking your entire face with the novel.
When spring rolled in, you spent more time at the park. Kids and their parents crowded the playground, but you didn't mind the background noise. Unwrapping your sandwich, you took a bite, and you let your gaze drift to the river. You watched as the water rippled from the light breeze in the air. Ducks floated past, a mother and her babies following close behind.
You were halfway through your lunch when you felt it—that familiar tingle on the back of your neck from being watched. When you turned to find where he was hidden, you hadn't expected to be met with the sight of Lars pushing his niece on the swing.
She was facing towards him, tiny hands wrapped around the chains, attempting to pump her legs, but instead it looked more like she was clumsily kicking the air. He gently pushed the center of the bucket seat that held her, patient and cautious. The little one giggled with delight each time she was forced backward, and an easy grin stayed on his lips.
You’d never seen him so relaxed, so at ease. It made something loosen in your chest unexpectedly.
But when he registered that you were observing him, his posture straightened, swallowing thickly. He pushed his niece with a little more effort than he intended, and she came back quicker with a kick straight to his gut. Letting out a small huff, he took a step back. He seemed momentarily stunned, which only made his niece giggle harder. As her laughter bloomed, her little feet kicked wildly. He shook his head in disbelief that she found this humorous, but his smile betrayed him.
A snort of your own slipped out before you could catch it, and his head whipped your way. You focused back on the river in front of you, pretending you hadn't seen anything.
A few seconds passed before you peeked back over your shoulder. Karin was standing beside Lars now, one hand propped on her hip as the other shielded her eyes from the blinding sun. You couldn't hear their conversation, but she nudged him with her elbow and then nodded her head in your direction. That could only mean one thing, which made your heart do a strange flip.
You shifted on the bench awkwardly, crossing and uncrossing your legs as you tried to turn your attention to anything other than the exchange at the swingset.
Before you knew it, you could hear a set of heavy boots shuffling in the grass before he appeared in your periphery. You blinked up at him; he stood there for a beat too long, hands buried in his pockets, and the toes of his boots kicking at the dirt. He cleared his throat, as if you weren't staring directly at him.
"Can I sit?" he rasped, not quite meeting your eyes.
"Sure," you answered, tone light.
He settled in beside you, leaving enough space between you for another person to fit. He leaned back, then sat up before finally scooting to the edge of the bench, his knees a shoulder width apart.
Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, he eventually made eye contact with you. "That was…uh—"
You raised your hands in surrender. "I didn't see anything."
Lars made an amused sound in the back of his throat, dipping his chin in acknowledgment. Silence stretched; chirping birds and squealing kids were the only ones to fill it. He drew a line in the dirt with his boot, rolling his shoulders like his skin didn't feel quite right on his body. Eyes bouncing around the playground, he checked on his niece one more time. She was kicking her feet dramatically, begging for Karin to push her higher. Her mother reluctantly obliged with an exaggerated groan.
A smile tugged at Lars' lips. "She's, uh…kinda bossy."
You bit back a smile. "I respect a girl who knows what she wants."
He hummed, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you once more. This time, he held your gaze, eyes wandering over your features—the same way he did in the grocery store all that time ago. His knee started bouncing, a wave of nerves running through him. Pressing his palms into his thighs, he rubbed them down his pants, as if he'd suddenly gone sweaty.
"Are you getting settled into town okay?" he asked, voice somewhat strained.
"Yeah," you answered cheerfully. "Everyone's really welcoming. I already feel right at home."
"Good…that's good," he mumbled, gaze drifting down to your half-eaten sandwich beside you. "Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt your lunch."
"Don't worry about it," you waved him off. "You didn't."
Folding his hands in his lap, he drew in a sharp breath. "I saw you here the other day."
"Yeah?" you inquired softly, like this was news to you, but you noticed. You always noticed him. "Why didn't you say 'hi'?"
He nudged a loose pebble with his boot. "Didn't wanna bother you. You looked…relaxed…didn't wanna ruin that."
"You wouldn't have," you blurted too quickly, then your tone softened. "I would've enjoyed the company."
A pink bloomed across his cheeks, causing your heart to thump against your ribcage erratically. His jaw clenched once, twice, before he finally opened his mouth, a burning question scorching his lips.
"Does your…boyfriend ever join you?"
You huffed a laugh, eyes glinting. "I don't have one."
"Oh," he murmured, then, even softer, "Good."
You felt it, an unmistakable hum of something settling right beneath the surface. Something you couldn't quite place, or weren't ready to name. For now, you'd label it a blossoming friendship.
Before you could fill the quiet with whatever awkward comment you had rattling in your skull, his niece's voice carried clear across the park. "Uncle Lars, push me!" she demanded with a squeak.
He flinched, not only at the volume, but at the timing. Blinking hard twice, he stood slowly, as if the last thing he wanted to do was leave. He brushed nonexistent dirt from his pants before straightening.
"I should—" he sighed, not finishing his thought.
"Of course, go," you chirped in understanding. "Hurry before she sends in the cavalry."
Lars let out a laugh, one that made his eyes crinkle and the edges of his mustache curl in glee. When his laughter faded, he turned to you with more to say, but the words stayed trapped in his throat. Staring at you for a fleeting moment longer, he nodded, and the way he did felt like a gesture one does after memorizing something important. Then, he rejoined his family at the swing set.
After that small conversation, the two of you had settled into a rhythm. An ungraceful rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless. He'd show up at the bookstore every other day, making a habit of seeing you without it being obvious. Except everyone noticed.
It wasn't like he was hiding his feelings for you—not well, anyway. He'd skim the shelves for a book he had no intention of buying, risking a glance in your spot by the register. Or ask you for a fairly specific novel, obscure enough that it'd take you longer to locate. You'd hand it to him with a victorious glimmer in your eyes, and he'd thank you. After you wandered back behind the counter, he'd tuck it back where it belonged. An absurd dance that you didn't mind learning the steps to.
Conversations began to flow more smoothly, too. Lars found it easier to open the discussion if it didn't directly involve him, so he often led with something humorous about his niece.
"She’s been askin' for a cat, but Gus isn’t keen on havin' an animal in the house while she’s still young," he'd muttered one day, toying with the display of bookmarks near the register. "Well, she's stubborn and normally doesn't take no for an answer. So, yesterday, after she finished playing in the yard, she came in carrying a gray cat she 'found' outside. More like, dragged it in 'cause it clearly didn't wanna be held. Anyway, turns out, it was the neighbor's cat, and she had to return it with tears in her eyes."
You snorted, leaning forward with your elbows pressed to the wooden surface, and your head propped in your hands. "Oh, that's adorable," you cooed. "If she just so happens to get in trouble, tell your brother that I'm her lawyer, and I expect her to be acquitted of all charges."
"I'll be sure to let him know," he teased back.
"Oh, and if she ever wants to stop by the shop, Goose is always in need of extra attention." You pointed to the space where the brown tabby cat was perched between the books.
Goose was Janet’s cat, your boss’s pride and joy. She lived above the store in a cozy little apartment shared only with the kitty. The fluffy troublemaker was famous for slipping out during the day when Janet opened the shop, eager to roam the bookstore as if he owned the place. Eventually, your boss grew tired of constantly herding her pet back upstairs, so Goose became the community cat. Some customers even stopped by just to see him, which didn’t bother Jan in the slightest.
"Alright," he said, nodding. "I'll bring her by."
And finally, when the days were warmer, the trees were in full bloom, and the grass was particularly green, Lars stepped into the shop as if on a mission. With perfect posture and an unmistakable confidence, he approached you as you were stacking the latest batch of new releases.
Your gaze lifted as you slid the next book onto the shelf, and there he was, leaning into the end of the bookstand, arm extended and palm pressed flat against the wood. You couldn't force the smile off your lips once it unfurled. He looked especially handsome in his nice beige sweater, and his hair slicked back. The jasmine laced with the deeper scent of oakmoss swirled around you, drawing you closer. And almost on cue, your stomach did that stupid little flip it did when he was in your proximity.
Clearing his throat, he tilted his head. "Karin wanted me to…no…I—" he paused, gathering his composure. "I was wonderin' if you had any plans for dinner tonight."
He winced, as if bracing for rejection, then adjusted his stance, crossing his arms over his chest in a poor attempt to appear casual. "Karin was going to make extra…and she wanted to invite you…Actually, I wanted to invite you."
Your grin only grew, pulse fluttering wildly. "Dinner," you repeated, testing the word.
"Yeah," he confirmed as his anxious fingers played with the sleeve of his sweater. "It's okay if you—"
"I'd like that," you cut in gently.
"Okay," he managed, eyebrows twitching in surprise. "Okay. Good. That's great."
And as if standing still while looking at you—with that radiant smile and bright eyes—was physically unbearable, he spun on his heels. He made his way to the door with a stiffened posture and the stride of a man running from his own emotions. You bit your lip, stifling a giggle. Before he reached his exit, he shook his head, whirling around once more.
"Oh," he blurted out. "'m supposed to ask if you have any food allergies."
"Nope. Not that I know of, at least."
He dipped his chin in understanding. "Let's hope we don't find out tonight." He made an attempt at a joke, even if his voice did wobble faintly.
Before you could potentially change your mind (you wouldn't), he vanished behind the closing door, the tiny bell above it announcing his departure. The town swallowed him once again, and you were left with a sea of muddled thoughts and the very wrong sensation of your heart galloping like a racehorse. You placed a palm over it, willing it to slow. But it persisted, knocking even harder into your ribcage.
Maybe you should see a doctor?
No.
You had more important things to worry about. Like, what the hell were you going to wear? Was it a fancy or casual situation? You should've asked, but it was kind of hard to when he was asking you to dinner, and the way his voice cracked with nerves, and—
The brush of fur against your ankles broke your train of thought as you noticed Goose weaving between your ankles. It was almost like he knew you were internally freaking out and needed someone to help anchor you.
The rest of your shift passed by in a blur, a dazed smile on your face, and a tingling feeling dancing across your skin that refused to leave. It was all thanks to Lars.
And deep down, you knew that feeling was here to stay.
"OMG, that's soooo me!!" i say as i look at a 45 year old man who's just a baby girl, pookie bear :3
💌 general taglist: @wherewinterblooms @phoenix-in-writing @overwintering-soldier @wint3rbarnes @paankhaleyaaar @mysteriousmysticc @sergeantsebastian @canyon-moon-carly @ornateglass @sheriff-bodecker @juniebjonesin (pls, pls, pls, let me know if you would not like to be tagged in future goose fics, i promise i won't be offended)
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.
i'm an astronaut - colt seavers x fem! reader - pt. 2
summary: you and colt are getting closer, and in turn he's getting closer to riley.
tags: girl dad colt, inaccurate movie set things, two flashbacks, pregnancy/birth mention, post colt's accident, changed movie plot, movie plot described, desciption of colt being high, a whole lotta talking through stuff and crying
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You set the test down on the bathroom sink with a shaking hand. The word pregnant on the little digital screen glaring back at you like it had a personal grudge. Your heart thundered so loud and fast you could hear it, echoing in your eardrums and pulsing in your fingertips.
You were pregnant.
Colt just got back from the hospital three days ago.
The baby was his.
He was fucking miserable.
And so were you.
Oh, God. What were you going to do?
Just outside the bathroom, you heard something crash to the floor. You groaned, leaving the test and the life-altering news behind as you entered the bedroom. Colt was lying in bed, really halfway out of bed, twisted at an odd angle in his back brace. His water bottle was on the floor, rolled partially under the dresser. One of his hands was dangling off the bed, while he looked at you over his shoulder like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Colt,” you sighed, disappointed and frustrated as you moved around the bed to help him back in. “How many times do I have to tell you — you’re on bed rest.”
Gently, you helped him to lie back down on his back on his pile of pillows. At least he was letting you help him this time.
“You’re the one who put my bottle too far away,” he grumbled, as if this entire situation was your fault.
You didn’t say anything in response, even though it stung something in your chest, as you scooped his water bottle off the floor and handed it directly to him. He didn’t even say thank you as he snatched it from you and took an angry sip. You knew he wasn’t angry at you. Not really. He was angry that he got hurt. He was angry that he now had a pile of medical bills neither of you could afford. He was angry that he needed so much help.
So you plastered on a fake smile. “It’s almost dinner time. I could go get burritos, then we could eat them in bed while we watch Demolition Man?”
Before the accident, you and Colt were going through old nineties action movies, some of his favorites, and some the bane of his existence. It was so much fun. Before. Now it was like pulling teeth just to get him to do anything other than mope or stare daggers into the wall.
“Not hungry,” he muttered, setting down his water bottle on the bed.
“Well, we could still watch the movie sans food,” you suggested, walking over to where the remote was perched on the other side of him.
Colt barked your name, and it strung something in your chest, the way he said it echoing in your eardrums and pulsing in your fingertips. You stopped dead in your tracks. You couldn’t bear to tear your eyes away from the floor as he huffed.
“I don’t wanna hang out. Just go.”
“Um — okay,” you whispered, voice wavering with tears as they swam in your vision. You made your way over to the bathroom door. “Just gotta — gotta c-clean up in here then I'll g-go.”
You opened the bathroom door and ducked inside before he could say anything else, if he was even going to. Knowing Colt now, he wasn’t. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you took a deep, shuddering breath. Trying to calm yourself down. Trying to talk yourself out of the feeling that Colt buried in your chest with every harsh word.
But then you spotted that positive test on the sink, and you broke down.
Colt didn’t know why he was doing this. Why he was doing what Gail told him to and searching for Ryder. Didn’t know why he was following crazy leads from crazy people. Didn’t know why he was standing at the hotel check-in desk, high as a kite, asking about a fruit plate. Whatever that meant.
This wasn’t how he wanted to be spending his time in Sydney. He wanted to be with you. Showing you that he changed. Showing you how much you meant to him then and mean to him now. And he guessed now, spending time with his daughter. That little baby girl who looked so much like him it was almost painful. That cocked her head curiously at him just like you used to do when you had a problem to solve. That he didn’t know about until today.
Or yesterday? What time was it?
Colt put both palms flat on the desk as he shook his head, trying to clear himself of the drugs so he could think straight. But there was a unicorn, standing off to the side. So the head shake didn’t work.
Fuck.
Someone tapped him on the back, and he turned, probably too quickly, to face whoever it was. Hopefully, Kevin with the fruit plate. But it was Jody. Standing in the hotel lobby with her hands raised like she just accidentally spooked a deer.
“Jody!” Colt greeted her, hoping that he sounded normal as he wrapped her up in a hug. “Hey! Hi — how are you?”
She pushed her way out of his embrace with a confused smile. “You look terrible. Did you fall? What happened to you?”
“Fancy seeing you here, ya know?”
Wait, what did she just ask him?
“Your face is bleeding.”
“What?” he asked.
He knew he had been hit by that car, but he couldn’t really feel any of the pain yet.
“Seriously, what happened to you? Starting to worry here,” Jody laughed nervously.
“Oh, no —” He pointed to his face, where he supposed some part of him was bleeding. “This? I was running. Just…I was running.”
Jody narrowed her eyes. “Very unusual athleisure wear for a run.”
“This?” Colt lifted up one side of his neon suit jacket. “Yeah. They gave me the wrong bags at the airport. But, you know, it’s…It works. I can sweat. If I’m gonna play Ryder, I thought I should just — like — cut weight a little, you know…”
“You seem kind of tweaky,” Jody pointed out suspiciously.
Colt turned back to the desk, but she just followed suit, coming up beside him with her arms crossed. “Yeah, well, found out I’m a father today and have been for like…A while — but, like, I didn’t know. Think that would make…Anyone kind of tweaky, Jody.”
“Look —” she sighed. “I’m sorry that she kept that from you, but, in her defense, you were a huge dick. Just massive. Absolutely the worst —”
“I am aware, Jody, thank you,” Colt said, leg bouncing, as he stared at the unicorn across the counter. “Can I ask — how do I…How do I fix this? With her?”
She leaned back against the counter, watching the other people in the lobby, as she replied, “As you Americans say: you’ve made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. But…If you’re willing, I think you should try to make it up to her. She has had to carry this all on her own for almost a year. And I don’t know if she wants you around…But I think you should at least try. For Riley's sake, at least.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even notice when Gail pulled Jody away, and she said her goodbyes and good luck to him. He was trying to think. Past the magical creatures and scattered thoughts and the loud beating of his heart.
Oh, God. What was he going to do?
It was a rough night. But it didn’t even matter now because your baby, your daughter, was in your arms. Healthy and perfect, and sleeping peacefully against your chest. There was a lull in the doctors and nurses constantly coming and going. Now, the curtains were open on the mid-morning sun, and it was just the two of you, together, how it was supposed to be.
But you couldn’t help, as you rubbed your daughter’s back and stared down at her squishy little face, what Colt was doing right then.
Was he still sleeping? Was physical therapy going well? Was he back on set somewhere, doing what he did best? Had he forgotten all about you and the time that the two of you shared? The more you thought about him, the more guilt gnawed at your ribcage. Then with the guilt came rage.
He changed his number, for God’s sake. He didn’t want to be found. And that was fine by you. You could do this all on your own. You didn’t need him. Your daughter didn’t need him.
A tear slipped down your cheek. One that you didn’t even really understand, as someone knocked on your door.
You sniffed back the coming onslaught of emotion as you sat up straighter in bed. “Come in!”
Jody rounded the privacy curtain with a large, excited smile plastered on her face. Balloons and a stuffed animal in hand. She cooed when she caught sight of the bundle on your chest, setting down her things as she came to your bedside.
“There is my precious little god-daughter! Oh my goodness!” she spoke in a hushed voice as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You wanna hold her?” you asked, adjusting the infant so she was now held in two hands.
She gasped elatedly. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” You smiled as you handed her off into Jody’s awaiting arms. “You’re the closest thing to family.”
She adjusted the weight of the baby in her arms before grinning at you. “What’s her name?”
“Riley.”
“I distinctly remember a certain stuntman who shall not be named playing a character named Riley once.” Jody gave you a look. “Maybe when you first met?”
“I told you specifically not to mention that…Certain someone,” you replied, guilt and rage roaring up inside you, as well as embarrassment at her figuring that out.
“Sorry,” she chuckled as she looked back down at Riley. “Hard not to when she looks exactly like him.”
“Ugh, don’t talk about that either,” you sighed, thought amusedly. “Nine months inside me and she ends up looking nothing like me.”
And it was true. Riley really did look just like Colt, even at only a few hours old. A light dusting of blonde hair on the top of her head. Bright blue eyes like clear water somewhere. His cheeks. His nose. It was undeniable and unavoidable. Guilt and rage.
Jody glanced at you. “Not that you asked, but — Dan talked to him for a bit. Apparently, Colt just texted him out of the blue about the Raiders. You know. How guys do.”
You coughed awkwardly. Distracted yourself by looking at the hospital dinner menu.
“Colt moved. Didn’t say where. He’s…He’s working as a valet.”
Tears blurred the corners of your vision, but you ignored them. Stored everything your friend just told you and moved on. You didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to think about it. So you showed Jody the menu.
“You wanna stay for dinner? The food is…Only slightly more appetizing than craft during Wake in Transit.”
Jody shivered. “How about I just go get us some sandwiches?”
Colt finally got to ask Kevin about the fruit plate. And after…Many attempts at getting the key to work and eventually just breaking the door down, he was finally in Ryder’s hotel room. The only problem was that Ryder wasn’t there. The room was dark, with no evidence of even a toothbrush left behind. Why would Ryder even have a hotel room anyway? He had an apartment that Colt was just at! Covered in post-it notes with a cockatoo squawking at him.
So what was the hotel room for?
Colt sighed as he took a quick glance at the room. Standard fair, probably less nice than Ryder was accustomed to. It wasn’t a suite or even a room with a view.
He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. Not just a text message, but a phone call. There was a number he didn’t recognize when he fished it out of his pocket. He answered anyway.
“Hello?”
“C-Colt? Is that you?” your voice crackled through, edged with nerves.
He whispered your name as he looked around the hotel room one more time, like you might be standing right there instead of on the other end of the phone. “Um, hey. Yeah, it’s — it’s me. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” you assured, voice sounding more sure. “I just…Jody gave me your number, and I — I feel so terrible about what I said today. How I just stormed off like that.”
“No, no, no, God — seriously, you are not the person who should be apologizing. That…That should be me,” Colt said as he sat down in a hard armchair.
“I think you deserve something. I…I kept Riley from you. For so long.”
“And I…I gave you a reason to keep her from me. Didn’t make myself very easy to find either,” he chuckled drily.
He expected you to joke back. About how he was right. But he just heard you sniff on the other end of the line and whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” he replied.
And maybe he was still a little too high to be having this conversation, but at least it felt like some of the weight was lifted between you. At least it felt like he could breathe the next time he saw you in person. If he even got to see you in person again. Or Riley.
God, he wanted to see her.
“Um —” You spoke after a moment of silence, making him jump. “I know you don’t have to be on set until noon. You can come over…For coffee. If you’d like.”
Colt popped up from his seat completely at that, pumping his fist and doing a spin. But he managed to pull himself together enough to respond coolly: “Yeah. Yeah. Sounds cool. Uh…Will-will Riley be there?”
“She might be napping when you get here, but she’ll be here, yeah.”
“C-Could I see her? Only if you want me to,” he added quickly as he spotted the coffee machine at the counter. “We’ll…We’ll take this at your pace.”
You didn’t respond for a second as he got down a mug and started up the machine. Something to do with his hands while his drug-addled brain fought through what your silence could possibly mean. To distract himself. To force himself to be less emotional than he wanted to be.
“Alright,” you finally said. “Nine o’clock?”
“Nine. Nine sounds great.”
You hung up with a shy goodbye that made him smile, able to picture your face perfectly, and his coffee was done. Colt grabbed the steaming mug with a relieved sigh, feeling on top of the world as he made his way towards the bathroom door. He hadn’t looked in there yet. And there might be some clue as to where Ryder was in there. For some reason.
It made more sense when he was high.
He pulled back the shower curtain and — “Oh, shit.”
There was a dead body on ice in the tub.
You just rocked Riley to sleep in her room. Lights off, sound machine on, while you sang softly to her and moved back and forth. She fought you for a few minutes, but in the end, she was too tired and fell asleep rather quickly. Now, as you sat down in the plush chair in the corner, you watched her as she slept for a few minutes. Lying on her side in your arms, little face pressed up against your chest. All unruly blonde curls and ruddy cheeks from playing too hard.
She was the most precious thing you had ever seen in the entire world.
And while these moments where you held your sleeping daughter were usually your moments of peace, your stomach swirled with nerves and guilt. Nerves about seeing Colt again after how you reacted yesterday. About maybe even welcoming him into the life that you forged with Riley. And guilt because you thought that if you just ignored the fact that Colt was Riley’s father, you could go the rest of your life without him. That Riley could go the rest of her life without him. You were a fool to think that you would never see him again — he couldn’t stay away from the stunt world for long. And you felt like an even bigger fool for not trying harder with him, for not just telling him.
You glanced at the analog clock on the wall. He was going to be there in a few minutes. With a sigh, you got up from the chair and gently placed Riley in her crib. She instantly flopped onto her stomach, arms bunched up under her chest. Your smile was soft as you moved a lock of hair from her cheek.
Halfway down the stairs, the doorbell rang. You quickly finished your descent, smoothing out your outfit as you went. You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, but you also had to be at the sound stage later. Just a pair of jeans and a nice, floral top. You tugged at the bottom of your shirt one last time. Why did you suddenly feel so self-conscious about what you were wearing?
With one last, deep breath to attempt to calm your nerves, you opened the front door.
Colt somehow looked even more stupidly handsome than he did yesterday. Ripped jeans. Red jacket. Hair died that classic Tom Ryder blond. He was holding a bouquet of multicolored cosmos in one hand and a plush triceratops in the other. There was a bright red cut on his cheekbone.
“What happened to your face? That didn’t happen during a stunt, did it?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
He seemed shocked by your concern. “No, uh…Crazy story, actually. Can I come in?”
“Yeah, yeah. Course. Sorry,” you said as you moved out of the doorway.
Colt stepped inside your little condo, which the studio was paying for, thank goodness, and kicked off his boots. The place was a little bare bones for a furnished rental, but you made it work. Toys and books and an exo saucer in the living room. A highchair at the dinner table. Fresh fruit on the kitchen counter. Colt took a quick glance at the living area, as if he were searching for something he couldn’t find.
He turned to you shyly. “Is she…?”
“Upstairs. Napping,” you said, crossing your arms as you both idled in the entryway.
“Does she eat, like, real food?” he asked as he turned back to the dinner table.
There was that all too familiar guilt again, but this time, the rage didn’t come. “We’re working on it. She loves Cheerios.”
“Cheerios,” he repeated, smiling to himself, then he seemed to remember the things in his hands as he held the flower out to you. “Uh, I brought these. Kinda realizing it was a bad idea —”
“No, no, it’s okay.” You took the flowers from him with a small smile. “I love flowers.”
“I know you do.”
Unbidden, heat filled your cheeks as you practically scurried to the kitchen. Nose in the flowers to try and hide it. You were thankful for something to do with your hands as you went to the kitchen and got the flowers into a vase. Something to do with your hands while your brain fought through what him remembering that about you must mean. To distract yourself. To force yourself to be less emotional than you wanted to be.
Colt followed you into the kitchen, triceratops held between unsure fingers.
You nodded your head towards the plushie as you cut the stems on the flowers. “And uh…Riley loves any stuffed animal. She doesn’t care what it is.”
“Really loving kid, huh?” he asked as he set the plushie on the counter.
“She loves everybody on sight. Pretty sure she let Dan hold her for an entire hour when she first met him.” The pair of you laughed, and your face felt hot again. “Hugs all her toys, too. I don’t — I don’t know where she gets it from, honestly.”
But you kind of did. Flowers now safe in a vase, you watched the very reason for all your daughter’s love as he found a mug and filled it to the brim with coffee from the pot you made earlier. You didn’t understand how she took on that characteristic. She only met him, so briefly, for the first time yesterday. But it was clear as day as soon as she started showing her personality. Riley didn’t just look exactly like her father. Riley was Colt’s through and through. It shoved a dagger through you and made you so proud at the same time.
He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his coffee even though it still billowed with steam. He hissed through the burn but sighed appreciatively.
“S’good coffee,” he said over the lip of his mug.
“Okay, I know you love coffee, but I’m pretty sure this sludge I can afford is only good to you because you were in some shit last night,” you said as you leaned back against the opposite counter from him.
Colt choked on his next drink slightly. “What? No, I…Yes, I was. How’d you find out?”
“Jody called me last night. Said she saw you at her hotel, and you were — acting weird?”
So, as you moved to the couch in the living room, Colt told you the whole story. About Gail basically commanding him to go find Tom Ryder so the movie can finish filming. About Iggy in Ryder’s apartment with the prop sword. About Doone spiking his Shirley at the club. About the fruit plate at the hotel and how he found a dead body on ice in the bathtub.
You stared at him, perched on the other end of the couch, for a moment once his story was finished. It sounded like something out of one of those action movies he loved. It sounded like…
“Are you sure you weren’t just…High?” you asked.
“Yes, I’m positive it wasn’t just the drugs. I was a dead body, sunshine.”
After the accident, before reuniting yesterday, he hadn’t called you that in so long. That little pet name he used to tease you with until it stuck in the everyday crevices of your conversations. Until it was the only thing he ever called you. It almost took your breath away to hear it again as you stared at him. He looked so apologetic, embarrassed about letting that name slip. He looked like he was about to apologize.
But you didn’t let him.
“So did you call the cops?” you questioned, tucking your legs under yourself to really get comfortable.
Colt looked relieved. “That’s — That’s the thing. The cops showed up to give me a parking ticket, but when I took them up to the hotel room, the body was gone.”
You supposed after he met Iggy with the sword, the rest of Colt’s night could have been a drug-induced brain making things up. That was what it sounded like. But, if you were being honest, you wouldn’t put it past Tom Ryder to get into that sort of thing. Drugs. Dealers with goons. Dead bodies. All of that just sounded like the next step up for him from what you heard around set.
“What now?”
“Well, I stil haven’t found Ryder. So, I don’t know if you can finish the movie.”
You hadn’t thought of that. That without the lead actor, the movie wouldn’t be able to be finished. That wouldn’t be good for you. This was your first job as a set director. The next step in a long list of goals in order to be an art director one day. You had worked hard on those sets. Months of work designing, consulting with Jody and the art director, gathering props and furniture and fabric, making things by hand. You didn’t want all of your hard work put into production hell or worse, completely pulled from any kind of release. Just because some head-up-his-ass actor couldn’t bother to show up to set when filming was almost through.
“We gotta find him, Colt,” you said.
He blinked at you as he set down his empty mug. “W-We?”
“I can’t really do like…The chasing and the fighting and stuff, but — but I’ll help. In whatever way I can.”
“Could be dangerous.”
“I know.”
The corner of Colt’s mouth ticked up as he watched you for a moment, blue eyes soft as cotton. And you smiled back. For the first time, it felt like something new was peaking through the cracks of what remained between you. Not what was before. Not the hurt and the guilt and the rage and the silence of what came after. But something fragile and hopeful and brave. When you untucked your legs, you scooted just an inch closer to him.
Then, a rustling noise crackled through the baby monitor you placed on the coffee table, and Colt jolted like he forgot Riley was even upstairs.
“Is she awake?” he asked, an eager lilt to his voice as he moved to stand up.
You listened for a moment more, then shook your head. “Nah. She flops around in her sleep. Kinda like you used to.”
You supposed you remembered things about him, too. Little nuggets of Colt Seavers that you kept locked away like a secret. Colt relaxed back into the couch with a light grin. But then his expression turned serious as he looked at you.
“Look…I’m sorry I wasn’t there. For you or for Riley. That I was such a douche to you that you didn’t want me around. I’m sorry you had to do all this alone.”
You shook your head. “That’s my own fault.”
“Then I think…We’re both to blame here, probably,” he replied, pushing a hand through his hair.
“I guess we are,” you said shakily.
A beat of silence. Colt got up and refilled his coffee mug. When he sat back down, he was a little further from the arm of the couch and a little closer to you. He once again praised the brew with a thumbs up, even though you knew it was garbage.
“I know I just showed up,” he said after a few moments of thinking and sipping his coffee. “But — But I would like to really meet her. Spend time with her. Only if you want. Whatever…Whatever you think is best.”
Tears blurred your vision before you could stop them, teeth coming down on your lip hard. All the times you pictured reuniting with Colt, it was never like this. It was always the worst-case scenario. Him hating you. Him wanting nothing to do with you or Riley. Him still being that guy who pushed you away eighteen months ago. But none of those things were the truth. Colt was none of those things that you imagined in the dead of night when you were hating yourself. He was kind. He brought you flowers. He apologized. He was trying. And open. And looking at you with such sincerity, you thought you might burst.
You wanted Riley to be loved in any way that she could be. You wanted her to have a father.
But it scared you to have the two of them meet. Because Colt could change his mind. Hell, you weren’t even at home. In a few months, you would be out of the Sydney/Metalstorm bubble, and everything could go back to the way it was before. He could be gone. He could push you away again. It was so easy for him to do last time. You couldn’t do that to Riley. You couldn’t do that to yourself.
Yet you already understood, accepted, what your daughter’s life would be without him. And you didn’t know if you could do that to Riley either.
“You can meet her when she wakes up here in a few minutes,” you finally said, and your heart skipped a beat at the way Colt’s entire face lit up. “But I don’t want you spending time with her alone. And we’re not…Telling anyone that you’re her father. Not yet.”
“Of course. Yeah. Whatever you want. I’m game. I’m so game.”
Another long stretch of silence. Colt emptied his mug once again and got up to refill it. You were pretty sure he had finished off the entire pot by now. Judging from the jet lag and lack of sleep last night, he probably needed the entire pot just to stay upright.
He took a long pull from his mug, then sighed and asked with a definite tone of cheekiness: “So, uh…How’ve you been?”
When a laugh burst from you, you knew he had to feel smug about achieving his goal.
“I’ve been…Honestly, it’s been good.” You answered, propping your chin up with your hand, elbow up on the back of the couch as you angled yourself towards him. “Work is steady. Still renting ‘cause LA prices are bonkers. Riley’s pulling herself up on furniture.”
“What does that mean?” he asked around a chuckle.
“That’s usually the step right before walking.”
Colt’s smile faded slightly at that. “Wow. I…That’s crazy.”
Something gnawed at the inside of his ribs. Riley was old enough to almost be walking. He missed so much. Those first baby giggles. Crawling. First solid foods. Just being there for her. For you. In any way. And he had no one to blame but himself.
“Are you feeling okay?” you asked.
Colt looked up at you from the dregs of his coffee. “About what?”
“Everything.” You shrugged. “First job back. Your actual back…”
His gut reaction, the response that was already on the tip of his tongue, was to lie and say that he was totally fine. That nothing hurt. That he was good to go. Thumbs up. That stunt-guy bullshit that you always chastised him for. He knew, deep down, that that was the heart of his problems with you. That you just wanted honesty from him, and he never wanted to give it because he wanted to seem stronger than he was. Because he didn’t want to burden you. Because stunt guys were always supposed to be fine.
So he sighed and said: “Honestly? My back is killing me.”
“Oh, no,” you answered with all the sympathy in the world, just like you always did. “Do you have any, like, stretches you can do?”
“Um — yeah. Some. I just haven’t felt like this in a long time.”
“From what you told me about last night, it sounds like you’re doing more than you should.”
He sighed, cheeks blown out. “Probably.”
The baby monitor crackled to life once more. The lights at the top of the little monitor were spiking red as a tiny voice sounded over the speaker: “Bah, bah, bah, bah, bah.”
“Okay, now she’s okay,” you said plainly as you pulled yourself up from the couch.
Colt shot to his feet as well, completely unsure why even as he stood there at the end of the coffee table, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His hands suddenly felt sweaty as you disappeared up the stairs to go get Riley. His daughter. His daughter that he was really going to meet for the first time as soon as you came back down the stairs. He cleared his throat once, twice while he nervously made his way over to the bookshelf and picked up a book on Australian tourist attractions.
Anything to take his mind off of all the what ifs that were about to unfold in real time.
He heard your footsteps on the stairs again, and he immediately slammed the book back onto the shelf like he was about to get caught with porn. Your legs appeared at the top of the steps first. And then he saw Riley, nestled against your hip with her blonde head against your shoulder, clearly still a little sleepy.
Colt’s breath stuttered in his throat as he watched you enter the living room. Riley was playing with a lock of your hair. Bunching it up in her little fingers and letting go. You didn’t seem to mind as you smiled reassuringly at him. Colt wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans.
“Hey, monkey —” You nudged Riley’s head lightly with your shoulder, and she sat up straight, eyes now locked on the stranger in her living room. “We have a new friend visiting us.”
His mind raced. God, Riley looked so much like him it was scary. You called her monkey. You called him a friend. Someone who could come and go. You said he was visiting. He could leave at any time. No commitments. No promises. It twisted up something inside him, that thing that lived in his ribs. Because he already knew that he didn’t want to come and go. He didn’t want to leave at any time.
He wanted to commit and promise everything that he had.
Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, Riley was leaning towards him, little arms outstretched. He panicked, eyes flashing to you for confirmation.
You chuckled as you struggled to keep your hold on Riley. “Go on. It’s okay.”
Colt reached for her. Scooped his hands underneath her armpits and lifted her out of your arms. She was lighter than he thought she would be. A little sweaty from her nap, too. He laughed nervously as he continued to hold her out practically at arm's length.
“I —” He looked to you pleadingly. “I just realized I’ve never held a baby before.”
“That’s alright,” you answered quickly as you came to his side, adjusting Riley and his arms. “Here, hold her like this. There you go.”
You moved the two of them so that Riley was situated a little higher than his hip, nestled against his ribcage, and his arm was supporting her back so she wouldn’t fall. Uncertain, Colt’s other hand lifted to hold her side. He still looked nervous, but he also looked so natural with her.
You stepped back once you were satisfied, and Colt started to bounce in a natural rhythm even though Riley didn’t need soothing. She immediately started poking at his shirt collar and feeling his scuffy jawline once she was settled against his side. Completely curious and infatuated already.
“Hi, Riley,” Colt greeted her, voice shaking with unshed tears. “My name’s Colt. I —”
He wanted to say so many things. I’m your dad. I’m so sorry I haven’t been there. I loved your mommy so much, we made you. I still love her. I love you, little girl, even though I just met you. I want to give you the world. I’m so terrified right now. I don’t know if I’m gonna be any good at this. I want to try for you. For your mom. I want so much it aches.
“I really like your bracelet.” He settled on that instead, a few tears escaping down his cheeks, as he pulled at the beaded elastic around her chubby wrist.
“Jody got her that,” you interjected, voice sounding raw, but Colt couldn’t look away as he ran his knuckle over Riley’s soft cheek. “She gets so mad if I take it off.”
He laughed softly as more tears fell. “She’s a baby with a sense of style.”
Colt ran a hand over her soft curls, just like the ones he used to have as a kid, and Riley finally looked up into his face. All rosy, chubby cheeks, bright blue eyes, and a curiosity that would take her places.
“Bah, bah, bah,” she babbled into his face as she petted his cheek and he laughed.
“That sounds super cool,” he whispered as he turned towards the large windows. “Let’s go look out here. We can see the water!”
Colt naturally switched her to his other side as he walked up to the window, freeing his dominant hand to point at things through the glass. Riley paid attention to everything he said, like it was the most important thing in the world, babbling along with him.
You watched them for a moment with tears on your cheeks.
You couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “Do you wanna stay longer? Maybe for like…Brunch, or something?”
Colt turned back to look at you, his twin latched to his side, and smiled.
hi! your fics are genuinely mr fav on this whole site and have brought me so much joy and comfort. I was so sad to see you’re going through such a hard time and wanted to do what I can to give some of that joy and comfort back to you 🫂💕 I sincerely hope things lighten up for you and you’re able to rest and breathe and recuperate. in the meantime: imagine all ur fav rygoses come to visit. someone’s cuddled up around you and petting your hair til all your tension melts away. and someone else is making you dinner and doing the dishes so you don’t have to. and ryland’s looking over all your academic notes and arranging them into a workable draft (it’s not plagiarism, it’s organization 🤷♀️) or in some other way helping to lighten ur load with your schoolwork.
My dear, sweet human being,
Thank you for this message. I needed a moment for my brain to process it all. The idea of having that many people in my house? It honestly terrified me. But thank you, I truly appreciate the good intentions and the creativity behind it. If I'm being honest, I would give a lot not to feel the pressure of everyday life weighing on me all the time. Whenever I manage to handle one thing, something new appears, and the carousel just keeps spinning. I know I have to deal with all of this on my own, and I know that I will. I just need to cry about it a little first.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
☾ ⋆➜ 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.
