The Goslings

GoslingVerse Side-Blog! +18 Blog * 23 * A03 and Main Blog: Pastel0rchid * Inbox is open

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Hello! <3

This blog is +18 only. Minors, please do not interact!

All of my stories are written with a female reader in mind, but I can try my best for a gender neutral reader if requested!

Characters I write for: (will grow as I watch more movies)

♡ Ryland Grace

♡ Lars Lindstrom

♡ Ken

♡ Luke Glanton

♡ Holland March

♡ Courtland Gentry/Sierra Six

Dividers created by @angeliicide

♡ Ryland Grace

Masterlist

♡ Lars Lindstrom

Masterlist

♡ Ken

Masterlist

♡ Luke Glanton

Masterlist

♡ Holland March

Masterlist

♡ Courtland Gentry/Sierra Six

Masterlist

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Hello! I was hoping you’re okay since it’s been awhile since you’ve posted something 💛

I baked something delicious yesterday it was a lemon blueberry pull apart bread it was my first time making bread too it was so nice that it turned out perfect

This made me think what would it be like if Lars got with a baker reader or maybe what if court gentry got with a baker that’d be even better a normal person x killer :0

Anywho love your works and I hope you are doing well

Hi, Natari! I'm so sorry this took me so long to get to, and I'm deeply sorry that it's been so long since I've updated anything.

Between moving into a new apartment and getting ready for the school year to start, I've only been able to write a few paragraphs here and there. And sadly, my time will be taken up more in just a week since I'll be teaching again.

But I hope to at least update something once a week, whether here or at Pastel0rchid.

Thank you so much for sticking with me through it! I hope you are doing well, too!!

Here is your request. I hope you enjoy it! <3

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Close to You

Courtland Gentry/Sierra Six x Reader ~~ Court takes Claire somewhere safe ~~ 2K Words

Why do stars fall down from the sky; Every time you walk by? Just like me, they long to be; Close to you

Requested by: @natari55

Warnings: This is a downright fluff piece, Reader can bake, Reader and Court are married, Claire is standoffish

The quiet of the safehouse was something you had learned to become comfortable with.

When Court was gone, you liked filling the space with the scent of baked goods; the smell always wrapped around you like the warm embrace the man would bestow upon you when he was there.

Breads, cookies, cakes, cupcakes.

Nothing came short of your baking prowess.

You had the time to test everything out.

A whole shelf of recipe books belonged just to you, little trinkets that Court would bring home from his ‘escapades’.

He never truly told you what he did, framing the restraint as something to protect you, that his line of work was too risky, too dangerous, for your civilian ears to even dream of hearing about.

Court would just tell you never to answer a knock at the door unless it was the specific rhythm that he had instilled into your head, to never talk to strangers when you would go to the market, to look as civilian-like as possible.

Whatever that meant.

Even through the quiet, even through the loneliness, even through the worry-filled sleepless nights when the spot beside you was empty…

You didn’t mind one bit.

Just so long as he returned to you safe and sound at the end of the day… or… week (depending on how long he would be gone).

The scent of blueberry and lemon was etched into your nose as you worked at the dough in front of you, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure and for just the right amount of time that you had learned over countless weeks of trial and error.

Something knocks at the door.

But before you can worry about who it is, the familiar pattern of two fast and three slow occurs, and the multiple locks on the door slowly turn.

When the door opens, Court’s frame fills the opening, exhaustion rolling off him in waves as he finally takes that first step into home.

But he’s not alone.

Your hands slowly pause kneading the dough as a much smaller figure meanders in behind him.

A girl. Young, around 13.

Her eyes dart around the living room while Court closes the door, relocking all of the locks that he had installed himself.

They stop exploring when she finally catches sight of your form in the kitchen, her shoulders tensing. So reminiscent of a kitten with its hackles raised.

“Uh, Six-”

“She’s good. She’s with me.”

Six. What a funny name she called him, but you don’t have time to dote on such things when the man begins to make his way into the kitchen, stopping just barely behind you as his eyes tiredly observe the loaf you were making.

“If I knew you would be home with a guest, I would’ve gotten started on dinner.”

You hum while wiping the flour from your hands with a nearby hand towel, your eyes finally looking away from the girl to meet Court’s as a welcoming smile begins to tug its way onto your lips.

“Didn’t have time to call ahead.”

Is all he responds before leaning to plant a gentle kiss against the side of your head, a familiar greeting as he takes in the feel of you against his lips, the smell of you invading his nose, the warmth radiating off of you and reminding him that you were okay.

You were here.

You were home.

Leaning into the kiss, you move your hands to place the dough into a metal loaf pan that you had greased with butter earlier.

“Well, don’t be rude, Court. Introduce us.”

Your tease is gentle, eyes flicking towards the girl who still stood defensively near the door, as if she were ready to bolt at any moment. Court shifts behind you, pulling away to stand straighter as he also looks over at the girl.

His hands twitch by his sides, and you know he’s resisting placing his hands against your hips like he always did when he stood behind you.

“This is Claire. She’ll be staying with us.”

You can hear the unspoken words in his tone, knowing that he would tell you the full story when the two of you lie side by side that night.

Court’s eyes glance between you and Claire as he introduces you to Claire, telling the girl your name and nodding as if reassuring her that she was alright here. That you were a trusted person to Court.

Claire, although she doesn’t move towards the two of you, has her shoulders slowly relax from the tensed position that they had been in when she had first set foot into the house. Her eyes stare at Court for just a few moments longer before moving to meet your gaze.

“Are you his wife?”

“I am.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type to be married.”

A chuckle escapes you at her curiosity and her words as you gently hand the bread pan towards Court, who, without needing a word from you, moves over to place it into the oven that you had already preheated.

As he sets the pan into the oven, he gives a soft huff at Claire’s words, and you have to keep another chuckle from escaping you at his response.

“I guess he doesn’t,” You hum out while moving around the kitchen to begin grabbing ingredients to start making dinner. “Why don’t you go get washed up? I’ll make something quick for dinner.”

Claire’s eyes narrow a little, and you can’t help but think about how guarded this girl was for her age, like she had seen things you couldn’t even imagine experiencing. Instead of voicing anything, you just give her a reassuring smile and a small nod.

“It’s the first door on the right down the hall.”

She stares at you for just a few moments longer before slowly turning towards the hallway, keeping her gaze on you until she disappears around the corner, the familiar click of the door shutting and locking filling the space she had left.

It wasn’t long before you felt warm hands settling against your waist, a form pressing to your back before a forehead gently thunks against your shoulder. A small sigh follows suit, before Court takes in a deep breath, taking in the familiar scent of you for the first time in a while.

“I’m sorry for being gone so long.”

He murmurs gently into the crook of your neck, your hands pausing around the spices you had grabbed before instantly finding yourself melting against him, your body settling as you finally get to take in the fact that he was home and safe.

“You had your reasons-”

“Still… I’m sorry. Thank you for being here.”

You set down the spices in your hands, reaching a hand up to gently card your fingers through his hair, feeling the way he practically leaned into your touch, searching for it, craving it after so long without it.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, Court.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you-”

“Hush.”

A small bit of laughter escapes you at his gentle interruption, his lips finally finding the soft skin of your neck, just resting there, taking in the feel of you against him.

The moment is interrupted, though, at the sound of the latch in the bathroom being unlocked, and Court reluctantly unwraps himself from around you to instead stand beside you and help you cook, no matter how much his limbs ached to be on the couch.

And that’s where Claire found the both of you, side by side, working in comfortable silence. Like two working cogs of the same machine.

—

Claire didn’t eat much for dinner.

And you weren’t going to force her to, knowing it could do more harm than good.

She pushed around the food on her plate with a few bites in between.

The look in her eyes was very adamant about avoiding the blueberry-lemon bread loaf that you had pulled out for dessert, layering it with vanilla icing, even as Court and you enjoyed slices of the treat.

You had shown her to her new room, made sure she was comfortable, and that she knew where you and Court were in case anything happened.

Once in bed, Court laid his head onto his pillow and immediately fell asleep with you against his side, his arm draped loosely around your waist, like both a protective measure and a way to make sure that you were still there.

But you didn’t find sleep so easily.

Staring up at the ceiling, your eyes having grown accustomed to the dark, you find your mind too busy focusing on the young girl just a few doors down.

Court hadn’t told you much, just that she was now orphaned and that he was the only person that could be trusted to care for her, you now included on the small list. He kept details vague, something you had grown used to from him after years of knowing him.

A small clink interrupts your train of thought, a sound so distinctly from the kitchen.

You look over at Court, finding him so exhausted that the only notice of him hearing the sound in his sleep was a slight twitch of his nose. He was usually so easy to wake, something you always felt guilty about when you would wake up for a midnight bathroom run.

Slowly, so slowly, you remove yourself from under Court’s arm, replacing it with your pillow in hopes of keeping him sleeping for just a few moments longer.

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you have to contain your giggle when his arm tightens around the pillow, holding it close against his chest with the smallest grumble escaping him.

Taking in the sight for just a moment longer, you turn and carefully make your way towards the kitchen, keeping your footsteps light as you do so. As you get closer, you can hear the sounds of gentle rummaging and soft clinks between pauses of silence, the person clearly checking to see if they had awoken anyone.

When you peek into the kitchen, you don’t know what you were expecting, but it clearly wasn’t the sight of Claire with a fork in her hands and the pan of bread in front of her on the counter, being lit only by the full moon in the sky.

Your shoulders relax, both at the realization that it wasn’t a break-in and that Claire was eating something.

For a few silent seconds, you take in the sight in front of you as she eats straight from the pan, not even risking the potential sound of grabbing a plate and cutting a piece.

You want to interrupt, want to make yourself known to the small girl, but you realize that just observing was the better option. Your smile softens as she continues eating, exhaustion finally hitting you as you silently move yourself back towards the room.

Court stirs when you move your pillow back to its place, and you climb back into bed, a little more careless than you had been when escaping his grasp.

“Mmm… baby?” He groans deeply, voice overrun with the sleep he had been taken from, moving to lie on his back without even opening his eyes.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Just… a bathroom run.” You whisper back as you settle yourself against his side and take in a deep breath once you go still, your body finally drifting to sleep as Court tightens his arm around your waist to pull you even closer against him.

—

“Did you eat out of the pan?”

Court’s voice came from behind and was directed at you as you washed dishes, and you smiled knowingly down at the fork that you were washing, one that had been so meticulously placed to avoid suspicion.

You can see the way that Claire tenses in the corner of your eye as she gathers her dishes from breakfast.

“Got the midnight munchies.” You hum nonchalantly to Court, glancing over towards Claire after you speak, who had now paused to stare at you at your words.

And you give her a small wink.

And she gives you the smallest of smiles.

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Headcannons:

Not yet written

One-Shots:

♡ Close to You (Court takes Claire somewhere safe)

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Somebody's Watching Me

Ryland Grace x Reader ~~ Ryland can't get enough of you ~~ 2K Words

I always feel like somebody's watchin' me; And I have no privacy I always feel like somebody's watchin' me; Who's playing tricks on me?

Warnings: Stalking behavior, obsessive behavior, Ryland is a little (a lot) unhinged, OOC Ryland Grace, kind of spirals in the end (like Ryland)

A/N: First time ever writing something like this, but it was extremely fun to think of how Ryland would deal with an obsessive crush like this. I hope you all enjoy! <3

Ryland thought you were undeniably, undisputedly perfect.

From the very moment he saw you, he was hooked, line and sinker.

He remembers the first day he caught a glimpse of you during a staff meeting, sitting at a table in the library with the other social studies teachers. You taught a different grade from him, and your classroom was situated down a different hallway.

But your smile, the way the edges of your eyes crinkled, the bubble of laughter that he could make out even from across the room when your teacher friend would say something funny in your ear.

It was something that fired a neuron in his brain, connecting something that he didn’t truly understand in the moment.

He needed to figure it out, figure you out.

After the staff meeting ended and everyone filtered out of the library towards their classrooms, he watched you leave with your friend before rushing back to his classroom, ignoring the looks from the people at the table that he had been sitting at. 

Ryland used his work computer to go to the school's staff page. He scrolls through pictures of coworkers, scrolling through faces he had seen many times before and didn’t care much about at the moment, his brows furrowing until his eyes lock onto a specific one.

You.

Your smile is soft in the picture on the school website, staring into the camera. Ryland found himself liking to think that you were looking at him with that smile instead of at a camera, at another person. And there, right below the picture, was your name in bolded letters.

He repeats your name under his breath like a mantra to the empty classroom, testing the sound of it on his tongue and not wanting to forget it for even a second while he walks over towards the small paper situated in every classroom. A little map of the school that showed where every teacher’s room was and emergency exit was located.

His eyes rove down the picture of hallways, slowly and methodically like he told his students to do when reading the instructions of a lab, until he finds that little square with your last name etched inside.

Ryland looks at the little number right above your last name, once again repeating the information under his breath until a new neural network is created in his mind just for you. His eyes stare at the map image for just a few moments longer, taking in how far your room was from his own.

He found himself not liking how much distance there was between the two of you.

Getting this far into the school year and having just gotten to see you, Ryland understood that your interactions wouldn’t happen naturally if things remained the same. Only catching glimpses of each other during staff meetings.

He was going to change that.

Quickly.

—

It started small.

Ryland knew this was for the best.

He would never admit out loud that he had gotten to the school way before anybody else, the parking lot empty aside from his bike, watching from the front office and pretending to be looking in the supply closet for sticky notes every time someone passed by just so he could know what time you arrived and when you visited the printer in the morning.

So, it started with you both passing each other in the morning before the students had even arrived, you leaving the printer with stacks of paper while Ryland showed up with his master copies.

You would always give him a smile and a soft greeting, wishing him a good day.

He would always try to hide the way his cheeks threatened to burn pink at such words from you being thrown his way.

He found himself wanting to see you more than just in the morning.

Lunch was another good time for that.

But the two of you had different lunch times, being different grades and all.

That didn’t stop Ryland, though

Oh no, he had a plan concocted.

He was always cutting it close due to this plan, barely being able to make it in time before his students filtered into his classroom, but he timed it down to the very second.

It took a week or two of different timed experiments to determine when you would show up to the lunch room to heat your lunch. Of course, some days you wouldn’t show at all, depending on what you had made for lunch, but he figured that into his experiment, too.

You were a creature of habit, he had found out.

Better for him.

But back to his plan.

He would stand from the chair he designated as his in the lunch room at exactly 11:46. He would take 3 minutes to clean the dish he had brought and even wipe down where he had sat, just to give him a bit more time. 

11:49.

Ryland would then gather all of his things and head to leave the lunch room, right when he would reach the doorframe, that's when you would suddenly pop around the corner, your lunch cradled in your hands and an exhaustion in your eyes that only children could cause.

You would jolt to a stop to keep from bumping into him with that same wide-eyed look, gripping onto your lunch before a laugh would escape you. The very one that entranced him in the first place.

“Excuse me, Mr. Grace.” You would hum while stepping a bit closer to the side, giving him room to walk past you, “I really need to slow down.”

Your words were all variations of the same thing, but he never got used to hearing how you said his name. So sweet, like sugar injected directly into his veins, he would always get a rush when he heard it.

His heart would pitter-patter, his head would get fuzzy, his smile would be small and nervous as he brushes off your apology.

“No, it’s my fault; it’s like a time warp in there from how often I lose track of it.”

His thumb gestured towards the lunch room, your laughter ringing through the small hallway every time he said it, and his heart would race once again at such a simple sound.

It soon became not enough.

Just simple brushes in the morning and in the hallway.

He found himself missing you more and more, craving even just a sight of your form throughout the day. The picture on the staff website just wasn’t enough anymore.

He needed more.

What started as a small infatuation soon blossomed into Ryland craving your presence like his lungs needed air. Even if you were across the room, even if you didn’t know he was there, just getting to see you was enough to quench him.

Ryland found himself not only arriving at work early, but staying late just to figure out when you would leave the school, following behind you quietly every time and smiling shyly when you would wave to him while climbing into your car.

You never assumed a thing, just continued to smile sweetly at him and wished him a good evening.

The first time you tried to start a conversation with him while walking to the parking lot, he clammed up and only gave a few short answers, hands gripping onto his bag and helmet as he stared down at you.

His brain would practically short-circuit when you tried to spark a conversation with him. But your smile would stay on your lips as you watched him try to scramble for an answer, exhibiting the same patience you had with the students with him.

And that just made him melt even more.

Except, just like before, it soon became not enough for Ryland Grace.

He had gone from needing to see you, to needing to talk to you, to just needing you.

The workday was too short, and your interactions with each other even shorter. Ryland hated it, but he absolutely despised it when another coworker would butt their way into your conversation, either needing to talk to him or to you.

It never showed on his face, but he had to contain the way his lips would try to twitch into a sneer when somebody would talk to you, male or female; it didn’t matter to Ryland. They were taking your attention away from him.

There weren’t enough minutes in the workday for him to afford losing any of the precious attention from you that he had so meticulously planned out.

But his face would always relax into a practiced smile when your gaze moved back up to him, even while you were talking with the other person. No matter how much he wanted to just rip you away from them in the middle of your words.

Ryland caught himself one day when he watched your car drive out of the parking lot, hands gripping onto the handlebars, when his first instinct wasn’t to go home… but to follow after you instead.

The small part of him, the one that was still rational, tried to reason, tried to will him to just go home and ignore the much bigger part of him, the one that willed his feet on the pedals and his hands to turn the bar towards where he had seen your car turn, would always win out in the end.

Even with the slight pause, his bike found your car in the evening traffic, biking faster than he usually does just to keep up.

But the pain, the burn, the ache, it was all worth it, he had told himself.

He barely misses other pedestrians on the sidewalk, his focus entirely on your car, not wanting to miss any turn that you make.

Ryland follows you into an apartment complex- something cheap; they didn’t even have a gate to keep unwanted people out.

That wouldn’t do.

His apartment wasn’t much better, but it was at least gated, protected. You would be much better suited there. Not just at the complex, but in his apartment.

Making sure you don’t catch him following you in, he waits back a bit, his eyes tracking your car as you soon park it near your apartment building. His heart clenches at just the sight of you getting out of the car, grabbing your things from the passenger side before making your way towards your door, conveniently on the first floor.

He soon sees you appear in the window, setting all of your things down onto the counter due to how conveniently open your blinds were.

For a teacher, you weren’t very observant or cautious of your surroundings, something Ryland would have to coach you on.

He couldn’t have you in danger after all.

Biking over towards the building beside it, he stops by a bunch of bushes, carefully leaning his bike against them as his eyes move back to your apartment.

Ryland watches as you don’t even take the time to change before beginning to make yourself dinner.

He knew he couldn’t stay long, though, not wanting to draw attention to himself from any onlookers who might suspect him of being a burglar.

But he takes the time to watch you, your movements in your apartment, how easily you move through the space. Something warm settles in him, flushing from his head to his toes. He wanted to see more of it.

In his apartment, in his kitchen, with him.

This wouldn’t be the last time Ryland follows you home to your apartment, but it would be the last time he comes empty-handed.

You deserved gifts after all.

Flowers he had heard you mention in passing, chocolates he had overheard you gushing about to a coworker, little trinkets from shows you had talked about liking.

He was proud of his giving abilities. He was showing that he listened, truly listened to your words.

Even if you complained about them the next day, even through your fearful confessions to your fellow teachers, even through the teary-eyed look you gave him when you told him about this ‘stranger’ who somehow knew personal details about yourself. He thought you looked so pretty with shiny eyes, even while his heart broke at your clear distress.

You had to understand.

Ryland was the perfect boyfriend. 

Your perfect boyfriend.

You just didn’t see it yet.

But he’d show you.

He loved you.

And, soon, you would love him, too.

He was sure of it.

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Poll Time (2)

Hello everyone!

I'm sorry I've been gone for a bit. I had a small vacation with some friends, but I am now officially back!

I have some ideas brewing in my mind, but the main one that's bouncing around is a stalker Ryland with the title either being 'Somebody's Watching Me' or 'I'm The Slime' (I'm still debating which one).

I'm also keen on writing a Courtland Gentry/Sierra Six super-fluffy piece that takes place right after the movie ends.

Which one would y'all like first?

Ryland Grace

Court Gentry

Voting ended onJul 2

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It's been decided! Stalker Ryland will come out first! Hopefully in the next few days, but it might be longer since family is coming into town <3

Now, should the title be 'Somebody's Watching Me' or 'I'm the Slime'? Both fit really well with the vibe in my head, and I'm a terribly indecisive person, if y'all couldn't tell XD

Fate is in your hands

Somebody's Watching Me

I'm the Slime

Voting ended onJul 4

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Poll Time (2)

Hello everyone!

I'm sorry I've been gone for a bit. I had a small vacation with some friends, but I am now officially back!

I have some ideas brewing in my mind, but the main one that's bouncing around is a stalker Ryland with the title either being 'Somebody's Watching Me' or 'I'm The Slime' (I'm still debating which one).

I'm also keen on writing a Courtland Gentry/Sierra Six super-fluffy piece that takes place right after the movie ends.

Which one would y'all like first?

Ryland Grace

Court Gentry

Voting ended onJul 2

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I’m Your Man

Luke Glanton x Reader ~~ Luke's finally out of jail ~~ 3.5K Words

I'm your man, we're hand in hand; To hell and back And I'll love you like nobody else can

Warnings: More tooth-rotting fluff and slice of life to begin with (Luke deserves it), SMUT Minors DNI!!, small dry humping, Oral (fem receiving), Luke is desperate (it's been 6 months), use of 'pretty' and 'pretty girl'

A/N: Official part 2 to He's My Man, unofficial part 3 to Too Sweet. I've come to really love writing for Luke, but I think it's obvious that I wrote this while being exhausted >u< But without further ado, Your Honor, may I humbly present, munch Luke <3

Six months.

Six gruelling months filled with only seeing Luke through a clear pane, of hearing his voice crackle through a telephone situated right beside it, of dealing with a squirming baby as you try to hold said phone up to her ear so that she can hear her daddy’s voice every time you visited.

Her gaze would always flick up towards the pane, towards his figure, every time she heard his voice say ‘hey princess’ in that soft tone she had become accustomed to.

Six months, though, was a lot for a baby, especially in the early years.

Things happen so quickly for babies.

Lily grew faster than you were able to take pictures, mementos in a book that you kept stored in your bedroom for Luke whenever he finally got out.

First, it was crawling, then it was standing on little chubby legs while using the coffee table as support, and now she was walking with your assistance, gripping onto your finger with her little fist like her life depended on it.

You hated that Luke couldn’t be there to witness such advances in his daughter’s development.

But the little book that always rested on his side of the bed might give him a better picture of what he had missed during his time behind bars.

It gave you time to think, too.

About everything.

Your friends had become cautious about Luke when they had heard what he had done to that man.

‘Such brute violence.’

‘Can he even be trusted around Lily?’

‘Are you sure you’re safe?’

Those words had been thrown at you left and right from your friends, even your family, when you finally told them about what had happened and why Luke wasn’t around for the moment.

You hated it.

Hated that they no longer trusted him, which in turn made it feel like they didn’t trust you.

You knew Luke had done it for a good reason; the man was advancing on you, preying on the way you had frozen up in fear, on the fact that you were alone with Lily. Luke was just protecting you. Why couldn’t anybody else see that?

But no matter.

The six months were finally up, and Luke was free to leave the prison, to be home.

You stood beside your car outside the prison where Luke had been held, Lily resting against your hip as she held her sippy cup filled with diluted juice tightly in her small fists, your eyes scanning the front entrance for that familiar head of blond hair.

A buzzer fills your ears before two figures exit through one of the doors, one you distinctly remember being the guard that oversaw you and Luke’s visit, but the other…

He held his head high, no shame in the fact that he had just spent the past six months sitting in a cold cell. And when he catches sight of you, that familiar smirk slowly begins to tug at his lips.

Your heart begins to race as he walks closer towards you, a pitter-patter with each step he takes.

He barely changed: his hair slightly longer, his arms slightly more muscular, but his eyes.

They always stayed the same.

Lily lays her head on your shoulder, a move she always did when you were talking to people she deemed a stranger. A shy quality that almost didn’t exude from her being Luke’s child.

You watch as Luke’s eyes soften the more he takes you and Lily in, and he doesn’t stop the second he’s standing in front of you before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you tightly against his chest.

“My girls.”

His chest rumbles with his words against your head as you lean into him with a shaky inhale of his air. He even still smelled the same, albeit a little less than you liked.

“Luke.”

Your voice trembles in greeting, the familiar ache in your throat, and the sheen that covers your eyes, something you had promised yourself that you wouldn’t do. His hand comes up from your hip to rest against the back of your head, drawing you even closer before his lips are gently pressed to the top of it.

Just like you had done, he takes in your scent, something he still remembers even after being away for months upon months. It calmed him just the same, too.

Lily begins to squirm from the closeness of it all, and Luke reluctantly pulls away, just enough to be able to look down at the small girl in your arms.

“Hey, Princess.”

His words are a gentle murmur, his hands leaving your form to gently place under her armpits and carefully take her into his arms. He wasn’t used to holding her when she was this size, accustomed to the little infant that barely fit against his chest. But he was quick to learn.

It seemed something had shifted in Lily once she heard his voice, her blue eyes brightening, and her willingness to be taken from your arms a testament to how children’s brains worked.

Lily’s smile widens as she finally takes in the man in front of her.

“Dada!”

One of her hands loosens its grip from the handle of her sippy cup, instead wanting to grip onto the shirt that Luke was wearing.

Luke’s eyes, which had quickly widened, flicked over to look at you in shock at the word that had left her lips.

“Did she-?”

“Oh, yes. And it’s one of her favorite words.”

That seems to break something within Luke that he didn’t even know could shatter at such simple words.

You bring up a hand to your lips, smiling behind your fingers as you watch Luke look back down to the girl in his arms, who was happily babbling about whatever her mind had conjured up. His eyes slowly have a glassy sheen to them as one of his hands comes up to the back of Lily’s head, pulling her close to place a gentle kiss against her forehead.

His lips linger, savoring the moment of finally having her in his arms again, and you can see the slight tremble in them when he pulls away slightly to look down at her once again as she continues her babbling.

He clears his throat with a soft sniff before shifting his grip on Lily, freeing up one of his arms, which he promptly wraps around your waist to pull you back against him.

He was finally home.

—

Luke glances around the place once he finally steps foot past the doorframe. Everything looked almost exactly as he remembered it in his dreams, but there were more toys scattered about the place. Ones he didn’t quite remember from before.

While he stands in the entrance of the home, you carry Lily towards the living room and set her down onto the playmat where all of her favorite toys reside.

Her gaze is only captured for a few moments before her attention drifts back to the new figure in the house, the one that you move to stand beside with a soft smile.

“How’s it feel to be home?”

Your question is soft, genuine, and Luke struggles to keep the eyes that he had just gotten the tears rid of dry at such a sentiment. Home. This was home.

Not the building, not the rooms.

But you and Lily.

“Feels amazing, Pretty.”

His hand reaches out, seeking, wrapping around your hips to gently rest against the small of your back to pull you towards him once again. After so long without feeling your body pressed against his own, he would definitely make up for lost time.

“Dada.”

Lily babbles from her spot on the carpet, the two adults’ gazes drifting towards her. Luke’s hands slowly slip from around your waist, stalling only to gently press the skin there in a silent promise before he begins to take a step towards the little girl.

“Yeah, princess, Daddy’s here.”

Your hand suddenly wraps around his arm, keeping him from taking another step forward, and when he looks back at you with confusion swimming in his eyes, you answer with a soft smile and nod your head towards Lily.

“Wait.”

When Luke’s eyes move back towards where Lily was sitting, his heart stutters to find her now settled beside the coffee table in the middle of the living room, away from the playmat. How did she-

“She can crawl?” He whispers in shock.

“Watch.” You hum around a chuckle.

Lily’s little fingers grip onto the edge of the coffee table before pulling herself up with a soft grunt, her chubby legs shaking slightly before she adjusts her stance to get a better footing. Luke’s breath hitches when her baby blues, so reminiscent of his own, stare up at him before she takes a step forward.

And another.

And another.

Finally, her hands loosen from the coffee table once she reaches the end, instead lifting towards Luke as she gets closer and closer.

Luke instantly drops into a squat, holding his hands out as a bright grin breaks out onto his face, a laugh bursting from his chest at the sight before him.

“That’s it, Lily. Come on, Princess.”

Lily’s steps are slow, calculated, as if she knew that one wrong misstep would send her tumbling down. Her blonde brows were furrowed in concentration as she kept her eyes locked on Luke as she got closer to him.

Only once she’s in his reach does Luke scoop Lily up, holding her close to his heart as he stands with a triumphant laugh escaping him, Lily giving her own squealed laughter as she grips onto his shirt.

—

Night had come, pajamas had been changed into, Lily’s nightly routine had finished, leaving her sleeping soundly in your arms.

While Luke sat on the couch, his eyes focused on whatever television show had come on, you took it as the opportunity to carefully take Lily to the bedroom. Not before he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. The sound of the TV becomes distant as you walk your way to the bedroom, making sure not to wake the sleeping girl as you lay her down in her crib.

You turn as you straighten up, your attention quickly taken by the small memento book that was still resting against Luke’s pillow.

Your hands wrap around it before you silently make your way out of the bedroom, carefully shutting the door behind you to make sure that Lily won’t be disturbed.

As you make your way back to the living room, you find that the television has been turned off, no longer hearing it drone in the hallway. Luke was sitting right where you had left him, but his head was resting against the back of the couch, an unlit cigarette perched between his lips, a compromise for the bad habit he was still trying his hardest to break.

“Luke.”

Your voice came out as a gentle mumble, causing him to hum as his eyes slowly peeled open to stare at your form in the entrance of the living room. His lips curl into a smile around the cigarette, bringing up a hand to gesture you over.

“Come’ere, Pretty.”

Your legs follow his gentle command, gripping tight onto the memento book as you carefully situate yourself sideways on his lap, his hands instantly finding solace on his hips to both keep you steady and to relax the drone of his mind.

“What’s that?”

Adjusting yourself on his lap, you hold out the book, your greatest treasure on display to him, with a soft smile on your lips.

“It’s for you.”

His hands gently take the book, opening it before his breath hitches as he realizes what he holds in his hands. Slowly, reverently, he begins to carefully flip through the album, looking at the different pictures of Lily scattered about. From her being the size that he had remembered before prison, to the size of her now.

Everything he had missed was detailed in this one book, so carefully made by your hands, so that he could experience the things that Lily had gone through.

It would never beat seeing them in person, but it was a close second in his eyes.

Your name tumbles past his lips in a soft murmur, not ‘pretty’, but your name. Whispered so softly, like a prayer to his very answers.

His eyes slowly move from a picture of Lily sitting in her Christmas dress to your form perched on his lap. Slowly, he places the book onto the coffee table in front of him, reaching up to remove the unlit cigarette from his lips before leaning forward to finally place his lips on your own.

His kiss was soft, slow, unlike his other kisses that you experienced before he went to prison. Lips melding with yours as if they were the missing piece to the puzzle of his life.

The one hand still on your hips slowly travels the expanse of your side, fingers barely grazing the swell of your breast before they trail up to the back of your neck, tangling into the hair that was there as a means to keep you close.

“It’s perfect, Pretty. I love it.”

He mumbled against your lips, not even taking the time to pull away and speak, as if it pained him to even think of such a thing.

You hum gently in response, hands coming up to rest against his shoulders to anchor yourself as you carefully move one of your legs to where you now straddle his lap, breath hitching when you feel the bulge in his jeans already pressing up against you.

It had been six months without him, without his kisses, without his touch. Without him.

Luke’s patience for anything to do with your touch was already thin, fraying when you give an experimental roll of your hips, the friction causing both of you to groan into the kiss.

His fingers tighten slightly in your hair at the nape of your neck, a teasing tug, before they trail down your spine, mapping each bump as he makes his way back to gripping onto your hips. His other hand, the one still gripping the cigarette, joins on the opposite side.

With his grip, he slowly begins to control the movement of your hips. The kiss breaks with a wet pop as Luke leans his head back against the couch with a breath escaping him, his eyes roving over every inch of you as your fingers dig into his shoulders.

Huffs escape him with each grind, breathy whines escape you with each roll, both of you stimulated just enough but never enough.

Luke couldn’t take any more, knowing he wouldn’t last long after months without you.

Moving his hands to cradle your body, you find your mind swimming as you’re suddenly lying back against the couch, the springs digging into your spine as Luke hovers over you.

Your eyes meet for a few brief seconds, both of your pupils blown wide, color almost nonexistent.

After one last deep roll of his hips against your own, a testing move more than anything, Luke suddenly pulls back slightly. Your needy whine is cut short as Luke’s hands go to the bottom of your sleep shirt, pushing it up enough just for your breasts to spill out.

“So pretty, baby. My pretty girl.”

His words were soft as he leaned down, planting gentle kisses against your sternum between your breasts, breath gentle against your skin as he took his time kissing the skin there, occasionally tilting his head to kiss against the side of your boobs.

Hands slowly moving down your side, he gently nips at the underside of your right boob, soothing the slight ache with a lick of his tongue.

As he does the same to the other side, his hands slowly begin to pull down your sleep shorts and panties, huffing a breath on your skin as he feels you give a slight tremble.

“I’m gonna taste you, pretty. Okay?”

His tone was gentle, almost condescending, as he looked up at you through his lashes, smirking against the skin of your breast.

“Luke-”

“Shh, pretty girl.”

He interrupts your soft whine with a gentle shush, his lips beginning to slowly trail down your stomach. His hands move to grip the back of your thighs, gently pulling them over his shoulder once his kisses get to the top of your mound.

“Just lay back and look real pretty for me, okay?”

Your eyes stare into his own as you give a slow nod in response to his words, a tremble of breath escaping you when he finally moves his lips down right where you want him.

His lips pause in their movements, resting against your soft and already dripping wet folds, eyes fluttering as he takes in the scent of you with a stuttering breath, fingers tightening around your thighs just a hair. He was trying his hardest to control himself now that he had you spread before him, months upon months of dreaming of this moment.

And it all snapped when his tongue poked out to lick a stripe up your folds.

The taste of you instantly coats his tongue, a flavor he only remembered in his dreams, and with a hum of finality, he pushes his tongue up to find your clit. His hips instantly roll down against the couch, chasing stimulation with a deep groan against you.

Your back arches against the couch, one hand instantly coming up to bite onto your knuckles to keep yourself quiet, the other tangling into his blond hair in a gentle grip to steady yourself.

Jolts roll through you with every gentle lick of his tongue, his eyes fluttering close as he groans against you, as if you were his last meal and he was intent on savoring it.

A muffled whine escapes you when his lips close around your clit and gives a gentle suck, your fingers tightening their grip, which only causes him to give another groan.

His mouth was practically worshiping you, tongue lapping up your juices before giving a suck to your clit. Marks were sure to be had from where his fingers dig into your thighs, gentle squeezes of the flesh before pulling you impossibly closer.

With each suck relieved by a gentle lick, his hips grind deep against the couch, his own jolts of pleasure thrumming up his spine.

Your head falls back against the couch with a gentle thump, eyes rolling back alongside his own.

“Luke… Luke, I’m-”

The words are muffled by your hand, wrapped around gentle moans as he just continues his reverent motions. His tongue pushes inside you slowly, the tip of his nose brushing your clit with every slight movement, before he barely pulls away, only to replace his tongue with two fingers slowly pushing inside.

His lips return to your clit as he curls his fingers into the spot he had practically memorized, rewarded with a muffled moan and your back arching once again. With each suck, he feels you clench around his fingers.

The room was warm with each movement, beads of sweat slowly coating both of your skin.

You barely have the chance to warn him before stars burst in your vision, thighs clenching around his head as your cry is quickly covered by your palm.

He doesn’t stop, guiding you through it with gentle coaxes of his fingers and lips, tasting your release on his tongue. His hips give one final deep grind against the couch before he, too, sees stars in his eyes, filling his boxers as his deep groan is muffled against you.

The two of you lie still, panting heavily, breathing in each other. Luke’s hand slowly loosens around your thigh as he carefully removes his fingers, placing one last fleeting kiss to your pulsing clit as you jolt with a small whine.

“Sorry, pretty.”

He hums against you before slowly pulling away. His eyes stare down at you with a soft smile on his lips, hands gently massaging your thighs as he carefully brings them from off his shoulders, slowly moving to lie on top of you with gentle kisses against your neck to bring you back to him.

“Come on, pretty girl. Come back to me.”

It only takes a minute or two before your eyes slowly go back to focusing on the ceiling above you.

“There she is.”

You blink slightly at his gentle hum, limbs feeling like sludge as you glance over at him before leaning your head against him. With as much strength as you can muster, you slowly bring your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close before tilting your head, lips brushing against his temple in a semblance of a kiss that you can only muster for now.

“Love you, Luke.” You mumble softly against his skin, exhaustion settling quickly in your bones. He responds with one last gentle kiss to your shoulder, lips smiling against your skin.

“Love you too, pretty.”

[kenough-for-me]

Hello hello I’m back again with another idea that will not leave my brain I think this one could go for any of the characters but I mostly think of Lars so it’s a soulmate trope with the matching marks but the marks appear at a certain age reader and Lars were childhood friends she liked to play with him while he was lonely from his dad not being there and one day she moves away but comes back to town after Bianca situation and they find out they are soulmates after they rekindle their friendship and fall in love

I’ve no clue if I expressed my brain thoughts well enough im running on being overworked at work 😔

Anyways on to the question what is your current Ryan gosling movie too watch list? I need to watch the notebook shockingly haven’t seen it then after I’ll watch blue valentine or crazy stupid love

Hello again, Natari! I'm sorry it took so long for me to get to your request, but here it is! Thank you so much for requesting!

I loved getting to write for Lars again <3

And you expressed your thoughts wonderfully. I hope you're getting plenty of rest!!

To answer your question: I just recently watched The Gray Man (pretty good in my opinion, and I'm not a big action person). But I still need to watch The Fall Guy, and I would really like to watch Drive.

[kenough-for-me]

A Sunday Kind of Love

Lars Lindstrom x Reader ~~ Soulmate AU ~~ 1.7K Words

And my arms need someone; Someone to enfold To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold; Love for all my life, to have and to hold

Requested by: @natari55

A/N: Lars continues to be my beloved <3 I love getting to write for him

Soulmates.

The ever-present wonder of the universe knowing exactly who your perfect match is.

But the universe never liked to give straight answers.

You weren’t born with the marks; nobody was. You only gained a black-lined mark once you reached the age of 18. The universe was funny that way. As if it were a parent telling their child that they’re not old enough to love yet.

Once you've finally met your soulmate, only then would the black ink change color to reveal a pretty painting of fate.

People worked and worked to get the marks sooner, but it never went beyond hypotheses and theories. The universe was sure with its decision, and it wasn’t changing it anytime soon.

Once you turned 18, it either broke or made relationships that had started before the age of 18. Fights were had, words were said, but… the universe would always be right in the end.

But little you had no time to worry about such silly things.

At four years old, you were more focused on getting the little boy who lived right next door and sat all lonesome on the steps of the porch to at least give you a ‘hello’ or a smile.

Even at your young age, you seemed to understand some things better than adults, realizing that this boy was quiet for a reason. But that didn’t stop you from at least trying to get to know him.

Your little feet carry you as quickly as they can towards the neighbor’s house once you’re allowed to play outside, hands gripping onto the pink carnations that you had absolutely begged your mother to let you take from the bouquet on the table.

Flowers always made your mom happy when a new bouquet was brought home; maybe they would make him happy, too.

Your feet patter against the gravel as you make your way closer and closer.

There he sits on the steps of the porch like usual, his knees pulled to his chest with his chin resting against his knees, baby blue blanket wrapped around his shoulders even in the summer heat. His eyes were focused on his feet, slightly shuffling them where he sat. His gaze perks up when he hears footsteps rushing towards him.

His blue eyes widen slightly at the sight of you standing in front of him, holding out a handful of flowers that had become a little mused from your running, your breath coming out in soft pants as you stare at him with a bright smile on your lips.

“Hi! I brought these for you!”

His eyes flick between your grip on the flowers and your eyes, blinking a little as he tries to register what exactly was happening in such a short period of time.

You were energetic, more than he was used to, but he did find the flowers pretty.

Slowly, he loosens his grip on his blanket and reaches out to gently grab the bundle of flowers from your grip, your hands accidentally brushing when he wraps his little fingers around the stems. He jolts slightly, expecting the pain that usually accompanies such a brush.

But… nothing.

No jolt, no shock, not even an ache remained in his fingers.

His breath comes out in a small huff, more so looking at his fingers than the flowers now. Your touch didn’t pain him, didn’t hurt him.

When his eyes finally flick up to look at your face again, he finds you with that same smile, now rocking on your heels with your hands clasped behind your back as you stare expectantly. Once his eyes meet yours again, you give a chirp of your name.

His hand slowly pulls the flowers closer to his chest, letting their scent overwhelm his senses before giving a small nod in response to your name. His voice is much softer than yours, barely heard over the blowing wind.

“Lars.”

You didn’t mind how soft-spoken he was; you usually spoke enough for the two of you the longer you and Lars began to hang around each other.

Where one was, the other was sure to be trailing behind.

While you liked the fact of having a new friend, Lars liked the fact that he finally found someone whose touch didn’t feel like a burn or sharp needles.

When you and Lars stood beside each other, your pinkies always found a way to be intertwined, especially when Lars was becoming overwhelmed at a situation the two of you had found yourselves in. His hand searched for yours every time.

Until your parents had decided to move away the next summer, finding better job opportunities in another state that required such a transition.

You argued, you begged, you pleaded with your parents almost every day since you figured out the terrible news to let you stay.

Lars needed you!

But your words didn’t make a difference.

You stare out the back window of the car on the dreaded day of the move, your sobs just about breaking your parents' hearts as you watch the small frame of Lars getting smaller and smaller. His legs tried hard to keep up with the car, his own tears rolling down his cheeks as he watched the only person he was close to getting further and further away.

He’d already lost his mom; he didn’t know if we could stand losing you, too.

As the car turns down the driveway, his foot gets caught on a rock, tumbling down onto the gravel, the blanket he had in his grip flying from his hands. His hands get scraped as he tries to catch himself, but his brain doesn’t compute the sting, just focused on the fact that the car is gone when he looks back up.

And you with it.

—

Two decades.

It took you two decades before you finally decided to move back to your childhood town.

This time with a new addition.

Once you turned 18, the mark that everybody looked forward to was etched onto your skin. Your mark was on your left pinky, right under your second knuckle. A carnation.

When you had woken up to such a sight on your birthday, your mind drifts to young summers, brown hair and blue eyes, interlinked pinkies. A young boy who clung to you as if you were his only solace. His form was in the picture, but his face was blurry, years upon years of not seeing him, leaving you forgetting his face.

The decision to move was one that was unexpected, but it felt right when you heard your mom mention the name of the town over your last phone call. Like something was calling you back there, leading you towards something greater.

So far, nobody that you’ve come across has a matching mark, nothing even remotely similar to your own.

You had almost given up hope.

Sitting in a little coffee shop after officially moving in, deciding that you deserved a little treat for such a feat all on your own, you absentmindedly stir the coffee that had been carefully placed in front of you by the sweet old lady who owned the shop.

The bell above the door rings softly, signaling a new customer entering the store. You’d heard it quite often after sitting in there for so long, but something was different about this ring. Something deep within your soul jolts, leading you to finally look up to see who had entered.

Dark brown hair tousled from the winter wind, blue eyes that flicker around the store nervously, a blue baby blanket used as a scarf in the cold weather.

Your mind short-circuits at the sight of him.

You knew him.

You knew him.

Summer days full of laughter and playing in a homemade tree house, intertwined pinkies, sobs when you were separated without much choice. His face finally becomes clear in your memories upon seeing the older version of him.

Lars.

The small boy who kept to himself unless it was with you… This was him… all grown up.

Lars slowly steps up to the counter, lips moving under a mustache as he softly speaks to the old lady, who already has his order ready for him on the counter.

You catch the way he blinks while he speaks, his mustache twitching slightly, your eyes travel down his form before they rest on his hands.

He digs out his wallet from his pocket, grabbing the amount of change that he needed for his order. You barely catch the flicker of something against the left pinky, black lines. Your soul jolts at the sight, the spot of your own soulmate mark burning just the slightest bit.

Could it be?

Slowly, you stand from the table you sat at, making your way towards the counter as your eyes continue to roam over his form. He was handsome, in a cute way. Everything about him just reminded you of youth; it seems he hasn’t changed much after all.

“Lars?”

You call out softly, his eyes blinking over to meet your gaze with a questioning look, and his own body straightens with quickly widening eyes as he takes you in.

He breathes out your name softly, his hands tightening slightly around the cup that had just been passed to him. Your smile softens at the realization that he remembers you. It had been so long since you last saw his face.

As if wanting to reminisce on younger times, you hold your left pinky out to him, just like you always did when you’d rush over towards his house.

His eyes stare between your eyes and your pinky, before his breath hitches at seeing the soulmate mark that was etched into your skin. Mustache slightly trembling, he adjusts his grip on his cup before slowly bringing up his own left pinky.

A carnation was etched into his skin.

The same design as yours.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as your pinkies gently intertwine after years of being apart, the black lines slowly changing color until it melds into a pink carnation.

You tighten your pinky around his at the revelation, and your gaze quickly moves up to stare into his eyes as his own pinky tightens around your own.

And you both feel your souls settle.

[kenough-for-me]

Dream Lover

Ken x Reader ~~ Ken only has a good day when you smile at him ~~ 1.3K Words

Dream lover, until then; I'll go to sleep and dream again That's the only thing to do; 'Til all my lover's dreams come true

Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff, that's it <3

Ken found a love for the beach in the real world after the whole debacle with the patriarchy in Barbie World. Even if he couldn’t truly beach like he wanted to.

The sand that squished between his toes, the water that lapped against the shore in the distance, the cry of a seagull that became wondrous background noise as he stared out into the ocean.

Everything that he loved about the beach was tenfold here.

And then… There was you.

You visited the beach almost every day like him, finding almost as much joy in it as he did. 

The way you stood ankle deep in the water, closing your eyes as you enjoyed the feeling of the water hitting against your ankles. He found himself almost stumbling over his feet when he first saw you doing that.

Something about you just drew him in.

And Ken fell fast and hard.

Ken watched you every single time you came to the beach. Almost becoming expectant of your form, so much that he grew sad on the days you didn’t show up. His blue eyes followed every move you made, whether that be when you sat on the sand reading or wading through the waves.

Even if he wasn’t trained to save you like lifeguard Ken, he knew he would try if anything had happened to you.

That much he was sure about.

You had both bumped into each other accidentally one day after he kept his eyes on you, it being more your fault than Ken’s. You were being blinded by the sun while you were walking down the shore, and Ken… well, he was just blinded by the fact that you were actually walking over to him.

Your bodies bumped together before you could register the fact that there was a shadow, your hand too busy covering your eyes to keep the sun out to notice such a detail.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

Ken froze when you moved to look up at him, your nose scrunched slightly from the blinding light. He gulps and nods to your words. 

Quick! 

What would Ken do in this situation? He was cool!

The idea flashes in his mind before he can truly think it over.

He needed to look cool for you! To impress you!

His arm comes up, hand coming behind his head as he flexes his muscles, and before he could speak, his body goes to lean on a doorframe that so obviously was not there.

His body, straightened like a board, falls flat into the sand.

Your laughter afterwards, as you helped him get back up, was the best medicine for anything, he immediately found himself deciding.

After that, the two of you had become almost inseparable on the beach.

Ken currently stood in the same spot as he usually did, his eyes watching behind his sunglasses as you find your regular spot with the same beach bag you carried over your shoulder.

Your gaze drifts over towards where he stood, knowing where he would be, your hand coming up as a protective shield for your eyes against the sun. Something in him skips when your smile brightens at just the sight of him, your other hand raising to wave at the familiar figure.

You were as bright as the sun in Ken’s eyes.

No, brighter!

“Hi, Ken!”

You call out to him the same way as always, and his feet move before his brain can even think to catch up, leading him closer to you as his own smile makes its way onto his lips.

You always called out to him first.

You always smiled when you saw him.

And every time it sent a thrill through his head.

The feeling reminded him of Barbie, but something was different this time with you. It felt more… real? True? Ken couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

But he knew he liked it.

Whatever it was.

His eyes stare behind the pair of sunglasses he wears, taking in the way your eyes squint at the occasional ray of sunshine peeking through your fingers. The included scrunch of your nose was another thing he found himself longing to see more often ever since that first encounter.

Like the cherry on top of a perfect sundae.

Just like the other times, you seemed to have forgotten to pack a pair of sunglasses in your beach bag, something Ken didn’t mind as he always kept an extra pair in his pocket just for you.

Not wanting you to suffer from the sun any longer, he quickly pulls the shades from his pocket, pops them open, and places them on your face, making sure to be extra careful as he does so. He didn’t want to accidentally poke you and hurt you!

Your smile turns gracious, a soft sound of laughter escaping you. The sound rang deep in Ken’s brain, hitting every nerve connection that was possible, a Pavlovian sound that instantly caused his smile to brighten.

“Thanks, Ken. Maybe I need to just always keep a pair in my bag.”

“I’ll always keep an extra pair for you.”

His words, albeit more truthful and straightforward than you’re used to from other men, were a part of Ken that was just him.

You watch behind the sunglasses as he digs through his pocket for a few seconds, before showing you his treasure like it was his proudest achievement. Seashells were littered in his palms, of different sizes and colors, but all pretty little things.

None of them had chips or missing pieces, as if Ken had dutifully picked out ones from the sand that were just perfect.

“Ken, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

This was another thing about Ken: he was always finding seashells on the seashore and giving them to you. You had so much that you managed to fill a vase with them to keep on your dining room table.

Carefully, you take the seashells from his hands, looking them over for just a few seconds longer before setting them into a small pocket in your bag, mentally reminding yourself to be careful when you pack up from the beach.

When you look back at Ken, you find him staring at you with that same smile on his lips, one that was so distinctly him. Bright and waiting, perfect teeth on display.

Hell, you were sure if he had a tail, it would be wagging excitedly by now.

“They reminded me of you.”

Your heart melts every time you hear it from him, your smile almost becoming too much, your cheeks aching. But he always pulled that from you, a smile so bright you didn’t mind the ache.

“Thank you, Ken.”

Your voice had softened around the syllable of his name, and you watched as his body almost slumped in response to such a gracious thing.

Slowly, you lean forward to plant the gentlest of pecks against his cheeks, a small, grateful thing that would only devolve into something more if you let it.

And maybe… You did.

“Come on, Ken. Let’s go look for more seashells.”

You begin to walk before him, kicking off your sandals and heading towards the shoreline. Unbeknownst to you, Ken is standing stock still, his brain computing such a delicate thing from you, storing it in the section of his brain that was all about you.

“Are we girlfriend/boyfriend now?”

“Yes, Ken, we’re girlfriend/boyfriend now.”

“Sublime!”

You hear his call behind you, and you struggle to contain your laughter before hearing his footsteps rushing to catch up beside you, his hand instantly finding your own to intertwine your fingers.

Ken smiled as bright as the sun the entire time, looking at everybody that passed by the two of you while you walked, pointing over at you enthusiastically.

“This is my girlfriend.” He would announce with almost the same amount of excitement every time.

And even through the embarrassment that floods through your system each time he says it, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[kenough-for-me]

Headcannons:

Not yet written

One-Shots:

♡ Dream Lover (Ken only has a good day when you smile at him)

[kenough-for-me]

September

Holland March x Reader ~~ Holland meets Holly's teacher, in two completely different settings ~~ 3.1K Words

Now December; Found the love that we shared in September Only blue talk and love, remember; The true love we share today

Warnings: Minors DNI!! AFAB Reader, Cursing, smoking, and alcohol (it's Holland), Holland calls you 'Sunshine' and 'pretty', SMUT (still not used to writing it, hope it's okay >.<), public sex (it's in the bathroom), fingering, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, slight praise kink (on both ends), slight aftercare, Holland is already whipped

Holland March would rather be anywhere else than where he was.

Sitting in a chair clearly meant for someone half his size at a bean-shaped table, his right foot bouncing impatiently as he stares in front at the empty seat before him.

He wanted nothing more than to light a cigarette while he waited, but the front office lady had already gotten onto him more than once before he even got sent back to the room.

… and confiscated his cigarettes for good measure.

Holland had been called in about Holly’s recent conversations between friends that the teacher had overheard. ‘Concerning behavior,’ as it was so put in the phone call, that he was honestly too drunk to fully remember.

His mind, as he waited, conjured up the image of what he assumed the teacher looked like. Holly never told him much about her, just that she was nice. His eyes flicker over the decorations, science-related posters, and artwork by the kids.

She was probably some old broad, her hair on the edge of graying, barely able to keep up with the kids-

“I apologize for being late, Mr. March. There was a situation that needed my attention.”

Huh, your voice didn’t sound old. 

Turning around slightly in his chair to face where the voice had come from, he almost tips out of the small thing at just the sight of you.

You were by no means the old teacher he had envisioned just a few seconds prior.

You wore a peach pinafore dress that swept around your calves as you walked, with a white collared button-up underneath. The dress, while modest in a school setting, also left little to the imagination in Holland’s quickly frying brain.

You seemed about his age, maybe younger.

And extremely attractive.

“It’s umm… don’t worry about it.”

The words slip past his lips without much thought, his gaze following as you move to sit in the bigger chair across from him, smoothing out your dress as you sit down to keep it from creasing.

Your eyes stare at him for just a few seconds before your hands fold together on your lap, ever the pinnacle of professionalism.

“Holly is a wonderful student,” You begin, your lips tugging into a soft smile, “She’s always following the rules and never interrupts, but-”

You scoot the chair closer to the table, your hands coming to rest upon it instead of remaining in your lap. Holland almost straightens his back at the look in your eyes, the way they had shifted into calculating as if you were grading him just as much as you do Holly.

“While the students were doing a worksheet, Holly began conversing with her friends. She began talking about very concerning things.”

Holland gulps at the tone of your voice. Now, he knew he probably said some things in front of Holly that she shouldn’t hear, but he always told her to never repeat it in a company that wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Mr. March-”

“Call me Holland.”

“Mr. March.”

Well, that backfired. In more ways than one.

Your stare remains like steel, and he had a shiver rolling up his back.

“Holly was talking about you and this Mr. Healy. Where you were tracking down whores and stuff?”

Holland gulps as the words hit him like a sucker punch. He had made sure to reiterate multiple times to Holly to be as tight-lipped as she could about the case that had happened months ago. A weak laugh escapes his lips. Man, he could really use that cigarette about now.

“Haha, you know kids and their… active imaginations.”

One of your eyebrows raises at his words, slowly leaning back in your chair as you observe the man in front of you.

“I’m more concerned about the language she used. And the potential exposure to such things.”

“I’ll make sure to talk to her, and umm… watch her TV intake.”

Your gaze softens slightly as you continue to stare at Holland, your hands remaining folded on the table in front of you as you nod to his words.

“This won’t define her. Holly has a bright future, Mr. March.”

Holland takes you in; the care you had for his daughter was abundantly clear, even from the small conversation he had with you. His shoulders relax the tiniest bit, giving a slight nod in response to your words.

“Yeah. She does.”

You smile at that, standing from your chair with Holland quickly following after. The small chair tumbles from how fast he stood, clambering to the floor with multiple thuds, which he quickly bends down to fix.

“Stupid fucking chair.” He mumbles out frustratingly at the plastic as he shoves it back under the table.

A hum of a chuckle escapes you at the clear annoyance he felt for the inanimate object, his gaze quickly snapping to you when the soft sound graced his ears.

“The students get frustrated with them, too.”

Is all you respond, your lips clearly trying to hide bursting into a smile, as you walk past him towards the door of the classroom.

Holland stays put for just a few seconds, his mind still rattling to catch up with just the thought of you as he stares after your retreating form. His legs move before his brain does, catching up with you in quick strides as he walks beside you down the hallway towards the front office.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. March.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah… of course.”

Your footsteps stop before his does, watching as he quickly turns around when he realizes you're not following beside him anymore. You both had made it to the front doors of the school.

When your eyes meet, you give him a soft smile and a nod of your head.

“Goodbye, Mr. March.”

Holland's eyes remain locked on your form as you turn around to head back to your classroom, so much so that he doesn’t even notice the office lady holding out his pack of cigarettes to him.

Yeah, he decides almost instantly, this definitely wouldn’t be the last time you two meet.

—

The bass of the club booms even from the outside.

A clue had tipped off Healy and Holland to this club for their latest investigation, looking for the missing son of a noble family.

Apparently, he liked to frequent this place.

Holland’s lips held his lit cigarette in place as he glanced around, Healy was already moving through the crowd to begin asking questions with the photo they had gotten from the mother.

Smoke billows past his lips and out of his nose, one of his hands reaching up to pluck the cigarette from his lips as he canvassed the place before immediately heading towards the bar. He worked better with a few drinks in his system anyway.

A form instantly catches his eyes, the back of a pretty thing standing at the bar, leaning against the counter as they talked to the bartender. A tight pair of bell-bottoms that tightly hugged her ass, and a tie-front shirt that he just knew had to be showing off her breasts.

He makes his way to stand beside the form, nodding towards the bartender and ‘whiskey’ falling easily from his lips. When his eyes finally drift down to the form beside him, something sharp jolts through his system as he realizes who it was.

Holly’s teacher.

Your gaze finally drifts up to meet his, and it seems that the same feeling goes through you as your eyes widen and your grip tightens on the drink you had been nursing.

“Mr. March?”

Your voice rises to be heard over the loud volume of the music, something new that had come out this past year. He remembers hearing it on the radio on the drive over here.

The bartender places his glass onto the bar right in front of him, and his hand instantly reaches out to grab it and take a chug, barreling through the burn that encompasses his throat. The amber liquid is quickly gone from the glass, setting it down with a thud before he motions to the bartender for another.

He would definitely need another drink for this.

With the alcohol now buzzing in his system, added to the few drinks he already had before they left his house, the next words just slip easily from his lips as he looks down at you.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

Sunshine.

He didn’t know why he had called you that, but it just felt so right. And judging by the way you reacted, the slight smile on your lips, you seemed to agree, even the slightest bit.

The case could definitely wait for a bit.

—

One drink led to another.

Conversation led to flirting.

Flirting led to heated glances.

And now you stood in the club’s bathroom, after being dragged through the crowd, Holland pushing you against the closed door with your lips locked in a passionate kiss.

His hands move to grip your waist, pushing you against the wood as your fingers quickly tangle in his dark blond hair, a groan rumbling against your lips in response.

As your lips move together in a dance, his hands slowly begin exploring every inch of you: roaming up to palm at your breasts, thumbs flicking your nipples over the thin fabric of the shirt, a whine punched deep from you being your response.

Your sound only fuels him further, his hands now trailing down, slipping past your waist and behind you to grip tightly onto the meat of your ass, palming there to pull you closer, close enough to feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against your front.

While one of his hands stays on your ass, his other slowly dances to the front, fingers trailing teasingly against the seam between your legs, a shiver rolling up your spine.

All throughout his touch, your lips remain together.

His fingers swiftly unbutton your pants, shoving his hand past your panties, pleasently finding them already soaked. A groan escapes him at his findings.

“So pretty, Sunshine.” He murmurs as his lips trail down to your jaw, breathless moans escaping past your own lips now that they’re free, “Sounds so pretty.”

He rolls his middle finger over your clit a few times, smirking against your skin at the jolt that shakes through you, at the way your head thumps back against the door with a soft knock.

“Holland.”

Oh, you sounded just perfect saying his name like that.

Dipping his finger down, he gathers a swipe of wetness from your entrance before going back to playing with your clit. Continuing his gentle kisses against your skin, occasionally nipping, he listens to the sounds you grace him with.

He waits until your legs are trembling, smirking against your skin, before dipping down and slowly pushing his finger past your entrance. A shiver rolls through him at just how tight and warm you felt, already imagining how he would feel sheathed inside.

Your eyes flutter close as he continues moving his finger against your gummy walls, adding a second after a few moments. He curls his fingers suddenly, finding that spot within that causes your back to arch of the door, a high-pitched moan punched from your lungs.

“Right there, Holls. Please.”

“Right there? You sure, Sunshine?”

If your brain wasn’t pure mush at the moment, you would’ve snapped back at his condescending tone, but all you can think of doing is nodding quickly in agreement.

He curls his fingers a few more times, feeling how you contract every time he does so. His kisses move down to your neck, nipping and sucking softly at the skin there.

Holland can hear the change in your breath, the way it hitches with each stroke of his fingers. He can feel the tremble beginning to grow in your thighs around his arm.

You're close.

Suddenly, he pulls away, right as your stomach was beginning to clench, right as you were about to crest over that high, leaving you a trembling mess, clenching around nothing.

“Holls, wait, no-”

“Patience, Sunshine.

But he was no better.

He chuckles at your words, pulling away slightly to stare into your eyes as he brings his wet fingers up to his mouth. He's lewd as he slurps your juices off of his fingers, almost getting lost in the flavor of you as his eyes roll back just the tiniest bit.

It wasn’t long after that, fueled by the taste of you staining his tongue, that he pushed you forward against the sink counter. He rushes through pushing your pants and panties down, shoving his own pants and boxers down with hurried hands.

His fingers wrap around his cock, lining his tip up with your still-clenching entrance. He pauses.

Slowly, his eyes move from the sight before him to the mirror, meeting your pleading gaze through it. Your eyes, half-lidded, makeup smudged from his kisses. You were a sight.

“You still sure, Sunshine?”

He asks softly in a moment of sober clarity. He was about to fuck his daughter’s teacher.

And with the small nod you give him, the slight quirk of your lips, he throws that thought quickly to the back of his mind before slowly easing in.

Warmth is what instantly flashes through his mind. Warm and wet. A shuddering breath is torn through him with a shiver rolling up his spine.

One of his hands moves to grip onto your waist, more so a steadying touch for him than for you. His other hand moves to one of your hands gripping onto the counter, quickly intertwining your fingers right as his hips meet flush with your own.

Holland stays still for a moment, his eyes squeezing close as he takes in the feeling of your walls constricting around him, his head falling forward onto your shoulder.

“God, Sunshine. You feel like a dream.”

He mumbles drunkenly against your skin, planting gentle kisses there following his words. His praise seems to work well with you, considering the way you squeeze around him, almost knocking him out by just the feeling of it.

His fingers practically dig into the skin of your hip.

“Stop it.”

His voice was the slightest of whines, willing himself not to cum so early just from the feeling of you.

“Can’t help it, Holls. Feel so good.”

A jolt zips up his spine at your words. He has to find a way to shut you up just to keep you from spouting anything else, lest he cum immediately.

His hand moves from being intertwined with yours, quickly covering your mouth as his gaze meets yours in the mirror from over your shoulder. Your hand comes up, gently wrapping around his wrist, keeping him there as he slowly begins to grind his hips.

Both of your eyes roll back at just the feeling of each other.

Holland muffles his groan against the skin of your shoulder, while your whine is hidden behind his palm.

“Shhh, shhh, pretty. Don’t wanna let other people know what’s happenin’, do we?”

A shake of your head is all he’s given, as if he wasn’t making noise himself.

His grind slowly turns into gentle thrusts, feeling the way your ass ripples against him with each meeting of your hips. He knows he won’t last much longer.

Snaking his other hand towards your front, he quickly begins circling his middle finger around your clit, keeping you from falling forward at the added stimulation.

“Come on, pretty. Give it to me, yeah?”

He hums against your skin, planting gentle kisses against the spots he nipped as he adjusts his hips ever so slightly, managing to hit that sweet spot inside of you. You see stars flash in your vision, your back arching as you keen into his palm.

“Right there, Sunshine?”

He hits that spot, again and again, his breath huffing against your skin as his thrusts become more and more forceful, his finger quickening its circling.

Your walls tighten around him with each nudge against that spot, your legs beginning to tremble as your grip tightens around his wrist. With each thrust, that warm spot deep in your core grew and grew, that coil tightening.

Until it finally snapped.

Holland keeps you upright as your legs give out, watching in the mirror as your eyes roll back, feeling the way you gush around him. The tightening of your release only gives him a few more thrusts before he quickly pulls himself out to cum against your entrance.

Your breaths slowly begin to match, Holland panting against your shoulder before his hand slowly moves from your throbbing clit. You barely manage to catch him as he grabs some paper towels and wets them in the sink before feeling him gently begin to wipe his seed from you. He plants gentle, apologizing kisses against your shoulder with each oversensitive twitch you give.

The silence that was only broken by your breathing was comfortable, even with the sounds of the club muffled by the bathroom door.

“Sunshine?”

His name is suddenly heard past the door, a man yelling it as if he were being looked for. Damn it, Healy.

“Hey, I gotta go, but-”

Holland takes a minute to situate himself before he takes care of you, gently turning you to face him on your shaky legs. He pulls up your pants and panties, making sure that your clothes are presentable. Hell, he even wets some more paper towels before gently wiping away your smeared makeup.

His eyes take in your form, exhausted from the sex, his hands move to gently grip your face, making you look up into his eyes.

“Wake up for me, pretty.”

He gently runs his thumbs under your eyes, waiting for them to focus on him before he gives a gentle smile.

“There she is.”

You blink a few times as you stare up at him, the haze of your orgasm finally fading, watching as he pulls away before grabbing a dry paper towel and writing a string of numbers on it.

Instead of handing it to you, he folds it and places it into your front pocket.

“Call me when you get home. Leave a message if I don’t answer.”

Holland plants a quick kiss against the corner of your lips, fixing a few strands of your unkempt hair before leading you out of the bathroom.

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and one last fleeting glance over his shoulder, before you watch him head towards another male. A small smile appears on your lips as you barely hear the man berate Holland for disappearing.

Your own gaze moves to search for your own groups of friends.

As you walk, on slightly shaky legs, towards the table, your hand slowly slips into your pocket, and your thumb gently runs over the paper towel carefully folded inside.

[kenough-for-me]

🔥 ~ Smut is included

Headcannons:

Not yet written

One-Shots:

♡ September (Holland meets Holly's teacher, in two completely different settings) 🔥

[kenough-for-me]

He's My Man

Luke Glanton X Reader ~~ He might become a criminal, but he's still your man ~~ 2.6k Words

He's my man; I've been damned No, nobody has to understand; Me and my man

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, slice of life in the beginning, inappropriate/unwanted advances/touching (not by Luke), violence (by Luke, he goes a little crazy), I have no idea how court works (I did some research)

A/N: Can be in the same universe as Too Sweet, but you don't need to read it to understand anything. Might even make a part 2 if this is enjoyed enough <3 He would be such a good father, your honor

The sun barely peeks through the blinds, bathing the room in a warm glow, as Luke is awoken by a small sound.

He almost brushes it off at first, deeming it to be something that he had conjured up in his dreams. But as he goes to curl back around the figure of you sleeping beside him, the sound begins again.

The gentle sound of a coo, like hearing a dove somewhere in the room.

His head cautiously lifts, not wanting to wake you this early in the morning, and his gaze slowly moves over towards the crib in the corner of the room that he had finished the night before. His hands were still sore from the constant movement of tightening the screws.

The sound, so soft and sweet, graces his ears once again, and he barely sees the shape of a little fist reaching over the crib liner.

Lily was awake, it seemed.

Moving just as carefully as before, he removes his arm from under the pillow your head was on, making sure not to jostle it too much. Once he’s sure you haven’t awoken from that, his eyes on your closed ones and keeping an ear out for any change in your breathing, he unwraps himself from around you.

The floor is a cold shock when he plants his feet on it, a drastic change from the warmth that had grown under the covers between the two of you, that causes the slightest of shivers to roll up his spine. Grabbing his shirt from beside the bed, he shrugs it on before his gaze returns to the little fist still waving in the air.

He keeps his steps light as he makes his way over towards the crib, peeking inside to find a pair of wide blue eyes staring back up at him.

A smile graces his lips as her little legs begin to kick out excitedly at the sight of him, her own small lips curling into a bright smile around the fist she was currently gnawing on, and she gives a gurgled coo.

Luke doesn’t waste any more time; he couldn’t resist her even if he tried. His arms, now experienced in holding a baby, carefully lift her to hold her against his chest as he shifts his body to accommodate her. One hand rests under her bum, the other gently cradling the back of her head, which plops against his shoulder, her nose rubbing against the cloth of his shirt.

A move he had grown familiar with from the girl in his arms.

“Morning, princess.”

His voice is a soft rumble as he makes his way out of the bedroom, leaving the door cracked for you as his feet carry him towards the kitchen. In response, Lily just makes a gurgling sound, her hands gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as her eyes look around the kitchen, finding interest in her new surroundings.

Adjusting his arm around Lily, he frees up his other hand to click on the coffee machine, something he had prepared the night before. A routine he had picked up ever since he started staying with you more and more.

Luke always found himself waking up before you did, so he took it upon himself to make sure that the coffee pot would be full by the time you joined him in the land of the wake.

The machine gurgles to life, hissing out before a warm dribble of coffee slowly pours into the pot, and with it, the smell of coffee begins to fill the room.

With his morning duty done, Luke walks over towards the kitchen window, placing his hand back against Lily’s head, who had begun to gnaw on a fistful of his shirt. She was in that phase of chewing anything within reach.

Luke somehow didn’t find himself minding it.

His eyes stare out, watching the sun slowly begin to rise over the horizon, casting everything in a golden glow as it does so. Thumb gently running over Lily’s head of hair, more so a comforting motion for himself than for her, he leans his chin against the top of her head.

Luke never would’ve thought that he would end up here. A father. With the woman that he found himself falling for more and more every day. Able to live a life that he had only assumed he would have in his dreams.

But he knew he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Arms slowly wrap around his waist from behind, warmth settling against his back as he feels your head rest between his shoulder blades. And with your touch, your closeness, the feeling of you behind him and the weight of his baby against his chest, something settles deep within Luke. An assurance.

An assurance that he was right where he wanted to be.

—

The commotion of the supermarket surrounds you as you carefully walk down the aisle, making sure not to knock into others or get in their way.

Your hands grip onto the handle of the shopping cart as you slow it to a stop right in front of the bread section, your eyes glancing over the different kinds, looking for the one you and Luke both liked.

Lily sat in the cart seat, content to play with the little toy you always kept in your purse for times like this. Her eyes dart this way and that, everything interesting to her young mind as she gnaws on the toy she kept in a tight grip.

Behind you, like an intimidating guard dog, Luke stands with his arms crossed against his chest, his eyes glancing down at everyone who passes by. He took everyone and everything to be a threat to his girls, even down to the sweet old ladies, standing between them and you every single time.

It was something you had just grown used to, knowing that nothing you said would ever change his mind.

“Luke, can you go grab the coffee? I forgot it while we were down that aisle.” You hum out, carefully placing the bread into the basket.

When you look up to meet his gaze, you find his jaw working, as if he wants nothing more than to deny your sweet request, not wanting to be apart from you in the crowded market. But the look in your eyes, placating and soft, something tugs deep in his chest, and he finds it hard to refuse.

“Fine.” He bites out, no real heat behind it. Reaching up, he places his hand on the back of your head, pulling you in to plant a quick kiss against your temple, “Don’t go too far, pretty.”

His words were mumbled against your skin, and you smiled in response, nodding to his request as you watched him lean down to do the same to Lily. Her button nose scrunches up at the feeling of his lips against her temple, gurgling around the toy as her attention is momentarily taken by her father.

Luke’s lips twitch into the smallest of smiles, a quick crack in his exterior before he turns and heads towards the aisle where the coffee cans would be.

Your eyes follow after him, watching as he effortlessly weaves through the crowd before he disappears around the corner. He never had difficulty getting through a crowd; people instantly parted for him just by the look of him, the sharp look in his eyes.

Going back to shopping, you move onto the next aisle, this one a lot emptier than the others, looking over the different brands of peanut butter before going and reaching towards your favorite brand resting on a higher shelf.

A sudden hand winds itself around your waist, another one reaching up to grab the jar you had been reaching for. Luke had been quick. Your smile remains on your lip, glancing down at the hand on your waist.

But your heart skips a beat, and your blood quickly runs cold at the realization that hits you like a ton of bricks.

No tattoos were staining the skin.

The familiar trail of ink was nowhere to be seen.

This wasn’t Luke.

Your gaze instantly snaps up towards the man behind you, your smile quickly falling as you see an unfamiliar face smirking down at you. Disgust flows through you in waves, your face showing your discomfort as you move to get away from the man, standing protectively in front of Lily, who was none the wiser to the predicament.

“What’s with the look, Doll? I was just helpin’ ya’.”

The man leers down at you, his gaze settling like sludge over your skin, an unpleasant shiver rolling up your spine.

“I’m good.”

You turn and grip the handle of the shopping cart, wanting to put as much distance between you and this man as possible, especially with Lily, whose gaze is currently locked on you as she chews on the toy.

You needed to protect Lily.

A hand suddenly grips onto the handle beside your own, effectively stopping you from walking any further, your shoulders tensing as the situation only begins to escalate.

“You know, when somebody helps you, you should thank them.”

You don’t respond, your hands tightening around the handle almost achingly, glancing around the aisle as if hoping that somebody would step in. But all you were given were sidelong glances and looks of pity.

As if that would do you much good.

Your chin is suddenly gripped, fingers digging into the skin of your cheeks as your widened eyes are forced to look at the man, frustration clearly growing at your ignorance.

“I’m talkin’ to you.” He sneers, glaring down at you.

One of your hands reaches up, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to try and pull him away, but it only causes his grip on your face to tighten. His nails begin to sharply dig into your skin, and in the back of your mind, you think of the marks that you’ll see later on in the mirror.

“Hey-”

You barely have time to register Luke’s voice behind you before a fist suddenly collides with the side of the man’s face. His head snaps to the side with a satisfying sound, his hand effectively unwrapping from around your face to instead cradle his quickly bruising cheek.

“What the fuck, man-”

Another blow is swiftly delivered, this time to his temple, causing the man to stumble. Your body, frozen in the height of the action, can do nothing but watch as Luke advances towards the man. One of his fists was clenched, the other gripping tightly onto the coffee can that he had been sent to grab, tossing it into the basket as he passed by it.

His eyes held malice. More than you had ever seen from the blonde man before. This stranger had touched what was his, and it was clear that he was hellbent on making sure that he regretted it.

“Luke.”

Your voice came out weak, shaky, one of your hands still gripping onto the handle of the shopping cart as Lily began to stir at the sounds of violence. A crowd began to form, and you had a feeling the police would be quick to follow.

You needed to leave.

While the man was hunched over, cradling his bruising face, Luke took it as his moment. His fist comes from below, connecting with the man’s face with a sickening crunch of his nose. The sound jolts you, your stomach going queasy at the blood that quickly gushes onto the tiled floor of the supermarket.

“Luke.”

You try calling out again, but it's like he can’t hear you. The crowd grows, people crying out for help, workers notifying the cops of what was happening. But all you can do is stand frozen.

Lily begins crying now from all of the noise, her cry shrill and sharp, and you quickly pluck her from the cart, holding her protectively close to your chest as your eyes remain locked on the scene before you.

The man’s unfocused gaze finally glances up at Luke, his nose crooked and gushing blood. He holds his hands up in surrender.

“I-I’m sorry, man. Didn’t know she was-”

His sentence is interrupted, giving out a gurgled sound as Luke grips onto the man’s shirt, tossing him to the ground as if it were nothing, as if the man weighed nothing.

Luke towers over him, shoulders hunched, breath heavy. His clenched fists tighten as he takes a deep breath, and you can see it. You can see the debate rolling around in his mind, the desire to continue beating this man to a pulp for even daring to touch you.

“Luke.”

It finally seems to snap him out of it, his gaze flicking over towards you and taking you in.

The way you held Lily close, the bruises that were beginning to form on your cheeks from where the man’s fingers indented into your skin, the pleading look in your eyes. He moves.

But not towards the man.

Towards you.

His arms instantly wrap around you once he gets close enough to you. One of his hands rests against the back of your head, pulling you and Lily against him as if even the feeling of you was enough to calm the storm that had brewed.

Lily was still crying, but the sound of it had calmed down slightly at the feeling of her father’s added warmth against her.

Your own body was beginning to untense at just the feeling of Luke holding you, of keeping you close to him. The sound of the crowd slowly disappears as you try to focus mostly on the sound of his heartbeat, the rhythmic beating against your ear. Until-

“Get down on the ground!”

—

You were dressed in your nicest clothes as you sat in the courtroom, Lily sitting on your lap and wearing one of the nicer dresses that you had gotten for her. Her eyes were focused on messing with the bow that she had effectively torn off the second you had put it on her head, suckling silently on her pacifier.

Your gaze, though, was stuck in front of you, staring at the back of that familiar blond head as he stood beside his attorney.

The judge spoke in words you couldn’t quite follow, explaining the legal terms of why the court was meeting today. You catch a few words, but they don’t quite stick, mostly nervous over what the outcome would be for Luke. Your hands gently mess with the fabric of Lily’s dress.

“Mr. Glanton, the court understands your justification that you were defending another person. Your methods, however, were excessive at the moment and led to serious damage to Mr. Henderson.”

“So, on the charge of causing serious bodily injury to Mr. Henderson, the court finds you guilty. You will be fined $10,000 and be required to serve 6 months of prison time.”

The judge bangs the gavel in finality.

Your gaze snaps up towards Luke, and officers begin to hone in on him. Quickly standing, you watch as Luke turns to face you, giving you a slight quirk of his lips, and you know he has no regrets for what he has done.

“Love you, pretty.” He hums out, leaning forward to plant a gentle kiss upon your frozen lips, his gaze flicking down to Lily, leaning over the railing to plant a quick kiss against the top of her head. “Love you, princess.”

“I’ll be back to my girls soon.”

Your brain, still trying to catch up on the fact that Luke would be serving prison time, doesn’t react quickly enough to say it back before he’s dragged out of the courtroom by the officers. But he knew when he looked over his shoulder for one last glance of you and his daughter before he disappeared behind the door frame.

He knew just by the look in your eyes.

[kenough-for-me]

I just finished watching Lars and the real girl it’s listed as a comedy…. My heart he’s just a poor baby I love him so much what a wonderful movie thank you I think he deserves some fluff time with reader maybe meeting at a coffee shop or a library and falling in love with each other with some yearning because I’m a sucker for it

Im thinking of watching Drive next possibly or maybe a different Ryan gosling movie not sure yet

Hmmm now for the question what is your favorite dessert to bake? If you bake or eat if you don’t I personally love to bake a homemade banana cake with homemade caramel frosting and I love eating it too 😂

Hello again, Natari! Here is your request!! <3

I definitely agree that the movie in no way should be listed as a comedy. I cried at least 5 times when I watched it. He's just a sweet boy.

I haven't watched Drive yet, but I have heard that it's really good!

To answer your question: I don't bake much (more so motivation than time), but when I do get the motivation to bake something, I love baking cookies (it's so simple, but the reward is amazing). And homemade caramel frosting??? Sign me up!! <3 <3

[kenough-for-me]

Dreams

Lars Lindstrom x reader ~~ Changes in his routine might not be that bad ~~ 1.6K Words

You have my heart so don't hurt me; You're what I couldn't find A totally amazing mind; So understanding and so kind You're everything to me

Requested by: @natari55

A/N: Lars, my beloved <3

Lars’ brain craves a routine.

From when he first wakes up in the morning, to how his day at work goes, to what he does when he gets home.

He even has a routine for going to the only place to get a good cup of coffee in town, a little mom-and-pop owned by Mr and Mrs Steeler, down to the minute he gets there and what he orders. He’s done this so much that his order is practically ready for him by the time he gets there.

The doorbell jingles as he steps inside past the doorframe, the smell of coffee and pancakes instantly filling his nose, and the cold follows after him as the door shuts behind him with a soft click.

The sound is what instantly got to him. It was always noisy in here, something he didn’t quite enjoy. Adjusting the blue blanket around his neck, it’s almost as if he’s trying to hide himself as he silently makes his way towards the counter.

All he needed to do was grab his food and then go home. The perfect end to his routine day.

But something was off.

The place where his food was usually packed and ready to go was empty, the familiar box nowhere in sight. His feet still to a stop, eyes flicking towards the clock that always hung in the same place, heart skipping an unnatural beat, finding the hands on the same numbers as when he usually came in.

Nothing was different. Same time, same day.

Lars’ eyes move back towards the empty counter, as if looking away would’ve solved the problem that was quickly brewing in his mind.

There was something else, too.

He had grown familiar with every face that worked during the time he was there, their names rolling around in his mind as he glanced over them, but there was a new one in the mix. A new figure stood behind the counter with Mrs Steeler, the older woman showing you how to work the older cash register.

You were new.

Lars wasn’t used to new, a hitch in his routines that he had kept for so long. His fingers tighten on the blanket wrapped warmly around his neck, the feeling of the soft fabric against his palm helping to keep him from completely freaking out.

He stood frozen as he glanced between the new figure and the still-empty spot on the counter. His brain, swimming in the stress that was steadily building, determines that you were the reason his routine had been broken.

Until you glanced over at him.

And his brain stopped altogether.

Your eyes meet for a split second before he quickly breaks eye contact to stare down at the floor instead. He focuses on the slight stain that had discolored the floor; maybe he should just leave, break the routine, and freak out silently at home.

“Lars?”

He hears the call of his name over the sound of the crowd, honing in on how your voice sounded, the soft cadence in which you spoke to him. His eyes slowly glance up, watching as you stood by the counter spot that now sat a bagged to-go box, your hand still around the handles.

His gaze remains on the bag, giving the smallest nod. He never really talked to the people in town, not more than he needed to. And now a stranger was talking to him?

His small place in the garage never sounded sweeter to get to.

Lars steps forward, his eyes still locked on the bag, watching your fingers tighten around it before holding it out to him. His gaze travels up your arm, staring at the bottom half of your face instead of your eyes. Your smile was as soft as your tone had been.

“Mrs Steeler says you always come around this time. I’m sorry she missed it. I’m still in training.”

He watches as your lips form around each syllable of your explanation. He can’t find it in himself to speak, his mind still trying to catch up from when every thought had stopped, but all he can give is another nod.

The silence between you grows, before Lars can barely handle it, and he reaches his other hand out, setting down the crumple of dollars onto the counter. When he grabs the bag, he makes sure to avoid grazing your fingers before swiftly turning and practically speed-walking out the door without any words leaving him.

He can feel your eyes digging into his back as he leaves.

Later that night, as he curls around the pillow he holds close to his chest, his mind on the verge of sleep, all he sees are your eyes behind his closed lids.

Lars kept his routine the same after that day, just with you now being added to the mix.

When he entered the cafe, he now expected to find your smiling face holding a bag of his food, at the same time as before. As if you were adjusting to his schedule, expecting him whenever he stepped past the door.

He couldn’t settle on when the change happened, the slight shift that his body didn’t freak out about, the way he started caring about how he presented himself. His only focus when he stared at himself in the mirror in the mornings was your words.

‘That’s a nice sweater.’ He would whisper to himself softly in the dawn.

‘I like your sweater, Lars.’ You would chirp at his entrance into the cafe.

You always seemed to know what he needed to hear, and he would just respond with a nod and a smile under his mustache before he would place the money on the counter and take his food.

He liked hearing your words, the weight of them settling deep in his stomach, warming him even as the cold nipped at the tip of his nose.

Lars started wanting more.

It changed slowly. 

Him grabbing his food, and instead of leaving like he usually did, he would sit at the end barstool and silently eat it there. His eyes would follow you as you walk about the cafe, flitting between tables with an ease that you had grown into after working there for a while.

His food stopped coming in a to-go box and started being set for him in the same spot on a plate instead, a cup of steaming coffee sitting right beside it. You would always make sure it was full as long as he sat there. And even if it burned his lips, he would chug the liquid just to have you brush by, stopping just long enough to fill it with a smile before going to help another customer.

He learned your routine, too.

Lars knew when you got off, staying long enough once to see the switch with you and another waitress, giving him a wave as you left through the front entrance. He didn’t stay much longer after that, paying and rushing home, already thinking of the next sweater he would wear to gain your attention.

The days got colder, and in turn, got shorter.

His plate empty in front of him, cup of coffee halfway full, his eyes followed as you went to clock out. His brows furrow when he watches you beginning to leave, no heavy outer coat to protect you from the bitter cold that would no doubt cause you to freeze.

He couldn’t have that happening.

Setting down the correct amount beside his plate, he rushes out of the chair, barely catching you outside the cafe. He doesn’t reach to grab you. No, he wasn’t quite ready for that just yet. Instead, your name leaves his lips in a murmur, barely caught over the wind, but your gaze quickly finds his over your shoulders.

“Oh, Lars.” You breathe out, relief that it was just him clear in your tone, “What’s up?”

“It’s just… Here.”

Lars moves without much thought, removing the blanket from around his neck and wrapping it around your shoulders, careful not to brush you, but making sure that it is wrapped tight. Something in him settles as he pulls back slightly, watching as your hands come up to keep the blanket around you.

Your eyes stare up at him, something he couldn’t read in the flick that his gaze had done between your lips and eyes. His fingers twitch against his sides, now having nothing to mess with as emotions slowly begin bottling up.

“It’s cold out.” Is his simple explanation.

Your lips, having parted out of shock, close into an understanding smile. The warmth that he had built into the blanket quickly bleeds into your skin.

“Thank you, Lars.”

He clenches his fists at his sides, giving a small nod before quickly turning and heading to his car without much else said between you.

But you didn’t need words to understand Lars.

The next day, when he steps into the cafe, he finds his blanket folded with care on the counter beside his plate. Right on top was a small slip of paper, a jumble of numbers, and a ‘Thank You’ with a heart beside it.

He never much enjoyed calling somebody, much less talking, but he found excitement beginning to grow in him.

Glancing over at you as you talk to another customer, he smiles under his mustache, quickly pocketing the paper and wrapping his blanket around his chilled neck. When you look over at him as you write down their order, directing that same smile he had grown so used to his way, he finds himself warming from the inside out.

And his heart skips a beat.