I would like to pop in a rew for Lars Lindstorm x fem!reader (fluff/headcannons, whatever ur feeling!) For Lars having a crush on the new resident in town who's a bit ditzy and got her head in the clouds. The people find her odd and slightly peculiar, but Lars finds her charming 🤍 would he pick up the nerves to talk to her and ask her out?
you are my first request!!! thank you so much!! hope you're having a wonderful day too :))) this is just a blurb
lars x fem!reader, coworkers
"oh my god," you gaped, coffee forgotten and drifting away from your lips. "lars!"
half the mall heard. people turned to stare in the indoor courtyard beyond the cafe you were in. lars, the poor guy, stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the aisle and whirred around, simultaneously exuding an air of horror and penitent acceptance at whatever exactly was about to happen to him. then he locked eyes with you.
you're not sure if the crinkle in his brow and twitch of his mouth were happy or terrified.
lars buffered a bit, then lifted one strong arm in the air to wave at you; his already sizable build buffed by that winter jacket he always wore. "hi," he nodded, far too quietly for how far away he was.
you thanked the barista and darted out into the corridor, nearly skidding to a stop in front of him. it activated something in him, and he stuck his hands out as if to catch you from slipping, then reconsidered it at the last moment -- blinking hard and tucking his hands into his pockets like secrets.
"i haven't seen you since last week! you didn't come when everybody at the office went bowling on saturday night. did something happen? well, you don't have to tell me, obviously, i'm sorry."
after your initial outburst, lars thankfully relaxed a bit into your exuberance; quite used to your demeanor at this point. he just stood patiently while you talked, with the slightest content look on his face, and waited until you finished your thought; although your last few words seemed to give him pause.
for the briefest second you considered telling him that, when he didn't go to office game nights (and he rarely did), nobody else talked to you -- the most selfish parts of you wanting him to comfort you for it. but you stopped there. you'd only moved to town two months ago, and you were a bit worried that each time he'd been to an office party at the same time as you, he'd only gone so you didn't feel awkward. as if the combination of the two of you didn't emanate that on its own.
he regarded you plainly for a moment, then cocked his head just a bit. "no, nothing happened. why would something have happened?"
"oh, i don't know," you replied. "i was just sort of hop-- expecting you to be there, so i was worried about you. but don't feel bad, of course, you never said you would come, and you don't have to. of course."
his expression was polite, so much so you almost didn't notice his head instinctively nodding 'no' left-to-right, like he couldn't believe you'd be worried about him. "why would you worry about me?"
"because you're the nicest person i've met here, lars, and i care about you," you replied, no hesitation. "we've been over this."
there was a pause. the ambient sound of chatter, shoes clicking, faint pop music, and the slamming of doors in the winter cold filled your ears like water, becoming quite loud the longer lars said nothing in response to you. his expression, kind but completely unrevealing, did not change; but his shoulders seemed to both stiffen and relax, and he blinked slow.
"okay," he replied softly. "if you say so."
"and i do."
you started rummaging in your massive purse, drowning in keychains and pins, and lars laughed softly.
"you got a new one?" he asked.
"yes, one sec."
"another one of those animals you like?"
you fished your new bulbasaur keychain out of your bag and displayed it to him. "yes, one of the pokémons i told you about."
"pokémon," he repeated softly, maybe trying to memorize it. "are you going to put it on your bag?"
"of course."
"you have a zoo on there already."
you laughed at that, genuinely, but thankfully caught yourself before putting a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. although, when you looked up afterward, lars had also stepped forward a bit in his own quiet laughter; towering over you without being imposing at all.
then, a bit unlike himself, he gently took one of your many keychains in his calloused hand, and keeping his eyes strictly on it, said, "i actually bought you one of these. one of these animal things."
you blinked. "what? really?"
"for your birthday," he replied, almost silent.
your birthday was three months ago.
"lars," you let out, unable to stop it. "thank you, that's...that's really sweet of you."
he went a bit still then, still staring only at your keychain in his hand, and shook his head 'no.'
then he stopped, like whatever courage he'd worked up just to reveal the birthday pokémon to you was all he had left in him.
lars let go of your keychain, stepped back, and let his head snap back up to your gaze cordially. "well, i'll put it in your mailbox at work, see you monday."
he rambled it off like he couldn't get out of the mall fast enough. away from you, fast enough.
"lars!" you bit off before he could even take a step away from you. "please. it's really amazing that you got me a gift, and especially one i mentioned to you before. that's really thoughtful."
he cast you a curt nod of his head and tried to leave again.
"lars, did i do something?" you called.
he stopped, back to you, and a couple juggling a handful of shopping bags had to swerve to dodge him. clearly, this horrified him; shoulders drawing up.
"no," he said, a bit louder than usual, still with his back to you. one hand came up to rake at his hair. "no, no, you didn't do anything."
then, finally, he turned to you. without taking a step closer, eyes still shut and one hand on the back of his neck, he rasped --
"y/n, would you like to go on a walk with me?"
your heart rose into your throat. "oh. n-now?"
"yes," he punched out. then, as if his courage had run out, he opened his eyes and smiled at you, with a bit of defeat. "i don't want to bother you."
"lars, that is literally impossible. you could never bother me, ever." but he was still waiting expectantly for an answer, so you tacked on a, "yes, please. i would really like to take a walk with you."
his face betrayed nothing, but the way he stood up straighter, inhaled, and rolled his shoulders made his satisfaction clear to you. as you fell in line beside him, though, both of you nervously approaching the exit, he glanced over at your outfit with a frown.
"is something wrong?" you asked, wrapping a self-conscious arm around yourself.
lars shook his head, completely unfazed by your reaction; a bit unlike him. he had an oddly determined look in his eye.
"there's a jacket in my car," he said, "that you should borrow."
well, you liked that, but, "why?"
"what you have on is just a sweater." then -- "it's very nice, though."
"you just want to give me your jacket like a cool guy," you teased.
at that, he actually smiled a bit crookedly; the most rueful you'd ever seen him look. "yes. i want...i've been, wanting..." a long pause, then -- "to take care of you. if i can. i hope i can."
full on twisted sth in my shoulder yesterday (to the point I might have dislocated it) and iwl I've been thinking about something Very Similar to what you just wrote where I am a stunt double newbie and I ask Colt for help after a shoot... Colt Seavers save me...
Oh and thank you for the fic!!
anon NOOO. i’m so sorry. i hope it’s not dislocated. they’re telling me colt is literally sick with worry for you though so dw
colt seavers protecting a newbie stunt double??
fem!reader, 1200 words
. . .
colt, who'd been eyeing you since your first day on set 1) because he thought you were pretty but mostly 2) because the director of this space opera -- an overzealous, legacy media guy, who thought every movie he made was academy award-winning (they were, unfortunately) -- was throwing you around like a ragdoll, like you were boneless, and he was a bit worried you were going to get folded like a picnic chair.
standing next to the director under a fluttering desert tent, heat blistering, colt crossed his arms and tried not to cast too obvious of a glare at the guy ordering you around. fucking prick, but it wasn't his place to --
"again. again. again," the director interjected. "you," he snapped, pointing at you -- poor thing, but very resilient (what else were you supposed to do?) -- "put the harness back on, we're gonna do that again, okay?"
and you, a sheen of sweat turning your somewhat anguished face to plastic, stretched on a small smile and threw a thumbs-up at that asshole like it was no problem.
"okay, one sec," you breathed out, smile cracking a bit as you hoisted one battered leg back into the harness. colt saw it; the crinkle in your brow the second your bruised calf grazed the buckle.
the director whipped around at you then, more dismissive than malicious, really, but then nevertheless snapped a "quickly, please," at you like you were nothing more than a prop.
colt's nostrils flared. "give her a fucking second, would you?"
it was out before he could stop it or really even felt the words forming on his lips. his heart stopped briefly at the realization of how much of a scene he just caused -- everyone on that side of the shoot had glanced up from their lunch or slid off their headphones to watch -- but he managed to only let a bit of horror creep into his widened eyes.
the director tore off half his headset and eyed colt like he'd just fired a gun at him. "excuse me?" he murmured, a bit embarrassed. "are you OSHA? have you lost your mind?"
the director stalked off for a moment then, stealing an angry swig from his water bottle, and colt tried not to notice the thousand eyes on him.
"cool, good..." he murmured ruefully, before stealing a wary glance at you to make sure you weren't about to smack him for drawing attention to you -- you, new to this business, and who probably needed the job. idiot. always making it about you.
he locked eyes with you and his stomach dropped a bit at the look on your face -- jaw a bit slack, with one leg hooked unnaturally in the harness, eyes wide.
"jesus," he hissed silently, offended, trying to bypass the hurdle of how pretty you were to get another normal word out. "hey," he hollered at you then, casting a friendly wave as his brows crinkled with sincerity. "i'm sorry, that wasn't my place. just didn't want you to break a leg."
this only made the staring worse -- the crew leaning in to listen to what happened next. colt jumped a bit at a boom mic creeping into his peripheral.
you shook your head quickly, jolting the wire holding you up, which caused you to stumble in the harness a bit like a bird. "oh! no, it's okay, actually, thank yo-"
"y/n!" the director shouted; on one now, inflamed by colt's humiliation. "put the damn harness on, there's an hour left in the shoot."
red, colt saw -- a wall of it.
your voice cracked as you huffed out -- "sorry, just give me one minute, please, there's something going on with my shin--"
"fucking useless," the director spat.
and colt swung at him.
it felt like thunder bolting across his knuckles as his fist slammed into the director's nose bridge, but he didn't even notice the pain blooming deep in his fingers until the guy was on the ground, howling with rage. it was a bit of a clusmy punch, actually -- colt was better at receiving fake punches than throwing them -- so the real thing wasn't much better. but it got the job done.
both of you were forgotten in the aftermath of the punch as the crew, eager to not lose their jobs, swarmed around the director in a nervous cacophony of concern. colt marched over to you and tossed a grimace at your posture.
"hey," he smiled, trying to break the ice, like it hadn't already been shattered by him assaulting an EGOT runner-up. "you've still got one leg in that thing."
you couldn't hide your shock as he came up to you, a few heads taller, and started to unhook the harness from the wire above. he smelled like sweat and soap and his skin was slightly pebbled in the heat, exposed neck taut over his adam's apple while he worked.
"you should go see the medic about your leg," colt remarked, "but don't let me stop you from coming back if you want to stay on this job. that guy is just such a --"
"you probably just lost your job," you gaped, letting him throw cords and impact pads and buckles around you until the harness finally fell to your feet.
colt caught your elbow and stood you up straight -- experiencing a cartoonish level of adrenaline when your palms landed hard on his shoulders at first -- then let go of you and moved a polite distance away.
"i'll get another job," he said, wiping sweat off his nose. "there's always someone who needs a guy to roll a car or eat rocks, whatever. don't worry about it. he deserved it." then he glared a bit at you, actually -- just a little. "you should have kicked his ass, actually, why didn't you? you've got muscle, you could do it."
you put your hands on your hips and bent over a bit, still catching your breath, and cringed up at him. "are you sure it's okay that you just lost your job?"
his smile went a bit blank as he looked at you. "fuck."
"no," you lamented, "did you just ruin your life?"
he shook his head, swallowing any further internal or external reactions to your face, and beckoned you with one hand to step down off the platform you'd been on. "come on. is your car here? we'll get you back to town. and i'll get you another job. i'll get you a hundred jobs. actually, do you want another job, anyway? in this industry? it sucks. it's the worst."
you took his hand and plopped down on the sand, falling in line beside him. "oh god, you don't have to do any of that--"
"no, really," he replied, casting a bit of a nervous glance over his shoulder just in time to see the director rising to his wobbly feet, clutching his nostrils together. his heart leapt into this throat -- time to go.
"i'll, uh -- well, i'll do whatever you want," he punched out, a bit breathless. then he blinked hard. "jesus. let's just get out of here first, okay?"
no matter how many layers you wear, you still feel cold when you’re alone. you’ve started suspecting the feeling has very little to do with temperature. ۶ৎ
pairings ! lars lindstrom x fem! reader
warnings ! lowercase on purpose, reader can be read as neurodivergent, mentions of body image issues, mentions of past depression, non-sexual nudity, implied family issues i think, ooc lars maybe??, a little angst/comfort, FLUFF. english is not my first language!! part two of this ! title from: misuse oh — ethel cain.
author's note ! oh my god, this is long as hell and i lowk didn't know how to end this!!! please remember that my requests are open for any ryan gosling character!! please YAP ABOUT THEM IN MY ASKS!! PLWEASSEEE 🤧 ok thank u.
word count ! 3,9k words (so long i'm sorryyy).
since meeting lars, you’ve learned two things about him very quickly: he is devastatingly good at scrabble, and he knows how to chop wood.
you watch him outside sometimes through the kitchen window, sweater discarded and only wearing his flannel and white undershirt, splitting logs with repetition.
lars loves repetition. you think it makes him comfortable with himself; actions repeated enough times stop requiring conscious thought entirely.
you don't think anyone else has noticed that about him.
“...and you don’t use wet wood,” he explains one evening, crouched carefully beside the fireplace. “it smokes too much.”
you nod seriously like this is the first time you've heard this information. it is not.
you already know how to build a fire; your father taught you years ago during one particularly bad winter when the power kept cutting out for hours at a time. you remember sitting cross-legged on the floor wrapped in blankets while he explained airflow and why flames suffocate without enough oxygen. you remember the gray in his head more than the instructions.
still, you let lars explain it anyway.
“dry leaves first,” he continues, focused entirely on the tiny structure he’s building between the logs. “then smaller branches. then bigger pieces after it catches.”
his personality changes when he teaches things. care reveals itself in strange ways, you suppose. sometimes it’s simply someone believing you’re worth explaining things to carefully. you hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone last treated you gently enough to teach you something without irritation. years, maybe? no. longer than that.
lars’ house is comfy. it's not really a house; it's more like a modified garage, but you never cared about that.
your mother used to say calling a house “comfy” was just a polite way of admitting it was small. but lars’ house isn’t small; at least you don't think so, and your mom used to be more wrong than right most of the time.
lars’ house feels safe in quiet ways your apartment never has. you find yourself lingering longer every visit. gus didn't believe you the first time you explained the way his house made you feel, thinking you were making a bad joke.
“he doesn’t even turn his lights on,” he said slowly, fork suspended halfway to his mouth. “that’s insane.”
you shrugged a little, suddenly embarrassed by how defensive you felt. “i don’t either.”
across from you, karin looks delighted. you think she genuinely loves how similar you and lars are.
which is a little concerning, honestly.
the snow has started melting by now. ice dripping from rooftops and patches of dead grass reappearing.
no matter how many layers you wear, you still feel cold when you’re alone. you’ve started suspecting the feeling has very little to do with temperature.
ever since meeting lars, you’ve been spending less time by yourself. you're careful about not being too pushy; you can tell lars needs space the same way animals need quiet after being startled. too much pressure, and he retreats into himself immediately, gaze darting elsewhere, shoulders tightening beneath his sweaters, and an uncomfortable smile.
you knock exactly three times whenever you visit; routine makes the behavior yadda yadda, and he opens the door almost immediately now.
still awkward. still avoiding direct eye contact most days. his eyes usually land somewhere beside your shoulder instead, or on the floorboards, or briefly towards the trees outside before flickering back again.
but he opens the door.
sometimes, while stepping inside, you catch the curtains moving in karin and gus’ house across. you know they’re watching.
you know they think the two of you are already together. you aren’t.
probably.
the distinction feels blurrier lately than you’d like admitting.
you don’t actually do much at lars’ house. that’s the weirdest part. you sit at the kitchen counter while he cooks dinner quietly beside you. you fill the quiet, telling him about fabrics at the shop. which materials retain heat best. which textures people buy most during winter. you explain how velvet catches dust embarrassingly fast and how wool shrinks if washed incorrectly.
lars listens carefully to all of it.
sometimes you don't have more fabric to tell him about, so you talk about the weather instead.
“think it’s gonna rain tomorrow,” you say one evening, chin resting against your sleeve while lars stirs soup quietly at the stove.
he glances towards the window automatically. “yeah...”
“i hope it’s not a storm," that catches his attention, and you shrug awkwardly under the weight of his gaze. “i hate storms.”
you don’t tell him thunderstorms used to keep you awake as a child, convinced every sound outside your window meant something terrible approaching. you don’t explain how loneliness worsens during storms—somehow, every room suddenly feels too small and too loud at once.
lars doesn’t ask for explanations anyway.
after dinner, he suggests scrabble quietly. you always say yes immediately.
the two of you play for hours sometimes, knees accidentally brushing beneath the table before both of you subtly readjust in opposite directions. lars becomes strangely competitive during the game, focused intensely on every letter, brows furrowed with concentration severe enough to make you smile.
you didn't even know you could get your ass kicked at scrabble, and you think lars likes winning more than he likes speaking.
you’re not even sure if what you feel for him is romantic, but you know your body feels colder after leaving his house.
that evening ends earlier than you want it to.
you linger by lars’ doorway longer than necessary, coat already on, keys in your hand, while neither of you seems particularly eager to initiate the goodbye. lars stands there half-hidden beneath the warm yellow light from the lamps inside his house.
your boss advised you about this.
“give the man some space,” she’d told you once while folding some clothes behind the counter. “leave him wanting more.”
you hated that immediately, because she didn't seem to realize that you leave wanting more too.
you wave goodbye from your car anyway. lars lifts his hand back awkwardly from the porch.
and then you drive home alone.
making dinner for one person feels different now. the apartment feels too quiet while you stand over the stove. every sound is exaggerated: water boiling, the refrigerator humming faintly, and forks clinking against ceramic plates.
you thought about adopting a cat sometimes. you’d almost gone through with it once, months ago, after seeing a little gray kitten sleeping in the pet shop window downtown. something small and warm waiting for you at home sounded nice back then.
now the idea feels wrong, egoistical.
your mother used to say pets were like permanent babies. you’re not that good with babies.
you know this because karin and gus once asked you and lars to babysit theirs.
you’re still fairly certain it was a setup, karin practically radiating happiness. but they’d both looked so exhausted, pleading that they needed some time alone that refusing felt cruel somehow.
so, there you were, standing awkwardly in their living room, holding an actual human infant against your hip.
“i don’t think i’ve ever taken care of a baby before,” you admit carefully, bouncing the baby gently the way you’ve seen people do in movies.
the fact gus doesn’t immediately correct your form feels encouraging.
“they mostly eat, poop, and sleep,” he says casually while wrapping a scarf around his neck.
“they’re also incredibly fragile.” you remind him. “does lars know how to take care of one?”
“oh, god, no,” gus says instantly, laughing softly. “he is the baby of the family.”
something twists unexpectedly in your stomach at that.
the baby coos suddenly in your arms, tiny hands flexing against your sweater. without thinking, you press your nose gently against theirs. you’ve seen karin do it dozens of times by now; she looked cute doing it. you hope you look the same way.
your mind wanders briefly to what lars looked like as a baby.
“what was he like?” you ask, eyes looking for gus’s ones. “as a baby, i mean.”
“oh.” he smiles to himself as the memories flood his mind. “lars cried constantly. drove our dad and me insane.”
the answer lands strangely inside you. a small heavy feeling settling beneath your ribs, deep into your stomach.
you imagine tiny baby lars crying somewhere in the middle of the night, sensitive to everything already. too cold, maybe. too lonely. wanting comfort badly enough to scream for it.
the image hurts more than it should.
“mhm.” you murmur softly. “yeah, i was a crybaby too.”
“you don’t seem like one," he says, barely giving you any attention while he looks for his coat.
you don’t know why the comment bothers you immediately.
you shift the baby slightly higher against your chest. “my mom used to say i cried every time she left the room,” you admit quietly. “i was always attached to her side.”
you aren’t entirely sure why you say it. maybe to defend yourself. maybe to defend lars.
gus only nods vaguely, already focused on finding his keys. you realized he stopped listening to you entirely.
the front door opens. karin steps inside first, cheeks pink from the cold air outside, lars following close behind her.
your entire body notices him immediately, straightening your posture at the mere sight of him.
“hi,” you say. you would wave, but there’s a whole baby occupying both of your arms currently.
“hi,” lars answers softly, lifting his hand awkwardly instead.
karin looks thrilled. “you both know where to find us if anything happens,” she says brightly while pulling on her gloves. “good luck.”
you press your cheek softly against the baby’s. “say bye to mom and dad,” you murmur playfully.
you see by the corner of your eye lars closing his eyes tightly for one brief second before reopening them again.
a second pit forms in your stomach, this time different. heat rising towards your cheeks. you hope that you imagined that, because the idea of lars liking the image of you with a baby is too much to handle at the moment.
so you say nothing.
——
you were right about the rain. unfortunately, you were also right about the storm.
the sky had looked wrong all afternoon, heavy in a swollen gray. customers at the shop kept glancing towards the windows nervously while wind rattled against the glass.
“i can drive you home,” your boss offered while locking up for the evening. “your car looks like it dies out of spite.”
you narrowed your eyes immediately. “that was unnecessarily mean.”
“it’s also true.”
you refused anyway. partly because accepting help still embarrasses you in ways you haven’t outgrown apparently and partly because you trust your car despite everything. it’s old and ugly, yes, but loyal. your car has seen you cry before; that has to count for something in your opinion.
so naturally, because your opinion doesn't matter, it breaks down halfway home.
you stare ahead in silence for a full five seconds after it happens, hands still gripping the steering wheel tightly as rain pounds violently against the windshield.
“well,” you mutter finally.
thunder cracks somewhere nearby. the sound is so sudden and close your entire body jerks instinctively.
you hate thunderstorms.
as a child you used to think lightning existed specifically to reveal terrible things hidden in darkness. murderers, monsters, and people that walked too slow.
the church nearby only makes the fear worse. its lightning rod cuts sharply against the storm-dark sky now; you feel every thunder deep into your ribs. you inhale slowly, then exhale, and you try again.
your car is not restarting.
of course it fucking isn’t.
rain batters loudly against the roof while you debate your options. karin and gus’ house is close enough to walk to from here. you know they wouldn’t mind helping.
but then your thoughts drift automatically towards lars. and immediately recoil again.
you saw him yesterday, and showing up unexpectedly during a thunderstorm feels dangerously close to becoming too much. too needy. too attached. you know people can grow tired of being needed eventually.
the possibility terrifies you more than the storm does.
because you genuinely don’t know what you’d do if lars ever started looking exhausted by your presence.
you sit inside your car for another two minutes listening to rain hammer against metal. then finally step outside.
your coat darkens within seconds, rain clinging heavily to your hair and your sleeves, soaking through denim at the knees almost immediately. spring rain is different from winter snow: less sharp, but somehow more invasive. you shiver hard.
you hate how afraid you still are of storms at your age. every lightning flash still turns the world briefly unreal around you, empty streets appearing and disappearing in violent white bursts. the neighborhood is completely deserted.
your socks are already wet despite your best boots. at least it isn’t winter anymore; you think snow might actually kill you in weather like this.
you reach karin and gus’ porch first. your hand lifts automatically towards the door, about to knock. your eyes can't stop themselves from stealing a look at lars’ house.
across the road, his porch light is on.
your brain thinks it before you can manage to stop it: home.
thunder cracks again over your head, and before you can fully think better of it, your feet are already moving towards lars’ house instead.
you knock three times, as always. then again, louder. you knock a third time before realizing you’re dangerously close to beating his door down entirely.
then you hear movement inside, quick shuffling footsteps. the lock turns.
lars opens the door and stares at you openly for a second, surprise completely unhidden across his face.
“you’re wet.”
you blink at him. “there’s sort of a thunderstorm happening,” you point out gently.
a smile slips onto your face despite the cold. lars standing there half-awake and startled somehow immediately eases the panic sitting beneath your ribs.
“my car broke down,” you explain. “sorry.”
your teeth chatter slightly around the last word, “god, i’m freezing.”
instinctively, you almost reach towards his hand to prove your point, but halfway there you remember yourself and pull your hands quickly back against your chest instead. lars notices anyway.
without hesitation, he steps aside immediately to let you inside.
warmth hits your body all at once. not enough to stop the shaking yet, but enough to hurt slightly. your soaked clothes cling heavily to your skin as water drips onto his floorboards. the house smells faintly like cedarwood and laundry detergent and burnt wood from the fire earlier still lingering in the air.
you suddenly feel horribly intrusive.
“i’m sorry,” you say quickly while pulling your shoes off awkwardly by the door. “i was actually going to go to karin’s house, but…” but what?
but your body chose him automatically? but thunderstorms make you want comfort in embarrassing ways?
you say nothing instead.
“i’m glad you came here.” he says, softly.
your entire body reacts immediately, warmth rushing suddenly beneath your skin despite the freezing rain still soaking through your clothes. it’s humiliating how much power simple kindness has over you.
“do you maybe have a towel?” you ask, squeezing water absently from your sleeve. “or— i dunno, maybe i could shower or something? i really don’t want to bother you, i just—”
“yeah.”
lars answers so quickly you stop talking entirely.
“yeah,” he repeats, already moving slightly towards the hallway. “i’ll make you a bath.”
you smile at him instinctively despite still visibly trembling. “i’m probably going to need some clothes too,” you admit.
lars nods once.
“i think i still have some things from bianca.”
of course you know who bianca is. you know most things about lars by now, collected slowly over evenings at his kitchen table. bianca. the doll. the breakdown, then the funeral. you’d never make fun of him for it.
“okay,” you say gently. you give him a small thumbs-up even though your fingers are still shaking violently from the cold.
lars immediately starts moving around the house afterwards with hurried awkward energy. he looks slightly lost, but he’s trying so hard.
and there’s something devastating about watching someone unfamiliar with caretaking attempt it carefully anyway just because you need them to.
lars disappears down the hallway for several minutes. you stay there, standing near the front door, rainwater slowly collecting beneath your boots while thunder rattles faintly through the windows.
when lars finally comes back, he’s carrying a towel folded carefully over one arm and a pile of clothes against his chest. he extends them towards you without fully meeting your eyes.
you take them gently. “thank you.” the sweater on top is soft-looking, pale blue. slightly oversized. “they’re cute.”
lars blinks hard at that.
“i’ll—” he swallows once. “i’ll fill the bath.”
his hands are shaking a little. you notice because you’ve started noticing everything about him now. the way his breathing changes when he’s overwhelmed. the way he clenches his jaw slightly before speaking difficult sentences aloud.
you nod softly. “okay.”
you stay put after he leaves, partly because you’re worried about dripping water all over his floors. you glance absently towards the kitchen and you wonder if lars owns a mop. thunder cracks outside again. you wrap the towel tighter around yourself instinctively, breathing slowly until the shivering stops slightly.
lars returns a few minutes later.
“bath’s ready.”
he sounds slightly breathless. you immediately hope it isn’t because of nerves.
“okay,” you say, again. without meaning to, you mimic his tone exactly out of breath.
the bathroom is small. like everything in lars’ house. you’re oddly surprised by the bathtub. for some reason you always imagined lars as exclusively a shower person.
you place the folded clothes carefully on the sink cabinet. then you turn towards him, waiting for him to leave.
lars stays exactly where he is, watching you. his hands are curled tightly into fists at his sides. shoulders stiff. eyes fixed somewhere near your face but not making eye contact.
he looks terrified suddenly, though of what exactly you can’t tell. your stomach twists uneasily.
“lars?” you say his name gently, confused.
the rain continues softly outside while the bathroom light hums faintly overhead.
“can i…” lars’ voice catches halfway through the sentence. you wait quietly. “watch you bathe?”
your eyes widen slightly in surprise.
you know lars well enough by now to recognize that whatever this is, it isn’t casual. nothing about him is casual.
“oh,” you say softly.
your mind tries to fit the pieces together; lars standing rigid in the bathroom doorway. lars avoiding touch but watching your every move. lars admitting once that he’d never actually seen a woman naked before. not even bianca.
“oh, lars,” you murmur gently now, understanding dawning slowly. “is this because you’re curious?”
his shoulders tense immediately, eyes closing with force.
“about bodies, i mean,” you clarify.
he nods softly.
“that’s okay,” you say softly. “i’m curious about your body too.” the confession leaves your mouth before you fully think it through.
your eyes widen almost immediately afterwards.
“not like—” heat rushes painfully into your face. “i mean, i would never ask you to— not that there’s anything wrong with—” you stop yourself before embarrassing yourself entirely.
you inhale once slowly, then nod. “okay,” you murmur. “yeah. you can… watch me bathe.”
the soaked fabric hits the bathroom floor heavily when you drop it. cold air brushes immediately against newly exposed skin, raising goosebumps along your arms and stomach. standing in your underwear in front of someone who isn’t technically your boyfriend should probably feel more scandalous than this.
but lars doesn’t feel like not your boyfriend either.
you wonder what this means to him. surely lars wouldn’t ask this if he didn’t imagine some future between you both eventually. unless he trusts you this much because he sees you as something safer than romance entirely: a best friend, someone comforting precisely because desire isn’t involved. your stomach twists uneasily at the possibility.
your fingers linger uncertainly against the clasp of your bra. you hesitate, and think briefly about bianca: perfect plastic proportions, smooth untouched skin, impossible symmetry.
your body is painfully human in comparison. real skin, stretch marks against your thighs, tiny scars you barely remember getting, and texture everywhere.
you hope lars doesn’t notice any of it. and immediately feel guilty for hoping that at all. as if insecurity itself is a betrayal against the female body.
“do i…” you glance towards him for the first time since you dropped your clothes, doubtfully. “keep my bra on?”
lars hasn’t looked away from your body once. he’s barely blinking, expression fixed in intense concentration, like he’s terrified of missing even a second of your skin.
“lars,” you say again softly, trying not to laugh despite your nervousness. “my underwear?”
that finally seems to break him from the state he was trapped in. he nods quickly, almost alarmed by the alternative.
you think that if he sees anything more, he might actually die on the spot.
it feels strange stepping into a bath while still wearing your underwear, but the warmth reaches you so quickly you stop caring almost immediately.
the bathtub is smaller than you expected. your heels brush the porcelain when you shift slightly, water lapping softly against your stomach. lars keeps watching you.
your body notices him immediately; you should probably feel nervous sitting half-dressed in warm water while someone watches from beside the bathtub, but instead you just feel… seen gently.
you close your eyes for a second, letting your head rest lightly against the edge of the tub. the warmth sinks deeper into your muscles now, softening places inside you that have been tense for months.
suddenly, water spills softly across your shoulder.
your eyes open immediately; you see lars crouched beside the bathtub, holding a small plastic cup in his hands. he looks deeply concentrated while carefully pouring warm water over your skin, his movements slow enough not to startle you.
you stare at him quietly; his brows knit together with focus. the nervousness is still lingering visibly in his shoulders despite how gentle he’s being. you want to thank him, but speaking feels wrong, like words might shatter whatever delicate thing exists in the room.
your eyes settle on the bathroom tiles instead. you want to watch him, but you know lars startles easily around attention sometimes, especially the direct kind, so you keep your gaze lowered instead.
“that’s nice,” you admit softly, sighing relaxed.
lars pauses beside you. “yeah?”
you nod.
from the corner of your eye, you notice lars moving again. his hand hesitates near your shoulder for half a second, then moves to your bra strap.
your breath catches, and his fingers hook gently beneath the damp fabric strap, pulling it slightly lower against your shoulder. your stomach fills with an overwhelming warmth, so intense it almost hurts.
this is so unbelievably good it's so well written and sweet and well paced it could have come straight out of the movie. do not play with me rn. love it!!!!!!
lars and the new girl 𖦹 ⋆゚꒰♡꒱༘ | new neighbour! [long hcs]
lars lindstrom x neighbour!fem!reader — no warnings.
—strangers to something more than friends
❅ lars felt like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. he stood by his window, watching you move into the house across the street. he’s so hyper aware of your existence already, he knew this was going to be disastrous.
❅ on your way to bring in another box from your car, you spot him and his poor attempt at hiding. you wave at him with a small smile and he immediately moves away from the window. he wanted to disappear right this second. oh. oh, no. you were pretty. this can not be good for him.
❅ lars sat very still, quietly listening to you moving boxes in your house for about forty minutes instead of offering help like a normal person. he’s was mentally grappling with the fact that he was going to start seeing a new face—a very pretty one—around town often. yet another pair of eyes were going to be on him.
❅ he avoids you like the likes of plague for the first two weeks. from home to work, work to home, and church every week. he didn’t want you to pop up out of nowhere and watch him embarrass himself.
❅ he was still watching you though, not spying! just.. observing. he had memorised your schedule, 8 am your bedroom lights come on, 8:45 you leave for work and you’re back sometime before 4:37. good, now he knew when to avoid you, now he just had to figure out where to avoid you.
❅ the first time you see him fully, you’re both outside on a saturday. he was getting some mail, and as he’s rummaging through the mail box, he hears a cheerful “good morning!” he looks back for one second, and it’s you. and you watch the poor man quickly waddle back into his house, while a couple of letters fall out of the box with a small “oh…? uhm, okay…”
❅ after that, you notice him everywhere. a tall figure behind frost covered windows, his curtains slightly shuffling when your cars pulls out of your driveway. catching him through your window once, but he moves to quick you thought you genuinely imagined him.
❅ the second time you see him, it’s at a record store that recently opened. he was so excited to go buy some new albums after gus introduced him to a band that made ambient jazz, but when he walked in, his heart might as well have fell out his ass. there you were, the pretty girl next door, placing down vinyls and cds on the display shelves. he wanted to run away again, but he genuinely froze.
“hi! are you looking for a new album to buy?”
“…yeah… a… jazz band…”
❅ he stood there, internally panicking as you told him about what albums you had. he was sweating, even though it was freezing cold outside. you pick up the album he was looking for, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that it’s what he wants, instead blurting out a quick “i left my keys at home, sorry.”
❅ he locked himself inside his house for the rest of the day, but when he was about to leave for work the next morning, that same album was waiting outside his door with a small note on it. sorry about your keys! enjoy -y/n
❅ now he had a name to the face, and later that day, he told gus and karin about the gifted record, and karin tried to get him to talk to you. “i’ll bake you some cookies, why don’t you bring them to her?” but lars didn’t know the difference between seeing you again and being held at gun point. he insisted on the fact that you probably wanted privacy.
❅ on your way out to work the next day, your driveway was shovelled and freshly salted. and when you looked across the street, he was standing by the his window, yet again. but this time, when you waved at him and smiled, he nodded and stood there for one second, before quickly walking away.
❅ something in him relaxed just a little bit when he realised that you didn’t find him to be a complete freak weirdo. you kept waving at him every time you saw him, you would flash him that gorgeous smile, even left a couple more records from the band just because you wanted to. well, now he obviously had to pay you back, right?
❅ your rubbish bin would be dragged back up your driveway after collection day, your porch light would mysteriously be fixed after flickering for a whole week. you had no proof, but you knew it was him.
❅ he became obsessed with the sounds of your routine. the sound of music through your open window when he’s chopping wood in the evening. the sound of you struggling to open your car frozen car door in the morning.
❅ there’s this one horrible moment where you knock on his door (knowing damn well that boy is not opening up) unexpectedly to introduce yourself after months of silently watching each other from a distance. lars completely panics and freezes, he can see you through the window and he stupidly decides to pretend that he’s not home, despite the fact that you can literally see him standing there.
❅ but afterwards, he felt so guilty, he literally couldn’t sleep. but you had walked away quietly giggling because this man looked absolutely petrified of you.
❅ your first actual conversation lasts less than a minute. it happens when you catch him outside while he’s shovelling snow, thanking him for clearing your driveway. he muttered “it was in the way,” despite the fact that it objectively was not. that’s when you finally get his name.
❅ you start lingering outside longer after that. taking your time to open your front door, watering plants that the freezing weather had killed weeks ago, anything to see him appear near by again.
❅ and he somehow always does.
❅ there was an odd chemistry between you at this stage, and it’s unbearable because it’s built on restraint. longing looks through windows, tiny acts of care neither of you acknowledged. you feel his eyes on you before you you see him, and he spends everyday convincing himself that he needs to stay away while unconsciously orbiting you like a planet.
❅ lars grew very obsessed with this chemistry because it was only interesting thing going on for him. between small talks in the morning, you would mention minor inconveniences because seeing him so focused to get something done just because you mentioned it in passing was kind hot. it was clear that he was a very attentive man.
❅ a loose cabinet hinge? he’s on it. snow shovelled before dawn. your heater is making a weird noise? he’s outside your house before he’s even fully put on his gloves.
❅ it was ridiculous because after a while, it was you watching him from afar. maybe you had a massive little crush on your shy neighbour. watching him chop wood and shovel snow just because seeing him breathing hard would get to you a little. you would ask him to pick up a heavy box just to hear him groan or whimper a bit.
❅ you quickly figure out that he likes routine, so you’d appear in predictable ways to see him relax, maybe even give you that adorable awkward smile of his. same time everyday at the mailbox, same overly sweet wave through the window.
❅ you couldn’t tell if it was the proximity, or the fact that he always seemed to be there when you had an issue with your house (no matter how small it was), but you had your eyes on him now.
❅ you’d lean against the doorframe, gently teasing him while he’s red-faced, gripping a mug of tea so tightly it might break, looking like he’s seconds away from going into cardiac arrest.
❅ lars hadn’t even realised that you’ve been flirting with him until karin pointed it out. because “what do you mean she asked you to change her bedroom lightbulb three times this week?”
❅ oh? is this what intentional flirting was like? when you’d call his hair perfect, while brushing snowflakes off of his sweater even though touching him felt like it needed medical approval? looking at him with that hypnotic gaze while he accidentally rambled about carpentry? oh.
❅ this poor baby would go back to hiding for days in his house, but he’d always have his eyes on you. he didn’t want to be outside unless he looked perfect, he’d put on his best sweater just to look good for you. combing his hair in different sides to hear you say which side you liked better, showing up to the record store just to say hi and buy nothing.
❅ one night the power goes out after a particularly violent snowstorm, and you show up at his door, wrapped in a blanket asking if you can stay with him because your house kept making scary creaky noises. you sit together in candle light, drinking terrible hot cocoa. one point you fall asleep next to him with your thighs touching, and he terrified of moving because he doesn’t want to wake you up.
❅ lars tells gus and karin, and they’re immediately invested. thank goodness, it’s a human girl this time! gus trying not to laugh every time lars “just happens to be” outside your front door again, and karin watching you to talk to lars even though he’s one touch away from falling to his knees.
❅ he’s hyper focused on everything you say. when you mentioned that you had a favourite candy that you used to eat as a child, he’s suddenly giving them to you with a quiet “i saw these in the store and they reminded me of you…”, even though he ordered them from a different city. you genuinely had to look away because it had affected you so badly.
❅ and the tension gets so unbearable because you want to touch him so bad, but you feel like you need government clearance for that. and it was almost a year to the day you moved in when you finally caught him looking at you with that soft, helpless expression he didn’t even realise he was making. just pure affection, like he couldn’t believe you were living next to him. and that was the exact moment he realised, you both are definitely having the same thoughts about each other.
{inspired by @larsandthewritergirl , @prudejudee , @astrophxge}
you are welcome to send requests anytime!! i don't open or close them, but i'm a grad student and work full-time and can't always answer. i don't write smut. i write for fem! and gn!reader (you can ask for one or the other!)
i'll add tags for each character if/when i write them -- they'll look like #maimuscript [character name]
characters
- fox mulder (x-files)
- dan (shining girls)
- aj pierce (sweetpea)
- bruce wayne (DC)
- jonathan crane / scarecrow (DC)
- lars lindstrom (lars and the real girl)
- holland march (the nice guys)
- colt seavers (the fall guy)
- edward grey (secretary)