ok oki u finally have an ask button! umm soldier boy+ him pulling your chair closer. (he does it so many times (he's naturally so annoying) that u get fed up but all u can do is kick his chair). OR your wish!! u have all the creative freedom!
you're right anon he is so annoying! i like thinking that his charisma and smooth talking is so often in wrong place or time, he's literally just like. Yeah. anyways hope you enjoy! (taking place vaguely in season 3 as soldier boy works with the boys)
it started in reasonable situations. after missions, you and soldier boy would be at home going over the plans for next week, and sitting where you were, the blueprints and notes were harder to see. you'd keep asking soldier boy to "reread this" or "what does that say," and so he'd pull your chair closer for his little review lesson. you'd give him a bashful smile, and he'd just chuckled and put an arm over your shoulder.
other times, it'd be at dinner. all the boys would be sitting around a makeshift dinner table in the center of their room at the flat iron building. a good time for small talk over chinese takeout or microwave meals. you would be telling some story your first job as a teenager and the kind of characters you had to work with, and when the words started blurring as other people split off into side conversations, soldier boy would pull you in, asking, "could you repeat that, doll?" again, lighthearted, you'd smile and sometimes annie would snicker at the two of you for the PDA.
but then he got overzealous with it. one time, you were hunched over your computer, head in hands, because the person butcher told you to email hadn't replied in the past four days and you really needed this information by sunday. meanwhile soldier boy was messily eating some peanut butter and jelly sandwich. he saw you freaking out internally, saw the work on your plate, and just pulled you closer, the chair legs rumbling across the floor. "you worry too much," he said, and you rolled your eyes.
"i'm worrying because if i don't get this guy to answer me, butcher's gonna rip me a new one."
soldier boy just scoffed. "s'fine. i'll take care of it if he gets huffy," and he handed you the rest of his PB&J. "here. have the other half. you finish it, we'll watch a movie after."
you did end up watching a movie. and on sunday, there was still no reply to your email, which, after announcing this failure to butcher, ended the boys' discussion on things with a screaming match between him and soldier boy that you just put your head down for. by the end of the day, though, everyone was still in one piece. which is all you can really ask for sometimes.
he'd do it during phone calls, real important ones, delegating who in the boys is going to be where and what time for rendezvous. you would have all your notes out, explaining who would be fit to go with who based on location, and soldier boy, not getting enough attention, would pull your chair closer, hoping to lie on your shoulder or fidget with the zipper of your jacket. your phone would catch the screech, he'd hear the confusion on the other line, and you'd huff and kick his chair in return. "stop it!" you whisper-shouted, glaring at him. "you can wait five more minutes to tell me about the latest episode you watched of seinfeld."
that was the secret third thing he was hoping for: he wanted to see you pissed off. it was a little hot and, that day, it had been a while since you've told him off or gave him attitude. so, he pretended to slump and sigh, but you saw the satisfaction on his face.
and just a few times, he did it in public restaurants. places where you normally don't move around chairs however you please. soldier boy and you would be dressed up nice, soft music making its way through the rooms. and according to soldier boy, well, you just looked too good. mid-bite of your spaghetti, you nearly lost your meal when he tugged you closer. "ben!" you hissed. "we're in a real restaurant. this isn't our kitchen, you can't just drag me around wherever you want."
he feigned this expression of betrayal and annoyance, turning his back to you like a petty toddler. "well, i was going to tell you that you looked beautiful and the candlelight makes you glow, but i guess i'll just keep my mouth shut."
you promptly hit him on the back of the head. "you better still say it."
that was why he loved you. you called him out on all of his attitude. the only one that could be more demanding than him was you. so his grin reappeared and he repeated all of his compliments, even throwing in a few more for insurance.
the sitch ⋆˚꩜｡ growing up, soldier boy was rich and alone. as an adult, he was rich, loved, and alone. when america almost fell apart, he lost his comfort, the limelight, and he was alone. but some miracle fell into his lap, and in a daze of politics, conflict, and justice, the world settled down, and so did he. now, his problems are a lot different than before.
dynamic ? soldier boy x reader
word count : 2.6K/ genre : angst to fluff!!!!!!11!
includes: no beta we die like men, mentions of death and suicidal thoughts (the urge to give up after losing everything), pregnancy, children, domestic!soldier boy, everything ended peacefully because i said so, comfortable suburban issues where omg my life is so hard there's no more flower food at lowe's
notes: lalalala i dont hear you s5 ep7 didnt happen it was fake and this is my way of coping. Why do they keep freezing and defrosting my man question mark? i need the writers to make a decision do you want him dead or not
8 years ago, soldier boy’s biggest issue was who would be the next person to shove him in a cryochamber. at the time, no one would hesitate to cheat, lie, steal, or kill in order to make sure that they were still alive. of course, no one could kill soldier boy. that was why they kept freezing him over and over. the cold, the silence, the fog that encompasses you right before you fall asleep for god knows how long. in those moments, you’re not a human. you’re a slice of veal in a meat locker until someone wants to pass you along to someone else, who then passes you on again. with you, he joined in on a doomsday shelter, literally and figuratively.
such horrible things birth futures of such longing. only so many people get to try for one.
7 years ago, soldier boy’s biggest issue was where you two were going to live. you spent primarily of your days and nights in your old toyota camry, trying to put as much space between you and new york. that was until he got sick of the lack of space and spent the money he took from vought on a vintage BMW. he wanted it in red, and so did you, but it’d draw too much attention. you promised you’d get a paint job for him someday. he chuckled and pushed it aside, but in the back of his mind, it became a goal. a sign. the day he opens the garage and sees a cherry red finish on the car, he’d know he’s safe.
until then, it was gas station food, rest stops, and sleeping in the front seats. he lent you every blanket at night. “i’m tough, sweetheart,” he told you. “a few months of not getting swaddled before bed isn’t gonna break me.” despite all the discomfort, you were the only one that he ever wanted to escape new york with.
6 years ago, soldier boy’s biggest issue was keeping you comfortable, and more on that, keeping you alive. you found a safe house in the middle of nowhere, but along a small town that didn’t seem to know much about anything outside of their little community. he spent a year making sure you didn’t give up. when the world fell apart, soldier boy didn’t lose much. everything he lost was 40 years in the past, and he’d made peace with who was alive and who wasn’t. but you, you lost your family, friends, job, home, city. all at once. he listened to you talk about your high school. the movie theater you visited every time a new blockbuster came out. the restaurant that always made your food just the way you liked it. he asked questions, held you when you can’t finish your sentences. when you got quiet, and i mean way too quiet, his first instinct was always to ask something along the lines of, "can you tell me the story again about getting lost in the city the first time you moved?"
soldier boy had never wanted to die. death always breathed in his face with satisfaction and ego, over his sprained and bruised figure. he wasn’t ready to die, not until he lived through a long period of peace. nothing could push him to suicide. unless you died. he didn’t like thinking about that. so he learned how to make your favorite foods and bought more tissue boxes than he had ever needed before in his life.
5 years ago, soldier boy’s biggest issue was paint being in all of the wrong spots. you had to at least feel at home when either of you ever needed to relax, scream, or cry. you needed a home, period. so, he got started finding old wooden furniture since “the quality just isn’t the same anymore.” of course, you could help with refurnishing but why would he let you? he should be proving that he’s a man that can take care of building a home. “honey, you know i love you, but get your hands off the couch. i got this, alright? now back that sweet tushy of yours up.” he let you choose all the furniture and decor, but hell if he wasn't going to be the one to bring it all in.
when you do insist on helping, you poured the paint stripper, and he scraped off the old coat. he also let you pick all the new colors for the walls, where the paint should be. you kept going back and forth, and for about three months you couldn't decide on the right choice for the kitchen. when you did make up your mind, though, he let out a tiny sigh of exasperation (and amusement), and said, "sounds great, hon."
4 years ago, soldier boy’s biggest issue was the emptiness of the living room. you watched movies in it, you read him your favorite books in it, you danced in it when the sun was at just the right angle to shine on in, and the dapples guided your feet on where to go next. but soon, he got tired of seeing two measly forks in the sink after every meal. hearing the silence echo whenever you left for the farmer's market. wondering if this was it. life now was wonderful, truly, it was. but did you want more? he had been terrified to ask since it was such a big step. if you were fine just like this, he didn't want to ruin that. and if you didn't want it, he didn't want you to get the idea that you weren't enough.
he tried to be subtle about it. mentioned how much space there was in the backyard for "whatever we wanna do later." pointed out the danger of some sharp cabinet handles and the size of some bookshelves since "they could fall at any moment." finally, you asked him if he ever thought about kids, and you couldn't believe how quiet he got. he squeezed out, “i mean... yeah. y'know, people do it a lot. a lot of them like it. i think. what about you, what do... what do you think?" you smiled. he had come a long way.
3 years ago, soldier boy’s biggest issue was figuring out what food, room temperature, and candles kept you and your growing stomach comfortable. before this, he never even had friends that had children. no one told him what the journey would be like aside from his dad when he talked about when he was born, and that gave him as much insight (and as much fear) as you'd think it would. worst of all, he had no idea what it was like for the mother since his mom never opened her mouth at all. so, he took you by your word. it was a word he trusted, though. one he trusted most of all. any weird food combos you wanted, he got. if it was too hot, he'd blast the AC. of course, he'd laugh a little whenever the requests were more interesting, but he'd always reply, "i'm not the one hauling a baby around” and pat your stomach. “you’re a picky one, aren’t you?”
in the middle of the night, when neither of you could sleep, you'd ask him his opinion on baby names. you realized two things about him. one, he has some very strong opinions about certain names. two, he knows so many famous people. "charlie? not bad. it's a little showy, though. i feel like it's almost too classic. charlie bronson. charlie lindbergh. charles laughton. charlie parker and charlie chaplin, of course." then he'd tell you stories about partying with some of these people, and you also realized that your kid is gonna know 20th century history like the back of their hand.
2 years ago, soldier boy’s biggest issue was how to time his 3-hour naps throughout the day, so he didn’t want to bash his head in when your baby started screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night. he had been through many things. he lived through both world wars, the cold war, two president assassinations, and woodstock. and yet this felt like one of the hardest things he ever had to endure. thankfully, there’s nothing going on behind the baby’s eyes when they’re that age, so he was able to mutter all of the frustrations he had as he rocked the kid back to sleep:
“what are you crying for? what is so hard in baby land that you just need to shout about it every goddamn hour? i’d bet money that when i was your age, i didn’t cry about a thing. i’m a baby. squirming and shitting wherever i wanted.” he then held your baby out to examine and furrowed his eyebrows. “i wonder when you’ll start to look like either of us.”
1 year ago, soldier boy’s biggest issue was reigning in his anger every time furniture was broken, torn, or colored over. the day care said that he just had a lot of creativity. driving home after that, he whispered to you, “i think he has a lot of ways to creatively ruin all my shit.” whenever he stumbled upon a new crime committed to his leather upholstery, you pulled him away to calm him down for 5 minutes before he explained to your kid that you paint on paper, not couches. don’t worry, you weren’t left out of the fun. a couple weeks later, your son used one of your only designer jackets as a smock.
he was bright, though. he liked to follow soldier boy around and copy his mannerisms. the gibberish he spewed was vaguely reminiscent of soldier boy’s gruff accent, which makes you laugh. and following you around got him to copy your laugh. this got soldier boy more invested in cracking dad jokes. because when he could make you laugh, your son laughed, and he got to watch the two most important people in his life light up like the sun.
right now, soldier boy’s biggest issue was if he could keep this all up. the drop offs and pick ups. the bedtime stories. the muddy footprints that led him to his son’s bedroom each time. the joy. right now, he was sitting in the kitchen, peeling an apple for his son because he didn’t like the skin yet. you were folding laundry in the living room. the sun had just begun to rise, but it hadn’t reached the windows yet.
“sweetheart?” he called out.
faint footsteps grew louder through the hallway until you appeared, a freshly dried towel still in hand. “yes, honey?”
soldier boy took the moment in. in a daze, he mumbled, “want a slice?” and held up the bowl he was putting the apple in. he’d have to cut another one since his son was so obsessive over getting six slices in every apple. he didn’t mind.
“yeah, sure,” and you moved to his side and plucked the piece from his hand.
“we ran out of the cookies our son likes,” soldier boy mentioned. “have to go to the market this weekend. otherwise, he’ll never forgive me.” and he took a slice for himself. “also need to buy more mulch. the kid kicked half of it into the street.”
you hummed in understanding and absentmindedly rubbed his arm. “grab the book of coupons whenever you go, okay?” you told him. “mulch comes and goes. i guess.” you then turned to him and asked in a soft tone, “how are you, my love?”
soldier boy paused his movements and considered the reflection he had been knee-deep in. “i’m alright. just thinking about the house. the kid.” he turned. “you.”
“you’re so sentimental, you know that?” you poked his stomach, and he squirmed away from your touch. “mushy, mushy man.”
“cut the bullshit, doll. i’m just tired, i don’t know what the hell i’m saying anymore. i spent the past two hours doing paperwork for preschool next year. you say he has one allergy and suddenly it’s like i’m trying to get him into the pentagon. not like the pentagon is hiding anything important. bunch of chickens with their heads cut off.”
you processed that. then proceeded to ignore it. that definitely wasn’t your business. “yeah. bunch of chickens. anyways, i need your opinion on something.” you tossed the towel onto a nearby chair and tugged his arm.
“you don’t gotta yank me, doll. there’s only one toddler under this roof,” he replied, but he followed you nonetheless, through the living room and the hallway and down the stairs to the driveway. “i thought you were folding laundry. you planting towels in the front yard or something?”
“i’m trying to clean up everything.” you brought him to the driveway and moved your grasp from your arm to your hand. “just tell me if you like it.”
“like what?”
you just smiled at him. it was ridiculous how long it took him for everything to click. you pressed a button on the garage’s remote and slowly the cover lifted and retracted into the ceiling, where his BMW, now cherry red, glimmered in the fully risen sun. you leaned into his side, looking at him as he looked at the car.
“hope this was the right shade. it was the only one they had in shop, so.” still, he was unnervingly silent. you waited a moment or two until you muttered, “ben?”
soldier boy took a long, slow breath, then let go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders. you called out his name one more time, but he pulled your into his chest and buried his face in your hair. against the top of your head, he kissed you and mumbled, “you did good, hon. did real good.”
you couldn’t tell if he was tearing up or not, he wouldn’t move his head and his chest was (mostly) steady. but it didn’t matter. you wrapped your arms around him in return and rubbed circles onto his back. “of course, baby.”
he sat in the suburban quiet with you, listening to the trees rustle and the birds swoop by overhead. one simple truth rang out in his mind: if he had ended up with anyone else, he wouldn’t have ended up here.
“whaddya say we grab some ice cream?” he asked. “i’ll take you out in my new car.”
“what about our son?”
“we’ll drop him off at the neighbor’s.” he gently eased you back and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it oh so tenderly behind your ear. “i wanna spend some time with you.”
you smiled in a small bit of surprise. “alright, mr. romantic. lead the way.”
he called your neighbor and in a few minutes, she came over, hugged you both, then began talking to your son in soft coos. you offered your arm to him which he gladly took. the car now in the driveway, he walked you to the passenger side and led you in, then got behind the wheel and started the engine. it roared to life, crisp and proud, and a boyish grin split onto his face. the neighbor told you both not to do anything she wouldn’t and you two exchanged a glance of mischief, near identical to the start of your relationship.
he pet the outside of the car with pride, then pulled out onto the street.
⋆˚꩜｡ ryland grace with shy versus outgoing readers !
when it comes to shy!reader and ryland...
ryland was one of the very few people in your life who was never put off by your shyness. even before he was a teacher, he always had an endless well of patience. so whenever you confess something with your arms braced over your head, or whenever you hide behind your hands after a compliment, he calmly ushers you back into the safety of his arms, assuring you there's nothing to worry about.
"ryland?"
"darling dearest?" somewhere in his apartment, you were just barely loud enough to catch his attention, having been too invested in grading the latest test he handed out. scribbles of red and blue filled his vision for the past hour or so, red for mistakes and blues for compliments (positive encouragement was important for middle schoolers). last time he checked, you were getting ready to meet some people your friend wanted to introduce you to. he was delighted to hear your invite and gave his opinions on what shirt looked better with what pants, but really, you would've looked good in anything. after that, you vanished. he thought everything was alright.
but when he swiveled his chair to face the direction of your voice, his eyebrows furrowed. you were standing in the hallway, hugging yourself in a very pretty outfit, looking like you were trying to blend into the wallpaper through sheer will. he tucked a pen behind his ear. "sweetie, what's wrong?"
you didn't say much. your arms tightened around you and your eyes lowered more and more until you were staring at the cracks of the floorboards. your breath hitched, about to offer a few words of explanation, but soon after, you sealed your lips and hid a growing frown behind your hands. ryland didn't mind having to wait for you to find your voice. what he did mind was seeing you upset. he abandoned his work immediately to come to your side.
"are you nervous about meeting your friend's friends?" he asked softly. you nodded, face still shielded. he placed his hands on your hips and sighed. "you don't know how you're going to talk to them?" you nodded again. he saw the shame clinging to your body, the clear embarrassment. it hurt him more than he could say.
seeing how uncertain you were about socializing pained him. there was nothing wrong with being scared, but in his eyes, you were one of the loveliest people on earth. anyone would be lucky to have you as company. and when that lovely person doubted themselves, it seared his heart like a branding iron. his thumbs slipped under your shirt and rubbed soothing circles on your skin.
"look. your outfit is perfect. your humor is perfect. you are perfect. and these people would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see that." his voice was soft, with a gentle rumble as he whispered to you. even in the next room, someone wouldn't have been able to eavesdrop. "you're going to do amazing. and if worst comes to worst and suddenly your clothes feel like they're suffocating you and you just wanna explode, i'll call you and pretend i'm having a stroke so you can go."
this got you to peek your head out. "there's that pretty face," he teased. your shoulders eased and he moved his hand to slowly rub your back.
you dipped into the comfort of his arms, giggling a word of thanks, and he quickly enveloped you in a tight hug. he held you impossibly close to his chest, and in this embrace, he held on, trying to seal this happiness and ease into you for when you'd have to leave. as long as you let yourself have fun, he knew you'd enjoy yourself. but again, if you needed him, he'd be there as fast as he could.
when it comes to bold!reader and ryland...
ryland doesn't consider himself a hermit, but around you, sometimes he feels the need to just stare into his drink as you take the world by storm. you have a way of flustering him that leaves him fighting for his breath, not like he minds. he just never knew someone could be that bold. he's constantly inspired by your confidence and, to make you happy, he'll always join you in the limelight. all you have to do is ask.
usually, your energy was something he admired. on a good day, you could tackle him just as well as he could you. but right now, with you dragging his sorry ass through this faculty party, part of him wished you were a little bit scrawnier, little tamer. you swerved your way through his coworkers and friends, leaving him to duck and dodge after you. "sweetie, it's really not a big deal," he urged.
"no, it is a big deal. you spent hours working on that model for your kids. mrs. havershaw saying 'the inaccuracies make it cuter' isn't being considerate, it's a backhanded compliment."
he sighed and continued his attempts of resisting your hold. you wouldn't let up, but then again, he wouldn't either. "what are you gonna do, huh? just march up to her and say she was being rude? that i'm owed an apology?"
you squinted at him. "of course."
ryland stammered half-sentences and looked around for help. "you're serious?"
"of course, i'm serious," you said, taking a moment to look behind you. "now let's go," and you tugged his arm one more time before he slipped out of your grasp. "ryland!"
he held his hands up and away from your reach, giving you no choice but to listen to him. you did have a very commanding glare, which was hard to talk over, but he needed you to hear him out. he stepped out of the way from people; you did the same. "it's not that big of a deal," he whispered. "even if it wasn't a compliment and she was dissing my model, then fine. the kids like it and that means more. besides, what does she know about papier mache? probably as little as me. she couldn't do it any better."
you furrowed your eyebrows. "you deserve an apology. you're one of the most hardworking people in this school. you go above and beyond for your students on the shit wage they give you, and you don't deserve to be made fun of for what you do."
he crossed his arms and looked at you. the fire in your eyes, the confidence that radiated off of you like heat waves. you had never even talked to mrs. havershaw, but it didn't matter. you could convince anyone of anything. you were just that likeable. and still, he didn't care. what mattered was knowing that your eyes lit up for him, to defend him: some broke middle school teacher that couldn't even get people to believe his dissertation.
"how did i get so lucky?" he thought aloud, unashamed by the idea of anyone hearing it.
you rolled your eyes, and the sight of your uninhibited sass made him smile even more. it didn't last long though. "you'll feel even more lucky when i get havershaw bringing you coffee for the next week." and just like that, you took off into the crowd, and ryland followed suit, praying he found you before you found havershaw.
notes: what cutie patooties! i hope you all enjoyed, i wanted to cover both ends of the spectrum and i had so much fun writing this >< and im wishing you all a lovely day! my inbox is open so stop by and chat if you'd like to!
from @hyccinths: i have an idea that includes the little prompts. maybe a reader who gets a rlly bad migraine? and ryland just looks after her? it can include kisses mid conversation while the both of them are laying in bed with the lights off? it can also include talking while kissing? up to you! (also preferably pre-canon btw, forgot to mention, so sorry!)
includes: no beta we die like men, ryland being a teacher in and out of the classroom, pre-canon ryland grace, established relationship, fluffy, fluffy fluff it's just me writing the sweetest stuff all the time forever
ryland burst through the apartment door and yanked off his bicycle helmet, trying desperately to catch his breath. "sorry it took so long, i got here as fast as i could," he panted. he threw his jacket and bags to the side of the entrance and rushed over to you, lying in the living room, all lights off, with a thawing compress resting on your forehead. "are you alright?"
he was supposed to stay after school for office hours, the time slot ranging from 3 to 4:30 in the afternoon, but rules stated that if no one showed up in the first thirty minutes, he had the opening to go home. after all, he couldn't sit in his classroom alone for an hour and a half, waiting on people that might never come. but he was required to stay those thirty minutes just in case. he did everything he could to stay busy: check emails, review tomorrow's homework assignment, nit-pick his new slideshows. but nothing could get his mind off the text you sent him during eighth period: "migraine creeped up on me. please don't turn the lights on when you come home. missing you :( " that was all he could think about until the day ended.
you lifted your head just enough to signal that you saw him before lying back down. "you got here fast, honey. you didn't cross caldway street, did you?" you mumbled, quiet but concern clear in your voice.
"my usual route would've taken too long, you know that." out of the corner of your eye, you could see his ever-patient smile, but it didn't blanket the guilt that came over you.
"i told you i don't want you crossing those streets, honey. it's dangerous." you sighed. "and they are some horrible drivers out there. the amount of seventy-year-olds that need their licenses revoked are incredible, i can't believe no one's doing anything about it."
from the edges of the compress, you could see ryland's face grow somber, and he nodded. "i understand. i'm sorry, baby, i just get so worried." his hand reached out for yours and enveloped it in a soft, comforting hold. "i apologize for acting rashly, but i don't apologize for worrying."
despite the throbbing pain in your head, you felt a little calmer. "that's all i can ask of you," you replied.
he rested his arms on the cushions of the couch and asked, "how bad is it this time?"
you shrugged. "i'm slightly nauseous, but apart from that, i'm horrible." both of you found the energy to smile at your dumb little joke, but soon ryland's eyebrows crinkled together in a familiar fashion, one that made you roll your eyes. here it comes, you thought. he was getting into teacher mode. you weren't a middle schooler, but once he got that look on his face, it summoned his more stubborn and responsible side. which meant he knew best and he wouldn't listen if you said anything close to "i can handle it" or "i'm an adult."
"i'll get the medicine and some water. your compress is lukewarm at this point, i'll get you a new one too," he accessed while touching your forehead and the compress respectively. "then we're moving you to the bedroom. i'll email your boss for you that you'll need an extra day to submit your work."
"but ryland—!"
he immediately stared you down, a warning gaze piercing you from behind his glasses. you both sat in the silence for a moment, playing into the feigned reprimand, until he raised his hand and slowly moved... to boop you on the nose. "no." and after a quick kiss, he stood to collect his things from the kitchen. there was nothing else you could do apart from close your eyes and listen to the hinges of the cabinets, the soft touches of the wood as they were opened and shut, and the quiet rush of water from the sink. soon enough, he was back.
"aren't you the wrong kind of doctor i need for something like this?"
he comically frowned, holding everything he got you close to the chest. "you want someone else? fine, whatever, i can just go and leave and crawl into a hole and die."
you stifled a laugh since too much shaking would make the headache worse, but giggles spewed out and you shook your head as much as you could. "oh, stop it, i'm just messing with you. you're such a big baby."
the frown then disappeared and there returned your ryland. "i'm your baby. now, hold these, please?" and he handed you the pill bottle, a tall glass, and the new compress, icy to the touch. it would have made you squirm before, but the coolness was a relief.
"alright. three, two, one!" he slipped his arms behind and lifted you carefully. the contradiction of his soft sweaters and the muscle underneath always made you smile, and you felt another grin appear on your face. he noticed this, because he seems to notice everything about you. from the way you try to subtly roll your eyes in public to the sneakers you always say are nice but leave to collect dust by the shoe rack.
"what? not the knight you dreamed off?" he guessed. "sorry, honey, but beggars can't be choosers."
"but i did choose you," you reminded him.
he tried to hide the glimmer in his eyes at the sound of your response, but it was to no avail. and it was funny, considering you had been dating for lord knows how long at this point. he never seemed to get tired of hearing you pick him or acknowledge that, yes, he was in fact allowed to date you.
ryland got you comfortable in bed and double checked the dose you were taking, even though you both had used the brand a hundred times before. he pulled the curtains closed, all lamps were turned off, and soon enough it was just you and him cuddled up in bed in the dark as he gently ran his fingers through your hair. neither of you knew how much time passed. you mentioned dinner, but he just replied, "whenever you're hungry, we'll eat," and with that, you fell into the peace of the late afternoon.
in between comfortable silences that could last from anywhere between a minute to twenty, ryland asked you the dumbest would-you-rather questions. you laughed the first time and refused to entertain it, but he reigned you in. the latest one he asked?
"okay, i got a good one. would you rather... have to cough at least three times during any speech you sit through or sneeze three times whenever you meet a germaphobe?"
"gosh. so it's either disrespecting any important moment or making every germaphobe around me uncomfortable."
"basically, yeah."
"i don't think i know a lot of germaphobes. they may be germaphobes secretly. how many speeches do i usually hear? i guess as long as i—!"
you were in the middle of speaking when ryland scooched closer and kissed you, quick and simple. you stopped and gave him a look. "sorry," he said. "continue?"
"right. i was saying that as long as i'm polite about either, they can't get too mad at me. people cough and sneeze all the time—!" another kissed interrupted you. "yes, ryland?" you finally asked, thoroughly amused by whatever he was up to now.
"what, i can't kiss you? i thought that came in the package deal of dating you. it's one of the main benefits advertised, actually."
"you gonna let me talk? you're the one that asked the question."
he shrugged, a little sheepish after your reply. "hard to focus sometimes when you look so lovely."
you gave him a deadpan stare. your hair was a mess, you were in the most ridiculous pajamas, and your eyes were barely open because any slight movement made you feel a little dizzy. "surely, i've looked better," you challenged. but ryland's expression never faltered. he just kept looking at you with those doting eyes.
"i think you own it," he replied. "could walk down a runway just like this. people have formed beauty standards around tuberculosis before. i don't think a migraine is too different in the eyes of the public." you were still deadpan and he was still smiling, so he gently traced your arm and finally said, "you can say your answer now."
"coughing. during the speeches. you can kiss me now."
he gently climbed over and hovered above you, forearms by the sides of your head for support so his weight didn't crush you. "we'll play more later," he whispered before leaning in and locking his lips with yours in a delicate but moving kiss.
"yeah?" you mumbled against his mouth, the small vibrations from your words sending a small chill throughout his body. "you won't get distracted?"
"i'm a doctor. i'm very professional," he muttered back between kisses. "you didn't see it, but i actually set a timer for exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds. scientifically proven to be the best amount of time for kisses during migraines."
"yeah, right. i can't believe you."
he brought his hand behind your head to stabilize you and mumbled, "i'm just taking care of you. and after this, you'll have a twenty-minute power nap before dinner. i'll make something nice."
something in your heart settled, and slowly you brought your hands from his sides to neck, wrapping your arms around it gently, the closest you could bring him without disturbing your migraine too much. and he stayed there the whole two minutes and fourteen seconds, constantly aware of all your shifts and turns, kissing you with all the care and consideration you could ask for.
notes: guys i fixed my inbox are you proud of me. how did i not know it was off. anyways, hope you enjoyed what i wrote! ryland the silly ryland the goofy goober he is just a guy but he ! is my guy (or our guy). requests are open (and actually possible to submit now) so send some my way!
Like a reader who is also lowkey touch averse and they cuddle together and at first its really scary but then very relaxing and yeah✌️
I LOVE YOU LARS LARS I LOVE YOU 😓 please hes like. hes my friend. im gonna start writing for lars more im so protective of him. hope you enjoy!
a simple knocking pattern echoed through lars' house, if you could even call it that. he stood in his bedroom, hidden from the windows of the door that exposed him to whatever was outside. he looked at himself in the mirror, having just put on one of his oldest sweaters. many off-colored blotches of string traced the hem after years of wear and holes created, but it was one of the most reliable sweaters he had. he took a deep breath. the knocking pattern repeated. it would be okay. it would be okay.
before he could think more about it, he walked to the door and opened it, revealing you bundled up in your own winter clothes. you gave him a soft smile and matched it with a just-as-gentle greeting. "hello, lars. i brought those muffins you wanted." you worried the winter breeze would carry your voice away, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak any louder. there was a constant worry behind lars' eyes as he processed in the world around him. you always took great care not to scare him off. you raised the pastries.
lars didn't reply for quite some time, which led you to open your mouth, thinking to speak again in case he didn't hear you somehow, but just as you began, lars stepped out of the way. "come in," he mumbled.
"oh, okay." you slipped off your shoes as you entered. lars helped you take off your coat. now, you didn't want to credit yourself to this change, but lars' place had gained more of a personal touch lately. there was more color by the couches, knick-knacks filled the space over the months, and sometimes lars would even pull back the curtains. today was one of those days. you put the muffins on the coffee table and sat down in your designated spot. the routine pleased lars as much as it did you. he sat one cushion away.
it was hard to initiative big things with lars. taking new steps in your budding relationship involved very little communication when communicating was very important to do. lars liked to speak in meaningful gazes.
you thought about how to reach out in any way. ask about how his church is going, talk about his sister-in-law expecting. you wondered if lars was stretching out for conversation topics too. the garage was silent save for the birds outside, distant and meek chirps sounding out from the trees in the distance.
but then lars cleared his throat and looked over at you. you turned to him. his voice was soft and polite, the same consideration in all of his words. “how was the drive here?”
you smiled. “the drive was nice. they cleared up the roads yesterday so i was glad that i didn’t have to worry about slipping on them,” you explained.
he nodded, taking all of this in with incredibly serious nods. “that’s good. that’s good…” he glanced back down at his lap before adding with a blink, “it’s not too cold out?”
“no. no, i brought enough layers for cold outside.”
“that’s good. that’s good,” he repeated. and the silence came over again.
you took a breath. “we don’t have to do anything today,” you said. normally the two of you played scrabble or you watched him chop wood. activities brought the pressure off of lars’ social skills. but you’ve always wanted the pressure off of him entirely. “i didn’t have any expectations. we can just… relax together.”
lars gave you a few hard blinks, processing what you said, then finally nodded. “that sounds nice,” he whispered and slowly reclined to rest on the back of the couch. you did too. the place smelled nice, clean, a little tinge of iron but it wasn’t too bad.
and then he reached out his hand. you’ve held his hand on moments before. he doesn’t flinch like he does with other people. you thought he was offering the same thing so you place your hand in his. but then he, ever so gently, pulled you into his direction. so you were getting closer. it made your breath hitch for a moment, and you looked to lars for guidance. he seemed just as nervous, his lips pressed into a soft, fine line.
but he wanted to try something, and you weren’t opposed. slowly and carefully, he pulled you to lie on his chest, one arm rigid and bent around your waist. it felt less like a person holding you and more of a doll positioned around you. a little unnerving, but you weren’t too relaxed yourself.
you noticed his smell for the first time, though: clean wool with aloe body wash, and a bit of ash from past bonfires. “you smell nice,” you commented. turning your focus to that, you eased against his body.
turns out, he was doing the same thing. his nose was resting onto the top of your head and slowly breathing in your own scent. another few hard blinks accompanied this, and instinctively, he tightened the grasp on one hand. “i like your shampoo,” he replied.
and soon, he slumped more into it as well. you readjusted your head to lie in the crook of his neck, and lars’ repositioned one hand from the cushion to your shoulder, holding you in place. if you or lars fell asleep, you wouldn’t mind. “do you want a muffin?” he asked.
“they’re for you, though,” and you cracked a smile. still, without disturbing you, he reached out and grabbed the tray, then opened it with one hand, the other still on your waist.
“here you go,” he whispered.
you looked at him, smiling ear to ear. his face was focused, but calm. “thank you, lars,” you replied, and hearing his name from your lips somewhat tickled him. he shuffled under you and moved his arms to hold you again.
“i like this brand,” he muttered, almost to himself. but clarification came as he gently rubbed your waist in reverent passes, as if gliding your hand over a statue. you took a bite, checking for falling crumbles.
“me too, lars.” and soon enough, the attention wasn’t on the birds or the weather or the muffins. it was spread throughout the room equally as you and lars sunk into each other, and joined the world in on a peaceful january afternoon.
❀ pretending to be offended when they kiss you out of nowhere
Would be SO CUTE with Holland March x reader 😻🤍
YOU ARE SO RIGHT ! i think it'd be absolute adorable holland my wife >< i also wasn't sure if you had a preference in mind for whos kissing and whos being offended so i did both ! hope you enjoy !!
the bit started when you were in the middle of spring cleaning. the march family had finally moved out of the rental and into a new home, which meant that boxes were everywhere and trash compiled instantly. walking into any room meant tripping over ripped plastic covers, paper bags, and praying you didn't break anything important. so, cleaning up after yourselves became the first priority. unpacking was tedious, but you insisted that if you were just going to leave a trail of garbage during the whole process, what were the two of you even doing?
currently, you were in the bedroom. you were battling a mattress straight out of the box, pillows and blankets strewn across the floor, and brand-new comforters that exploded out of its packages. somehow, one person was supposed to reign in all of this. you didn't even want to think about how the fitted sheets would pan out. so you sighed and, in a means to stop any further panic, you called out. "holland?"
from far off, you could hear him shout back, "in a minute!' and trample over everything you had yet to unpack in the living room, kitchen, and hallway. thankfully, you didn't hear the usual crash and fall. instead, he appeared in the doorway a few minutes after, still in one piece. a white bandana held back his floppy blond hair, and he had to shed his suit jacket and tie in order to tackle the ordeal of moving in. "jesus," he said. "looks like you're trying to build a pillow fort."
he climbed over the boxes and blankets to stand next to you, your arms crossed and sleeves rolled up. "why is setting up a bed so tedious?" you thought aloud. "half the time you're just traversing the two opposite sides and hoping the sheets behave."
"it's alright, baby," he assured, putting an arm around your waist. "that's why you have me. extra set of hands, brains, or... i don't know. i can't think of a third thing." and he gave you that same idiotically sweet smile. you shook your head, but his smile was contagious.
"i'm still not too sure about the comforter, though," you added. "i think white goes with everything. i'm just worried we're going to get bored of it. not to mention the stains.” your inner monologue poured out and your eyes never left the mess. “it’s a nice comforter. white goes with everything. i don’t know, i’m not sure—!”
in the middle of your sentence, holland swooped in and captured your lips. you quieted, not even having time to kiss back, and turned to him.
holland had no real reason to kiss you, but when did he ever need a reason to kiss you? (when did he have a reason to do anything?) and he was smiling like an goof. so, you laughed in response, and soon, that laugh turned into a feigned scoff. “holland march! bedroom interior is a grave matter!” you exclaimed, hands on your hips with a feigned attitude. “what do you think you’re doing, trying to distract me like this? i'm trying to create a home!”
he fought to stammer a defense that never came out, much too shocked to hear that, for the first time, you were offended he kissed you. when he couldn't think of anything to say, he just zipped his lips and gave you the biggest puppy eyes you had ever seen. never in his life did he think he'd have to get that response from you. a broken noise of sorrow left his lips and his arm dropped from your waist. you reigned the joke in immediately.
"awh, honey, i'm just teasing. don't give me that look!" you pulled him into a hug. "i'm just messing around." and for the next few minutes, you decided to put off dressing the bed in order to comfort your overdramatic boyfriend.
it was a joke you forgot about the moment you left the room. with the process of moving, you needed to make room for other things to remember anyways. it was especially nothing you thought would stab you in the back someday, let alone a week later.
you were bothering holland in the kitchen. he was a bit ditzy when it came to cooking, but he was slowly improving. you had favorite dishes and he wanted to be able to make those dishes for you. safe to say, he was getting better. as he worked on some vegetables for holly, you were tapping rhythms on the counter, reorganizing the silverware, and mentioning anything that came to mind. moments like this always entertained holland, so he didn't mind replying. but soon a silence fell over as he focused in on cooking.
normally, you were fine with leaving him be. but mealtime was an chance to unwind and mess around, and you both had been so busy with moving. so, you stuck around. and seeing holland's focused pout and straightened back, acting like this was a standardized test, it was adorable. you couldn't resist. leaning over the counter, you snuck up next to him and stole a kiss off his lips, not thinking much about it. but holland holds grudges, which you learned the hard way.
the moment your lips grazed his, he gasped and took three steps from the stove, whipping his head around and leaving you dumbfounded. "how dare you!" he exclaimed in the high, girlish way he had of shouting sometimes. "little miss lady, the kitchen is a sacred space and i am in the middle of meditation. you think you can just waltz around, kissing me whenever you want?"
"holland!" you said through wild laughs, taken completely off guard. usually, he melts at your kisses. right now, it was like you shot him in the foot. "what is up with you?"
"look at you, pretending like you have no idea what you're doing. i see right through you. i'm supposed to be fine with getting scolded for kissing the love of my life: already ridiculous. but now you're bringing in these double standards?" and he put his wooden spoon down, a new mischievous glint in his eye. "you're not getting away with this." and with free hands, he yanked you in and began tickling you incessantly. you shouted, begging him to get off of you, but his hands were relentless against your ribcage and sides. this was your punishment for messing with him once. but you couldn't stop smiling.
laughter filled the room, flowing out into the hallway, and your chest ached from lack of air. when you started slumping against him with no more energy to shout retaliations, he grinned proudly. "that's what i thought. now i'm gonna kiss you all i want." and he peppered kiss after kiss over your head as you held onto his arms, finally catching your breath.
I saw ur post about prompts w/ gosling chars and i was wondering about ur thoughts on “carefully wiping off a stain from their clothes or face” with holland…maybe ur his partner on a case and your suit/face gets all dirty/bloody
Luv luv luv ur writing btw <3
anon this is incredible and thank you for the ask + compliment !! holland is such a sweetheart, even in the midst of everything he wants you spotless (whos gonna tell him that's not happening with him being a detective....) now i did get a little sentimental writing this but its okay we're all gonna live..........
includes: gunfire and violence, mention of holland's late wife, reader is wearing a suit
holland and healy sat on the curb together smoking their respectful cigarettes while the alarms of police cars continued to light up the night sky with loops of red and blue. healy had a black eye and a bruise on his jaw, and holland cradled his shoulder, the now relocated arm still tender at the joint. both of their eyewitness accounts have been taken. all that was left to wait for was yours.
ever since the hired muscle showed face at the nice guys' rendevous point and began shooting, holland kept his eyes on you and made sure no extreme injuries came to pass. the three of you split to duck and cover, but holland remained vigilant. defending himself was second nature now, so he could afford it to guard you, watch you hide behind the pillars and fight for yourself. the moment any of them came too close, he ditched his shelter to get to them before they got to you. it was reckless, he did almost get shot in the foot. but seeing you still on your own two feet, now catching your breath? he wouldn't have been able to relax any other way.
you were bruised up as well. he couldn't protect you completely. if he could get you a bubble suit that inflated anytime you were in danger, he would, but you'd never agree to wear it out. still, he dreamed. and seeing you rub your temple, your weight shifted to one foot to avoid bothering the other, it bothered him. it tugged at his heartstrings.
healy spotted this. "you did best you could." his voice was as shot as holland's with how much the both of them had been screaming throughout the night. it fitted healy, not so much holland. "she's tough. knew what she was getting into."
holland wasn't satisfied. he just nodded his head to show appreciation for healy's sentiment. anyone who met him knew he wasn't the type.
"look, you get her to her place, make her some tea, sit with her by the couch for a while, then you head back home. no need for you to do anything else," healy added. he tossed his cigarette to the concrete and ground it with a stomp. the light went out slow.
"i just wish she knew that she didn't have to put herself in danger." holland squinted, his discomfort crinkling his face as he stared at his shoes. "she's more than helpful any day of the week. she's smarter than i'll ever be. so, she should be smart and... get out of harm's way."
"mate, if she's smart, she doesn't want to sit around and do nothing with that. you just gotta trust her."
"i trust her, i just don't trust the world around her." he found a lump forming in his throat. the unpredictability of the world. the things you can't account for. the people that ambush you when you're ready for home and the fires that can start right under your nose. if holland couldn't save someone when the danger was right in front of him, how could he trust himself to save you if you needed it?
interrupting his thoughts, dress shoes came clacking against the sidewalk in his direction. he looked up. you were in better shape than the both of them, but to be fair, you were smarter than the both of them. no immediate injuries needed to be tended to. but you had bruises from the neck down—it peeked out from under your collar—and dried blood on your upper lip from a periodical nose bleed. and with the late june heat, it wasn't from the cold.
holland stood and met you halfway, putting a hand on your lower back. "how are you, sweetheart?" he muttered.
"i'm alright. don't worry about me." and with your tone, holland did have to believe you. "we'll be getting our paycheck in two days and have the rest of the week to relax." you sighed. "i just wanna go home."
"that's alright! more than alright," he assured. he brought you to healy where the two of you hugged and talked about the details for the case closing. holland couldn't pull himself farther than a foot from you. he watched as healy delivered a pat on your shoulder, then handed you back to him.
"take care, healy." the man headed off in his own direction as holland took you to his car. once healy was out of sight, holland curled into you. "really, how are you? you sure you're okay?" he brought a hand to your cheek and tilted your head, gently, back and forth. any scrape or scratch hurt his soul. he pouted deeply. "i can't bring you home like this."
you pushed his hand away, not out of disrespect but of endearment. "stop it! i told you already, it's okay."
"no, come on, please." his pleading was nothing short of desperate as his hands continued to reach up, wishing to hold you. "you don't deserve this, you never deserved this." finally, after a few more playful swats from you and sincere words from him, you let him cradle your face again. he wiped the dirt and blood away with immense care, looking deeply into your eyes.
"look at you. your suit got all ripped." his fingers moved along the tears, but you covered his hand with your own. "i'll pay for the dry cleaning." you weren't quick to reply, the energy drained from you with everything that had happened, and holland caught on, quickly forgetting the topic of conversation to bring you to his car. he led you in, got in the driver's seat, and cruised the speed limit to your house.
the silence was expected and holland let it remain for a while. but the night was eating away at him.
"i should've been more careful for you."
"march, stop it."
"no, i feel horrible. you shouldn't have gotten a scratch on you, and those bruises are going to take weeks to heal." he gripped the wheel tighter. "i'd never forgive myself if you ended up in the hospital. i'd never forgive myself."
you stared at him from the passenger seat, took in the harsh crease in his brow and the lack of humor anywhere in his body language. nothing about this was funny to him, and there was nothing comedic about his reaction.
"i mean, it's one thing for a freak accident to happen. i know i can't control everything. and i can live with that, i really can. but it's another thing when i know you're on the front lines with me and i let myself bring you into my mistakes or a sting operation or the bullshit that happens everyday. there are very dangerous people around and...!"
it was the life of investigation, the darker streets of LA. the problem was holland had yet to accept that you were a part of it, you were as committed to helping people as he was. maybe he was aware of your commitment. but acknowledging it and living with it was the scary part. you couldn't say much. you never liked seeing him hurt either.
his tone took a fatherly note. the kind that comes out when he's trying to explain to holly why it's dangerous to yell back at cat callers, even if what they're doing isn't right. you put a hand on his thigh. he was focused on the road, too dedicated to getting you home safely, but you felt the muscle tense, then relax under your touch. "how about we rest up on the couch for half an hour or so until you leave?"
holland's jaw shifted in thought. if he would turn to look at you, you would've seen the worn down look in his eyes, now softening.
What about how Eric (House MD) acts when jealous over his S/O? I'm grateful that you write for him, not many people do. Thank you if you'll write this.☺️
⋆˚꩜｡ jealous foreman headcanons
includes: unestablished relationship, foreman and reader are very close friends, foreman doing the most (house parallels, foreman's slightly unhinged), corporate sabotage, and silly times!
notes: i miss you foreman i love you foreman !!! there are barely any fics for him, i should've done this weeks ago. i really do think he's one of the best characters in house md so it's such a shame he doesn't get as much love compared to other characters. i hope you enjoy !
𑣲⋆ foreman tries his best to be rational, he really does. at work, he strives to be the one people turn to when they need someone cool and levelheaded in every situation. and he's succeeded... to an extent. something that will get to him every time is his jealousy. despite the exterior, he can be a pretty jealous person! the calm and collected persona he tries to keep up is just something he does to stay sane and do his part at princeton plainsboro. in reality? he can be just as irrational and idiotic as his coworkers.
𑣲⋆ if it's someone from your past that you've been getting closer to recently, he manages. he trusts you, of course he does. he thinks that you two are close enough where, if someone was pursuing you, you'd tell him. and he'd live with that! if you don't want him, you don't want him. he has too much respect for you to push that. or if it's house and his odd way of sneaking into everyone's personal life, creating really weird, unnamable relationships with his coworkers? yeah, he even tries to move past that. house is a case study. you can't hold him to any standard. he tries to be patient, really, he does.
𑣲⋆ but there's one kind of person that gets to him, and that's people who think they're better than him. foreman's smart, capable, respected by many. even house holds him in high esteem (when he cares to admit it). so if a new guy comes sauntering into work, trying to shoot his shot, alarms go off. because yeah, he's got an ego. but how can he not? when he's one of house's most trusted, when he's ran a hospital and his own diagnostics team before? he watches the guy squirm for validation from you and he's sick of it. you deserve more than a freshly budded med student.
𑣲⋆ there's two ways he goes about his jealousy. the first is that he waits to act. he watches your conversations with him, you being too humble to assume the new guy has other intentions. people mention the guy's possible interest, but you smile and shake your head. foreman feigns agreement. meanwhile, he's taking notes: what the guy brags about, how he tries to bait you into hanging out outside of work. chase actually catches on later and thinks to tease foreman, but that's until he catches the glint in his eye. and this is when he's reminded of the familiarities between him and house. foreman's plotting. chase backs off (and is thoroughly invested). it takes weeks of data.
𑣲⋆ but soon the strike comes down, silent but deadly, and squishes any relevance this guy was cultivating. does he have a vacation home? foreman rekindles old connections and is suddenly entrusted with looking after a lake house during the owner's vacations. "yeah, it's no big deal," he says after mentioning it subtly. "but if you want a weekend away with your friends, just let me know." is the guy well read? foreman looks into the books you love, then catches you during lunch break and gets you into a riveting conversation. "i get why you like the book so much. no one's inherently right or wrong, and you can't be too mad about the ending. what did you think?" is the guy into cooking? foreman invites you to his home with a three-course meal of dishes you admitted to liking in passing through the span of months. "please, take some home too. i can't eat all this."
𑣲⋆ to no surprise, it works. you end up refusing the guy's offer for coffee and spend time with foreman in the park instead. walking around, you admit that he did seem a bit self-centered. foreman nods. "he did seem a bit all talk, didn't he?" but that's if foreman plays nice, disregarding the obsession. the second option is a lot dirtier. working in princeton plainsboro, he's more than used to ludicrous cases. many new hires aren't. so, he tricks the guy into humiliating himself. he'll get him to argue for typhoid fever when the patient hasn't left upstate NY in a year. he'll swap test tubes, so he gets impossible results. he'll even stay silent when the guy voices a new theory, then waits to call out medical inconsistencies until he's in front of the patient's family, pitching his idea. you're immediately unimpressed.
𑣲⋆ does the newbie get fired? likely. if he doesn't, cuddy just moves him to an entirely different floor, embarrassed that she approved a hire so inexperienced. you find foreman in the break room when the news comes out, baffled. foreman tries to hide his smile. "some people just aren't as ready as they think they are," he says. then, he gestures to the empty spot next to him on the couch and reveals two tickets to an exhibit that just opened at one of your favorite museums. you're elated and tackle him in a hug. foreman laughs and rubs your back. and in the back of his mind, he's oh so smug. it seems he's always two steps ahead.
