the geese boys walk in on you crying...
" x reader, including lars lindstrom, holland march & ryland grace. ★ " -> sfw, sooo fluffy and cuddly. no suggestive stuff or smut, just fluff :D
it's quite early in the morning, and you find yourself upset over the little things. the little things turned into getting upset about everything, and you start to feel your eyes tighten with tears. a choked little gasp escapes your throat, your heart growing extremely heavy in your chest. little cries turn into gentle sobs, and you end up burying your face into your pillow.
lars had then walked in. of course, he has the keys to your house, mainly because you're paranoid; you need someone to have access to the house if anything goes wrong. and you trust him, being your boyfriend of a few weeks now. lars takes that to his advantage sometimes, to show up when he has a strange sense in his stomach that something's wrong. like today.
with a brief and hesitant little knock to your door, even if standing at the doorway, he speaks, his voice reluctant but soothing, “y/n?” he coos. “...is everything okay?” he'd ask. when you don't give a response, continuing to hide your face into your pillow, he'd just take that silence and replicate it. he knows how it feels to be burdened with questions when you're upset. it's not a very nice feeling.
he makes sure not to override your space, gently sitting down beside your laying body in silence. he thinks deeply for a moment, probably piecing every way he could physically help you in his brain. what's the best way he can help you feel better. it physically aches him to see you cry. honestly, it's a surprise he didn't start to cry himself.
very slowly, he reaches for your hand, reluctantly lacing his fingers in between your own. while he's not very good with touch at all, he'll allow himself to just this once, if it would be to help the person he loved so dearly when they're hurting like this. he sits there in silence with you—for a long time. he's not so sure how much time has passed.
“y/n?” he'd ask for you, again. no response, again. he swallows. “could you look at me?” he asked, his voice gentle, offering no pressure. once you do, your sad eyes meeting his, he lets out a shaky exhale. he's trying not to cry himself. “...would you like a hug?” he then offers you. once he does, you slowly sit up, and cuddle into his chest immediately, sinking into his arms and letting out a very shaky cry.
he'll sit there until it's over, just holding you, quiet. you could take as long as you'd need, and he'd still be there. he just wants your pain to go away. “it's okay, bug.”
holland would walk in to you crying in his bedroom. you hadn't thought he'd get back from work so early, sitting alone, staring blankly at the wall as everything collapses down you all at once. you had started crying to yourself, curling into your own body, holding your stomach as little sniffles and whimpers escaped your lips. you feel so alone, and the thoughts all just get worse, until—
“oh jesus, darlin'...” holland would say, breaking the fragile quiet. you'd try to wipe away all of those tears, but his presence seemed to make them flow quicker. he scrambled over onto the bed beside you, quickly holding your face and wiping those tears for you, beneath his thumbs, his eyes filled with worry and panic. he's not very good at comforting people. not since his late wife. he swallows thickly, “are you alright? did somethin' happen?” he'd ask quickly.
you'd shake your head in denial, your lip still softly quivering with the upset you feel in your heart. he continued to hold your face in his palms, so caringly, yet slightly panicked. he just wants you to be happy. his smiling, happy girl. not sad. he doesn't want you of all people to be sad.
so, he runs his hand through his hair and thinks (rare for him to do,) before nodding to himself, as if planning something in his own head. “okay.” he says. “okay.” then repeats. he gets up, before taking your hands and helping you stand with him. “how about this?” he starts, a smile appearing on his face in hopes it'd cheer you up. he knows you like his smile, so he tries to do it more often.
“how about, i take you to the diner. i'll get you- whatever you want. and you can tell me everything.” he scrambles to offer, holding your hands more insistently. “or- or! we can go to uh, that restaurant you like? you can dress all pretty, and...” he trails off. there's a lot of thoughts popping up in his brain. he just wants to help. and the way he'll help you is through spoiling you rotten.
“no, wait, how about shopping? i'll get you a pretty outfit, and—” you shake your head and speak, interrupting his insistent chatter. you start to sadly smile now, a good sign. his clumsy charm works, even if you're upset. “no, holland,” you say quietly, faintly, “the diner works.” you tell him. without any questions asked, he nods eagerly. “then the diner it is, sweetheart.” he grins, more genuine now.
at the end of the night, all your worries had faded off. the diner definitely helped, and holland's clumsy reassurance made you feel less lonely. the night ends with you cuddled in bed together, full from a yummy meal, warm and content. he makes sure to kiss you goodnight, holding you extra tight in hopes you'll feel better tomorrow.
RYLAND GRACE ★ : (& rocky)
being alone on a ship, light years away from earth, with only another human and an alien aboard does take its toll. very easily. and you find yourself alone in the dark, sitting in the corner of a little room of the ship. it's just a small storage room, but it's private. quiet. away from the only presence you really have left. you're curled up with your face in your knees, arms around your legs as you shudder and sob, pressed against the cold, metal wall of the ship.
of course, it wouldn't take rocky to notice. the guy can see through walls, after all. so, after sensing your absence after a while, rocky looks around for you, sensing you through the walls of the ship, curled up and leaking, just like ryland does sometimes. the alien pauses briefly, his little claws tapping against the floor, before he pushes his ball to ryland, who was sat working.
“grace.” rocky chirps. ryland turns and looks at his little rock friend, raising a brow, glasses askew and sat closer to his nostrils than his eyes. “yea, bud?” he'd ask. rocky pauses, the translator making rocky's voice quite quiet. “y/n is leaking. in storage room. bad, bad, bad.”
ryland pauses his work completely. he stands quickly and makes his way down to storage, “okay. you stay here.” he quickly tells rocky, making it to where you were still sat in quick, but slightly clumsy, fashion. once he spots you, curled and crying, he stops, still. he used to deal with crying students all the time. he'd been taught how to help them, how to soothe them. but you're not a student. you're you.
he clears his throat, but doesn't speak. instead, he wanders over and sits right beside you, not saying a word. you look up briefly, sniffling. he swallows when your eyes meet his. “hey.” he says quietly. a bit too quiet, he could barely hear himself. he knows how hard space life is. how lonely it is. but... you have him. he wants you to know that. so, he'll try and show it.
he lets his hand hold yours, palm to palm, a gentle pressure. as if to take you out of your own thoughts for a little while. rather then prying, or asking too many questions, or even giving empty reassurances, he instead just sits with you, hand in hand, letting you cry for as long as you need to. you eventually lean into him and start to murmur about your loneliness. you open up. and he just nods and listens. he'll listen for as long as you'd need it.
