βthen the king and the queen went back to the green, but you can never go back there againβ
Λββ§βΊΛ name: victoria
β β§βΊ. Λ waitingβ¦ hereβs where you can learn about meβ¦
β§βΊ. masterlist & rules ; requests are OPEN
18 / intj-t / wasain / λ―Έκ΅ / english major / billy joel / digital camera / general tso chicken / low waisted jeans / george orwell / grey & blue / car rides / the 90sβ take on mental illness
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holland march has accepted that he isn't anything without you. he can't call himself a man if you don't think he's one. there are days that he can be reckless, impulsive, way too energetic, and completely out of line, and sometimes you're there for him. you wrap up his injuries, kiss his forehead, pull him out of the line of fire, whatever you have to do. but sometimes, he's forgetful, unalert, doesn't know when to stop talking, and pushes you more than you can take. those days, you leave him to his own devices. he's a big boy, he can take care of himself.
and yeah, when he sees you turn away instead of helping him out, he knows he could technically, theoretically, possibly live on his own. he's gone 5 years without his late wife, and many decades without anyone. nothing is telling him otherwise. and yet, the moment he sees you make the choice to be angry at him, you strip him of his dignity. and there he's left, standing on the corner of a four way stop in los angeles as you go home to let him sit with the decisions he made.
he allows himself an afternoon to mope. he kicks rocks, sighs, maybe cries a bit on his drive back home. he would turn for a drink, but when you're upset at him, nothing feels worse than getting wasted and upsetting you more with that. he steers clear from his liquor cabinet. and once evening hits, he brainstorms. apologies are frequent between you and holland. the two of you are very different sometimes and conflicts arise easily. so, holland has accumulated a list of many gifts and acts of service that usually show his regret.
he starts writing the classics, a few extras, and eliminates them as he goes. flowers are too easy, and recently, he's been trying to switch their role in your relationship from something apologetic to celebratory. date nights and anniversaries, plus times to remind you of his love. cooking? he'll burn the house down. he'd be too distracted by the image of your disappointed frown. writing a card, a nice dinner, getting you a day off from work. he writes them and cuts them and writes more and more.
throughout his brainstorming, the sun begins to set, and holly finds herself next to her dad, rubbing his back. "you really have gotten a lot of practice with these apologies," she mentions. whether this is supposed to be comforting or shameful, he doesn't pinpoint it. instead, his head remains in his hands.
"you know, i just really wanna keep her happy. wonderful woman, one of the most patient and generous people i've ever met. the energy she has, how much work she puts into being a good person, it's incredible. i don't know how to keep up with her. i don't know why she lets me try."
hearing this, holly straightens her back and offers, "sounds like you just have to keep trying." holland is about to sink into the couch until he hears her add a second thing: "even if you suck at everything, the fact that you always try... i mean, that consumes energy. and it must take a lot of energy to keep trying with all the times you mess up."
in different context, he would have been offended. but in this situation, he shoots up onto his feet, accompanied by a little lightbulb that just went off in his mind.
he drives to your place, him in the driver's seat and healy's boombox in the other (apparently a kid couldn't pay for his services and offered this instead. "it's the new thing," healy reported with as much suspicion as holland had upon seeing it). inside the pocket of his suit, a cassette tape. around this time, you're usually having dinner and reading the latest edition of US Weekly. lucky for him, because you have a window that faces your lawn and the rest of the cul-de-sac.
you can never really guess what holland's next move is. whatever was going to happen after you ditched him during that case, you figured you'd find out tomorrow or later this week. you were content with just unwinding and going to sleep uncertain. currently, twisting some spaghetti around your fork, you keep your head buried in articles. that is until you hear a muffled engine outside swing by, come to a halt, and a man start talking to himself as he exited his car.
at first, you hesitate to look. none of your business, most likely. and then you hear it. through some kind of speaker, a recording starting up and the jackson 5 beginning to sing.
there was holland, standing in your front yard, holding a boombox above his head. his car was parked on the sidewalk, and his eyebrows scrunched up like a pleading, dejected puppy.
"i can't believe it..." you mutter. you stand up and slowly make your way to the front door. the music clears as you open it, and stepping out, the regret on holland's face grow more and more. not regret of trying to pull this off, no. there was no embarrassment displayed. it was the regret of letting you down yet again.
sorrowfully singing along to michael jackson's 10-year-old voice at the time, during the recording of who's loving you, he attempts the riff, "i treated you bad," fails quite greatly on the pitch, and lets his head drop afterwards. it would be comedic under different circumstances. but slowly, those circumstances seem to appear before you.
you were mad because you were upset, worried he'd hurt himself if he continued to be as clumsy and impulsive as he usually is. but right now, you see it. holland's an idiot. and sometimes, he just doesn't know any better. for some reason, that's one of the main reasons you stick around. because when he can't plan even two steps ahead, he's never able to lie to you, and his heart shines brightly on his sleeve.
you sigh, a smile making its way onto your face, and walk over. his eyes are squeezed shut, trying not to cry again, but you kiss his cheek and whisper for him to come inside. you have enough dinner to split up for two. he sniffles and asks, "do you hate me?" you laugh before you can think about holding it.
"i could never hate you. c'mon. turn the boombox off. let's go." to which he nods, lowers his arms, and turns off the cassette, letting you lead him inside.
happy pride! never be ashamed of who you are and what journey you're on, let this blog always be a safe space for everyone who needs one π«Ά sending my love out to all of you !!!
if u get a β β β β β in ur inbox it means ur moot appreciates u, and your efforts in the community !!!!! send this to 10 mutuals to continue the love π€
OMG thank you helena ! :0 you are so wonderful and lovely and yippee yay ! i hope you have a wonderful day :D !1!1!!
bigoted (racist, sexist, homophobes, transphobes, zionists, trump supporters/MAGA). proship, MAPS or NOMAPS, nsfw only writing blogs + people with incestual or fauxcest content
currently writing for the following fandoms: house md, supernatural, gosling movies, and the boys (will not write about vought rising)
i will write . . . fluff, angst, comedy, hurt/comfort, gn or fem reader, suggestive content, romantic, familial, or platonic dynamics
i wonβt write . . . smut (for now), eating disorders, domestic and sexual abuse, self harm, or age gap, chronic illness, DDDNE
please take into consideration the nature of the media i write about. if uncomfortable topics are prevalent in the original work, it may be mentioned, but there will be warnings before all posts. the list of what i won't write is for any requests mainly revolving around these topics explicitly. the media i write about sometimes have heavier topics and i will not always shy away from it.
lastly, i am not obligated to write any request sent, but all are appreciated. this side blog is for fun and i write what i choose to. sending in a request does not guarantee a response.
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hello ! first off how are you!!! i hope you're having a lovely day :0 secondly, i cant stop thinking about your holland march and neighbor!reader post it makes me giggle so much im spinning around my bedroom in hysterics
i was wondering if you have any more thoughts on the dynamic ie. holland slowly trying to weave his way into his neighbors life ! i like thinking about him visiting sometimes trying to be very impressive, and every time he comes back home, holly gives him a reality check, saying that returning tupperware does not equal having game. holland insists he has this in the bag though (he doesnt). hes so pathetic and hot im crying ππ
The image of Holland returning Tupperware but spending WAY too much time fidgeting on your porch before he knocks is KILLING ME he's definitely looking at his reflection in the window next to your door to make sure his hair and mustache look pristine and his tie is straight. Then you answer the door and he's stuttering and forgetting what he came over for AHHH I need him.
do i have more neighbor!holland ideas?
do i have more neighbor!holland ideas?
oh you bet i do (part 2 to this idea!)
Holland makes a point to never let you see him as shabby looking as he did the day you first met. If heβs not in a suit for work, heβs at least wearing nicer pants and a loose button up. He was gonna make sure that if you do ever see him in his boxers again, itβs because youβre in his bedroom (or heβs in yours) and heβs pulling you under the covers.
He tries to play it cool for the first couple of weeks after you move in, wanting to make sure youβve settled and making sure he doesn't come on too strong. After bringing you flowers that first day (your first bouquet of many), poor Holly becomes the March householdβs head baker. Holland canβt bake worth shit, but Holly can. So heβs full of bribes and promises of books and things in return for a dozen cookies or a plate of brownies to bring to his new neighbor. Holly does it, only because watching her dad fumble the beauty next door makes her laugh (and because he genuinely seems interested in someone for the first time since her mom died).
Youβre all smiles when he shows up with baked goods, inviting him in with a wave. Holland wants to fall to his knees.
The first time he had come over with cookies, Holland soaked in every bit of information he could about you from what he could see in your house.
He learned small things, like your hobbies and what he could guess was your favorite color. But the main thing he noticed was the lack of things that pointed to you having a partner. There werenβt enough belongings for two people, unless youβre with someone whoβs an extreme minimalist.
Holland couldnβt have been happier.Β
You were so nice. So warm and welcoming. Holland was immediately enamored.Β
He would go over every day if he could, but he held himself back. He allowed himself one visit a week, sometimes two (or three). Any time you came to his house didnβt count towards the total.Β
He offers to mow your lawn (he rarely ever mows his own), heβll bring your newspaper to your doorstep if he sees it in your driveway, heβll offer you rides into town when because he just so happens to be heading into town at the same time as you.
Heβs so proud of himself, believing with his entire being that heβs oozing with charm.
Holly disagrees.Β
She says no man who spends that much time staring out of the kitchen window just on the off chance heβll be able to catch a glimpse of his neighbor has any game. He had about as much charm as a lovesick puppy in her eyes.
As much as you love Holly, you would have to disagree with her opinion.
Hollandβs attempts to woo you, as obvious and silly as they may be, were working.
From the very first time you saw him- in his bright yellow boxers and extreme bedhead, watering flowerbeds that honestly looked like they had more weeds than flowers- you liked him. He was a little goofy and acted much more confident than you believed he really was, but you liked it.Β
You looked forward to his visits and found excuses to visit him just as often as he found excuses to visit you.Β
Once, Holland comes to your house absolutely plastered. Heβd meant to go to his own home after a night of drinking but heβd been over so often lately, his drunken mind mustβve been on autopilot. Itβs 3 am and you answer the door with a steak knife before you realize who it is.Β
Drunk Holland is so happy to see you ("Heyyy! What are you doinβ in my house? Finally moving in?")
You let him in, half dragging him to your couch as he uses you as a crutch. Holland babbles to you for an hour, apparently forgetting who heβs talking to for the majority of it and telling you all about his cute neighbor who heβs falling in love with.
You listen quietly, smiling so much your mouth hurts until Holland passes out with his head tucked in your lap.
When he wakes up the next morning, Holland is convinced he finally got alcohol poisoning, kicked the bucket and by the grace of God, somehow ended up in heaven. Sprawled on the couch together, his body prone between your legs and head resting on your chest and breathing together, he had to pinch himself and pinch you to make sure he wasn't dreaming.
includes: holland march talking way too much, holland march being a crybaby, mentions of one (1) house fire and one (1) dead wife, reader is a normal level of funny and nice and that makes holland want to explode, lots of pining and holland being stupid cause he makes me laugh
notes: i've watched project hail mary twice and im now revisiting everything ive watched ryan gosling in, so i needed to write holland march stuff because he's my wife. maybe i'll write ryland grace stuff someday.......
there are very few times that holland's life has noticeably improved. the day of his daughter's birth, one hundred percent. creating a detective duo company with healy, for sure. apart from those two specific events, everything he has ever endured was founded on last-minute prayers for survival. something about the weakness of his spirit, his addictive personality, and his tendency to find the hopelessness in everything has often left him doggy paddling to shore. this is objectively a bad thing.
not to holland, though. to holland, that just means that the highs are so high that, on the rare occasion they hit him, it's incredible that he doesn't pass out when they occur. but this third noticeable improvement of his life might actually be the first time he does faint.
holly was reteaching him how to drive a car by spewing unsolicited advice at every street sign. they were cruising by yet another beach. a particularly bad investigation hit him and healy last weekend, and it left him bruised up like a dropped mango. he had a black eye and a trickle of purple dots from the neck to the chest. doctors also suspected his ankle might have been sprained, but so far there had been no clear signs, which was enough for him to pop a few pain pills and call it a day. his hands were good too. at least, his left hand was. the knuckles on his right were wrapped in gauze that would not stop staining. no matter. he kept that hand on his lap as he drove with his left. but the suckiest part was that they didn't even solve the case. a man named mr. watkins was still missing and they had ran out of clues.
"i don't think jess is gonna notice one cookie out of a dozen missing," he was telling holly, ignoring her backseat driving.
"it's called a dozen for a reason, dad. it's a number. and i baked enough cookies specifically for me and her family."
"ah! it's actually 'her family and i,'" he corrected and beckoned his hand again. still, nothing dropped.
"no, it's 'me and her family.' the choice between 'me' or 'i' depends on how the sentence would sound without the additional object."
holland readjusted in his seat. "... you and her family," he muttered.
if his memory served him right, jess' place would be two streets down to the left, then another three streets until they got to a two story house on the slope of mitchell drive. he turned down his music to focus a little more, but suddenly two hands grabbed his shoulders from behind. "w-wait, that's her house!"
holland screamed and his head whipped to check all surroundings, then followed holly's pointed finger to see a different two story house, five streets before the expected destination. his daughter's grip was so tight, he pulled over regardless and turned into a calmer street to park by the sidewalk. "you sure? i could have sworn it was a little farther down."
but holly was adamant. "nope, this is it," and she jumped out of the car like a bat out of hell. holland looked around again.
"but we saw that motorcycle accident by the four-way stop," he said, half to holly and half to himself. weird. normally, he didn't doubt holly on these things, but the motorcycle was a pretty vivid memory. they saw it together two weeks ago, right after healy told him the story of his worst crash. it made holland want to puke.
just like that, holly was gone with the bag of cookies in her hand. he settled into the driver's seat and watched her carefully tread up to the stairs, but still keeping her head high. he thought to say hello to the parents. surprisingly, he hit it off with them last time. maybe he should go after holly, he thought. he rested his arm on the outside of the car and saw the door open after three polite knocks.
jess' parents didn't greet her at the door, though, unless jess' mom got a new haircut, hair color, style, and shoes. from afar, he couldn't see much. the woman was young, maybe his age (jess' parents waited a long while before kids), and dressed casually. she spoke to holly with a calm expression, but guarded in a way. did they get jess a babysitter? no, holly baked for their family. and he wasn't even sure this was the right house. but again, it was hard to doubt holly when she was usually right about everything.
you were the one actually at the door. you were trying to do your own research on your latest case, but someone knocked, not like you were expecting visitors. your new air freshener already got delivered yesterday. still, you opened it and were met with a sweet, blonde teenage girl.
"excuse me," she said politely, and asked if this was the house of a person with the same name as yours. naturally, you said she had the right person, and she nodded, pleased with herself. "my name is holly march and i'm looking to ask you a couple questions about a man named mr. watkins."
you huffed out a laugh, intrigued but incredibly confused. the girl was well spoken, but she couldn't have been older than twelve, and what was her involvement with mr. watkins? "i'm sorry, i'm not too sure i follow," you said politely.
she seemed to grow irritated and covered the reaction poorly with a deep breath. "mr. watkins was an insurance agent on the edge of california that went missing approximately a week ago. i'm trying to find information about his most recent whereabouts and what occurred before his disappearance, and i was told you might have some intel."
you smiled at the bizarre nature of this conversation. she was talking about a real case that you were very well aware of, but she sounded like a spy in a children's television show. "i don't think i have any information you would want," you replied, still trying to figure out how in the world this girl got your address. "barely learned anything about the guy when i was involved with his family."
"miss, if you would cooperate, i promise this will be both quicker and easier for the both of us," she insisted, and you bit back the bigger smile that threatened to appear on your face. this girl was half a foot shorter than you, not to mention with a bag of cookies in her hands.
you pointed at them, unable to resist. "you gonna bribe me with these next?"
she didnβt find it funny. you did, though. and luckily, you didnβt have to answer to whatever scripted lecture she was going to put you through, because holland finally figured, βyeah, thereβs no way this is where jess lives. i commented on the front yard βcause of their dog statue outside and they said it was the shining star of their decorβso where the hell is it?β and he walked over.
his footsteps grew closer, which caused hollyβs shoulders to tense and refuse to turn. something was definitely wrong. he couldnβt help but feel a tinge of pride. this was why he was a detective. he reached the stoop of the house and invitied himself onto it. he placed his hands upon hollyβs shoulders in claiment. βdeepest apologies, this is my daughter, i donβt know what sheβsβ!β
and he froze. quite possibly the most gorgeous woman in the world was standing in the door way, smiling, and looking directly at him. your hair framing your face, your clothes fitting you in all the right ways, the twitch of your nose as you smiled a second longer. you had a way of making casual wear look worthy of a editorial. he didnβt even know if you put on makeup today. maybe it was just your natural glow. was he crazy for already thinking about what to wear for a proposal? holland had a specific type. it wasnβt rare, but he knew what got his attention. and you seemed to had hit the jackpot without even knowing you were on a game show, called βcan we kill march with just a look?β he had yet to say anything. but the importance of talking in a conversation hadnβt hit him yet, and instead, he just grasped hollyβs shoulders even tighter to ground himself.
your smile never faltered, even as he gaped at you so obviously. instead, you leaned against the door frame and said, βhello.β
βhi,β he squeaked. a beat passed of the two of you just looking at each other, but holly seemed to have other plans that revolved around the logistics of the situation.
she squirmed out of her dadβs touch and announced your name with a tinge of defeat. βsheβs another detective in LA looking into mr. watkins' disappearance,β she sighed.
holland was about to cum in his pants. he wiped any possible crumbs that were left on his mustache from breakfast and let out a hiccup of a laugh, nervous and completely out of his depth. βdetective! what do you know, a chance toβ¦ network, itβs such a pleasure to meet you.β you didnβt miss the way he breathed out those last words. he did, though. he was too caught up in how pleasurable it was.
you crossed your arms and nodded. "nice to meet you too, detective...?"
"march! detective march!" he then felt his suit pockets, knowing damn well he had the flyer healy gave him. "uh, i work with my buddy, healy, we're new on the scene. or, not new, we were justβ! we both did our own thing, and now we're together, heh! er, not together, i'm notβ! not like there's anything wrong with that." he found his saving grace in his inside pocket, pulling out the small yellow sheet and unfolded it. "we're called the nice guys. it's funny, 'cause!" he cleared his throat. "we can do it the nice way or the... you get it. i thought it was cool. when i first heard it, i mean, i didn't make it up. just in case you didn't... think it was cool." and he finally held it out for you to inspect. "in which case, i can be swayed to think the same."
in his peripherals, he could spot holly visibly upset. he just hadn't had a lot of time recently on the playing field, that's all. he watched you carefully as you checked the paper front and back, then looked back up at him. "i like the graphic. you wanna trade?"
"trade? what do you mean, trade?" he stammered.
you pulled out your wallet and, from that, a business card. white, sleek, semi-matte, with your name and contact information. "i don't have a cool picture of myself on it, but since we're meeting," you offered, then held it out.
he took it with both hands and bowed in thanks. "great! contacts!" he then shook his head. get on track, holland, jesus. "um, again, sorry for bothering you. my daughter's very independent, and my partner and i have been struggling with a watkins case for a while now. she could be a detective someday, not like i recommend it," he said.
you held up a hand and replied, "it's no problem, really. i actually had a mrs. watkins reach out to me and i looked into it for a while, but i had to decline further investigation. i'm just too busy."
"ah, me too. everyone's dying in LA," he replied, leaving out the important fact that this was the first case he and healy have had in a while. they accounted it to a dry spell, or so they thought. "but um, how far did you get with your investigation?"
"i was talking to watkins' ex-wife."
holland paused. "he has an ex-wife?"
you smiled. his somewhat pathetic nature was unknown to him, but you still couldn't help it. there was a level of charm that his stammering held. "how about this: come inside for a drink, i'll tell you what i know, and i'll even throw in a little check-up 'cause those bruises aren't looking great."
holly's eyes lit up for her plan, albeit taking a turn or two, worked out. meanwhile, holland touched his eye unconsciously with his gauzed hand and looked down at his unbuttoned collar, the other bruises on full display. how badly did he look standing next to you? "that's... great. that'd be really great. i hope we wouldn't be disturbing your boyfriend or anything."
"i don't have a boyfriend."
a tiny, passable, desperate noise slipped out of his mouth, which he then stuffed with his gauzed knuckles until he bit down too hard and agitated the wounds; he pulled his hand out after. "that's... wow. me neither."
it took him a second for him to realize it, a second you willingly gave him. when he exclaimed, you just opened the door and said, "come in, detective march."
still recovering from his fumble, he walked in and his daughter followed. "you can call me holland, i don't mind." he turned around and began to walk backwards to keep his eyes on you. "but would you like me to keep formalities with you?"
"you can call me by my first name," you assured, and gently nudged him to turn back around. the brush of your hand made him squirm, but hopefully he hid it well (he didn't). "take a seat. make yourself at home."
your house was nice. extremely comfortable and stylish, but personal. he didn't have the time to look closely at any framed photos, but he spotted a few pictures of family and friends, vacations and award ceremonies. blankets were folded neatly across the couch, shoes were in line at the door, and was that an oil diffuser in the corner? "lovely place you got," he called out, tracing the edges of his gauze with his free hand.
you busied yourself going through your bathroom and office, collecting journals, notes, and your first aid kit that was under the sink. you replied, throwing your voice down the hall, "thank you! i paid it off a year ago." you balanced the items on top of each other, then walked back with the stack of items and placed them on the kitchen island. "want a drink?"
"ohβ!" he raised his hand but soon pulled it back. did he really want to drink around you? one drink would turn to two, and then he'd be begging for you to drink his third with him. "i'll just have water," he corrected. he adjusted his hips and leaned back, his arm behind him, and zoned out watching you gather your things.
matter of fact, all he did was watch you. when you replaced his bandages, when you reported what you knew on the watkins. more so whenever you brushed your hair away from your face or laughed at a note you couldn't make out in your books. you were probably telling him really important stuff, but he decided quickly that since holly would remember everything, why bother paying attention? they were on a first-name basis now, he didn't have to be overly professional.
in the midst of you rewrapping his gauze and explaining the last conversation watkins had with his ex-wife, holland blurted out, "so no boyfriend." you raised your brow at him.
"no boyfriend. not for a while," you replied. "the last one didn't like my work hours. said i was putting myself in danger. i think he just didn't like that i came back unharmed from the danger all the time. made it look like i had my shit together. how horrible."
"you really do," he breathed out and held back the urge to look you up and down. no biggie, he could just stare into your eyes. "you got a good job, comfortable life, great house."
"where do you live?"
"not too far from here. got a nice place myself. this is kind of my area. which is why i was so confused when my daughter here tried to trick me into thinking this was her friend's house for me to drop her off at. i know all of LA like the back of my head." he tapped his temple, but in doing so, unraveled the gauze yet to be secured. he panicked, little oh, oh no's leaving his lips, but you grabbed them calmly and rewrapped the losses.
"back of your head, huh? here i thought the saying was back of your hand," you teased. the tiny, little gears in holland's head clicked about, but you continued speaking. "well, mr. march, after i wrap this up, you can take my notes with you back to mrs. march and enjoy a lovely early dinner."
he jumped on the opportunity you gave him, spurting out, "oh, there's no mrs. march." you raised your brows again, this time in acknowledgement. "she died. house fire."
after a quick pause, you dutifully focused on the gauze. you really shouldn't have entertained the flirting, now, huh? you replied with a solemn tone you quickly mustered. "that's horrible, i'm so sorry."
but he shook his head. "no, no, no! it's alright! it was a long time ago. and truth be told, i think she would've taken me down with her if i was home when it happened." he looked up in thought. "both of us knew the relationship would only end if one of us died. we would've done anything to keep arguing with each other."
"huh." you took in this information as you finished securing the gauze. when it was done, you gave it a gentle pat and said, "well, at least you both made peace with it?"
"of course. if it was me that went down, i wouldn't have been too bitter, so i'm sure she was alright going down." a beat passed and he turned his head back to you with a sudden, sweetie-pie smile. "thank you for the check up."
he was a real character, wasn't he? "anytime." this reply caused many scenarios to flash through holland's mind: him appearing at your door, bloodied and bruised, saying in a deep, gravelling voice that he had nowhere else to go. you taking care of him in the bathroom. a steamy make out session in the tub. but he blinked and was back in reality.
"so, if i have any questions or if i can't make out a word or two in your notes?"
"you can call me."
"i'd be happy to come overβi mean, call you," he corrected. you stood up and packed the books and printed packets into a box for him, then escorted him to the front door where you said your goodbyes, not like holland wanted to leave. he had the thought of pretending to faint so you had to take care of him more, maybe bring him to a bedroom, but holly was too excited about the new information.
"been great meeting you. uh, parting gift!" he looked to his daughter and whispered, "the cookies, holly."
she clutched them to her chest. "but they were just a decoy. i was gonna bring them to maxine's tomorrow."
"yeah, you should've thought about that before bringing us to this lovely woman who really helped us out, now give her the cookies."
it wasn't like you couldn't hear, but it felt like familial matters that you shouldn't be intruding on. holly sighed and held out the bag, which you took with a sincere thanks and an additional vague apology, to which holland just waved his hand in dismissal. "you did more than enough," he told you.
you took one final look at him. he wasn't all that bad looking. the mustache, the suit, the slicked back hair that had easily fallen down in the past hour you've been together. again, the messy, pathetic nature of it all was a little endearing. he definitely noticed you looking too, because he gave you some eyes of his own, looking you up and down and smiling with a little more flirt. "get home safe," you said.
"you too," he giggled, too lost in his delight to notice his slip up. and not wanting to give the universe a chance to ruin this moment, he urged holly down the stoop and sped to the car. you lingered at the door. he hopped into the driver seat with a beaming smile, then checked himself in the rear view mirror. the smile then faded and he frantically drove his fingers through his hair to fix it, looked at you, realized you were watching, then drove off. you weren't even sure if he was a good detective. all signs pointed to that being unlikely. still, you couldn't help but check the flyer he gave you one more time before hanging it onto your fridge.
thank you for all the love this post has gotten !!! holland is one of my favorite characters to write about and again i really appreciate the love this blog's been getting in general :( mwah mwah !
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.βΊοΈ
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 !
π£²β 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.
π£²β 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.
π£²β 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.
π£²β 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.
π£²β 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."
π£²β 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.
π£²β 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.
hiii i saw that you write for house md, do you also write for Eric Foreman? there is a a giant lack of fics for himπ also your blog is soooo pretty!π«Άπ»
I DO!!! foremanβs actually my favorite character in house md so please send requests if you have any! there is such a lack of foreman fics its really a crime
and thank you ! half the fun of posting my fics is making them pretty after ><
word count : 2.7K / genre : fluff with an intro of angst!
includes: reader and ryland were both put on the hail mary involuntarily, unestablished relationship, unspecified music taste for reader (mentions of popular artists/songs you probably know if you use tumblr + if you don't live under a rock), ryland being a dork
notes: i think ryan gosling is lovely i really do. so im just gonna keep writing whatever i want idgaf. hope you enjoy!! this is also an excuse to think about ryan gosling's singing voice with ryland grace! guys! listen to ryan's old band!!!
by day nine on the journey to erid, it had gotten painfully quiet on the hail mary. the first five days were filled with hope, new plans, and preparations for when the two of you found rocky and blip-A again. ryland drew the countdown on the whiteboard while you packed your things, which gave neither of you any time to process what you both realized on rocky's ship. the xenonite's rainbows that flashed before your eyes just for a moment, but enough to drag you back to the last missing piece of how you ended up here. the rainbow of the past that arched over squirming, bruised bodies, the dirt and gravel soaking up the pleads of the mouths pressed against it. neither of you mentioned anything. instead, you only shared a look of understanding and silently agreed to digest it alone.
you couldn't run from it forever. after all the preparations were made, a space grew between you two, nothing either of you wanted but something your bodies demanded. ryland chose the lab to sit around in, staring at empty vials. you chose the hallway, looking out the porthole to fruitlessly count the sprinkled stars outside. from the direction you were facing, you couldn't pinpoint earth. part of you didn't want to.
you had a vague understanding of how long you'd been gone, but you didn't want a concrete number anyways. staring out the porthole, you always grazed your memories of earthβyour friends and family, your workplace, your usuals from your favorite restaurantsβbut you never let yourself completely grasp them. if you let yourself, you just knew you'd burst into tears or tear off a shelf. because at some point in time, those things just didn't seem to matter anymore. your life didn't matter. not to the nations that demanded replacements three hours before launch time. and by choosing erid over earth...
all you could do was keep moving forward. that was what you told yourself. and it got you through, mostly. you and ryland silently found a schedule that gave you both the alone time you needed. ryland grabbed food upon waking up, you'd get your meals three hours after. you went to bed before him (if either of you slept where you were supposed to) and he'd only enter the room if he knew you were asleep. but you missed him. of course you did. he was the one person you could talk to about this, the one person you could talk to in general. but how could you start the conversation? something so fixed and unavoidable and all-consuming, where would you begin? everything wasn't just gone. it was cursed to forever live light years away, on the same place of existence as you, even if it didn't feel like that anymore.
you also couldn't bring yourself to break the silence first. you had no idea if ryland needed more time than you, and this was the worst thing to intrude upon. some days, you'd linger behind corners of the laboratory, trying to listen in for just a fragment of his voice. you didn't hear anything for a long time. matter of fact, you hadn't heard your own voice in a while either. a conversation was due, not to communicate feelings (you definitely had touched the same hyper specific blend of emotions), but just to feel the connection of another person. to listen to someone besides yourself.
but you couldn't be the one to start it. so you waited by the porthole day in and day out until something changed. luckily, ryland was never the type of person who could go long without talking to someone.
you heard his voice before his footsteps. he was singing to himself, awkward but bright. "woah... for the longest time. woah, for the longestβif you said goodbye to me tonight... dah, dah-dah..."
he turned the corner just in time for you to see him trail off and get that lost, childlike look on his face. when he met your gaze, he smiled. tired but happy to see you, or so you hoped. "do you know any lyrics to that song?" he asked. the silence was broken. "i think i've forgotten half of it."
you squinted, racking your brain for the rest of the verse. "if you said goodbye to me... tonight. something, something, music left to write?" you offered. just the start of this small talk was enough to ease the tension in you, soften the rigidity that your joints had taken up.
he nodded. "that should be it. i don't know if i could get a web browser working to check, anyways. plus, i don't have spotify premium." he scratched his head at the tiny issue.
"we can make up new words."
he looked up at this. you shrugged. "no one else will know any better. i wouldn't give up hope, though. i'm sure the lyrics will come back to us someday." you returned your gaze to outside for a moment. "i feel like everyone knows that song."
in the reflection of the glass, you saw ryland take slow steps in your direction, which made a pang go off in your heart. he was approaching you as if you'd want him to scram at any moment. like you didn't want him around and he would be fine if that was the case. that couldn't have been less true. once he reached the end of the hallway, he sat on the opposite side of you and joined in viewing the space outside. "you know any songs by heart?" he asked.
you paused. "yeah. i'm sure i do." after your coma and series of events in space, you revisited a majority of who you used to be. there were surely names you'd forgotten, places that may have forever slipped your mind, but you couldn't know what you couldn't know. you looked back, and the older songs you loved came first.
"i knew a lot of mitski by heart in middle school. if i sang any of that now, though, i think i'd have a panic attack," you joked. ryland nodded, surprisingly. when you gave him a look of confusion, he clarified.
"some of my students told me about her. they wanted me to put her on the classroom playlist during independent work." he nodded with a soft smile. "her whole discography, it's like she's asking you to give up on ever feeling happy."
"you know it."
you listed artists and songs as they came to you, going through middle school all through college and beyond. ryland listened intently, at times chiming in when something rang a bell; he sang whatever lyrics he first thought of. you tried to hide the flush that crept onto your face, but he was so invested, you couldn't help it. he really did want to learn as much as he could.
"what about you?" you asked, hoping to get a break from the unwavering eye contact.
at this, he straightened his back. "i mean, i like a lot of music. my music taste is different than my students' but that's probably for the best. they've shown me some good songs though," he explained. "i don't know, i probably have the same songs down that everyone does."
"i don't know if everyone knows magical mr. mistoffelees by heart," you joked, your eyes guiding his to the cats tee he was wearing.
he averted his gaze but tried to keep a level of confidence (he failed incredibly at this). "cats isn't bad!" he defended. "it's just that everyone knows the horrible movie adaptation. my students actually did a production of cats a few years ago."
"really?"
"yeah, i helped build the set. we have to support the arts. if we don't do it, no one will. and they were wonderful. it's really a good story." he then clapped and pointed at you with some sort of epiphany. "people know memory! everybody knows that!" he swayed his fingers to a beat, conducting himself, and he began singing in this ridiculous falsetto that cracked you up before you realized you were laughing. "touch me, it's so easy to leave me!"
you joined in, minus the falsetto, but the way his eyes lit up when you sang along was more than enough to keep going: "all alone with the memory of my days in the sun..." yeah, he was singing like a choir boy right now, but he was on pitch and he didn't sound all that bad. you wondered what he sounded like when he wasn't joking.
when the lyrics faded out, he stretched his hands towards you with light applause. "you're a good singer!" he exclaimed.
you shook your head, your smile beginning to hurt your cheeks. "stop it, please. you don't have to say all that."
"i mean it, you are!" and his eye contact demanded that you look back at him. all you saw in his eyes was excitement and sparkle and wonder. "sing something else," he said. "i won't ruin it this time." he raised his hands in surrender, which just made you roll your eyes.
"you wouldn't be ruining it," you assured, but after that, you had to think about what you could sing. strangely enough, you could only remember dumb songs, the ones that were in every homecoming or prom playlist from when you were young. the one time in months someone was asking about your taste in music. you had favorite artists, you had lyrics you saw as worthy of tattoos. and all you could think of in this moment was...
you closed your eyes and sighed. "i see you driving 'round town with the girl i love, and i'm, like, forget you..."
the laugh that escaped him lit up the hallway and he clapped his hands in delight. before you knew it, he was singing his heart out and dragging you into it. "i guess the change in my pocket wasn't enough, and i'm, like, forget you!" he clapped to the beat and you hid half your face in your hands. you knew his students must have loved him. he was so unabashedly himself at times. "that's great! god, i haven't heard someone sing in..." and he trailed off, his expression falling into something more thoughtful.
you nodded, quietly telling him he didn't need to explain himself. you already understood. "guess we just need to sing more around the ship."
his gaze softened, and something seemed to cross his mind, as his brows furrowed ever so slightly. it made you nervous, but you tried not to look curious.
then, he returned your nod. "yeah. yeah, i'd like that."
two things appeared after that which improved your livelihood on the ship immensely. one, you were talking to ryland again. he seemed more energetic than ever to interact with you and ask you about any little thing. it started with very, very harmless questions: your favorite ice cream flavor, your favorite color. when you showed your comfortability, he moved onto bigger things, or bigger things for the two of you: your favorite restaurant, your best friends. somehow, when he mentioned these things, it didn't hurt as much to think about.
two, you introduced music to the ship. you didn't know it before, but ryland really enjoyed singing. he wasn't ever destined for broadway, sure, but his timbre was warm and a little crisp, and the fun he was having always made it into his tone. you learned he liked queen, elton john, plus carole king and marvin gaye. he'd sing "goodbye, yellow brick road" when piloting the ship, or "i feel the earth move" when cleaning up after himself. you always joined in if he was singing something you knew. when your voice accompanied his, he always brightened up. and seeing him happy made you happy. or maybe it was a "chicken or the egg" situation. you just didn't want to get too cocky about your level of importance in his eyes.
once he began, you found yourself with a new habit too. a song from long ago, something nostalgic and upbeat, reappeared in your memory first, and it became a go-to for whenever you were in the middle of chores. it was a comfort, having a new piece of who you were. and appartently you sang it enough that ryland got curious. he came into the med-bay once while you were taking care of armie and asked, βdo you think you could write those lyrics down?β
you wanted to question him, but didnβt know how to, so you ended up agreeing and handed him a folded sheet during your next meal. the next day, you caught him singing it in the hallway. you paid back the favor by learning one of his favorites and you surprised him by singing it in the "kitchen," fully memorized. he nearly skipped away after.
time seemed to fly by. having to go to sleep every night was a shame, and even when you got to bed at a reasonable time, ryland would keep you up by singing under his breath, urging you to join by, or by asking you about your past. in order to relieve pressure, you two began asking in the form of what "earth ryland" and "earth you" did. with every shared memory, you wrapped up another part of your past without feeling the ache of a life left behind you.
one day, ryland slid you a note without explanation and ran off into the hallway before you could say anything. like a schoolboy delivering a love letter. you giggled and unfolded it: βmeet me in the staying-sane room in an hour.β that made you giggle even louder. so, his students had a bigger effect on him than he thought. if this was how he made his moves, at least.
you agreed nonetheless. why wouldn't you? after throwing out some old ramen packages, you made your way over and called out for him. "ryland? i'm here. what's going on?"
you heard his voice from inside. the door was closed but not locked. "come in! i want to show you something."
you opened the door and the question, "what'd you find?" died on your lips.
a booming bass rumbled the metal walkway as a pixelated montage of landscapes lit up the surrounding screen walls, with highlighted text at the bottom asking to select... i wanna dance with somebody?
as the waiting music played, you turned to ryland. his jump suit was tied around his waist, and he held an old hairbrush to his face as a makeshift microphone. he spun to you, honing in on boyish charisma like a member of one direction. you covered your mouth. "i found old karaoke videos! there's only really 80s music, though," he admitted, shyly scratching the back of his head. "some chinese and russian songs too, but i don't know them."
he reached into his pocket and pulled out an empty water bottle. "i got you a microphone too in case you'd want to... duet."
the smile on your face felt permanent. in the background, you saw familiar countries and monuments. it was the first in a long time you were seeing ryland "on earth." but something in you didn't want to indulge in that kind of fantasy. instead, you took note of the pixels and the surrounding brightness. you weren't on earth one last time with ryland. you were on the hail mary with him. and the two of you were going to save rocky in just a few days. but you had to kill time somehow.
you grabbed the water bottle. "i'd love to."
maybe you imagined it, but you could've sworn you saw a swirl of red bloom onto his cheeks. he nodded and clicked some things into a control panel on the wall, and soon enough, the intro blasted from the speakers and he step-touch-ed towards you, offering his hand. you offered yours. and slowly, he pulled you in until your chests brushed against each other's.
"you like to dance?" you asked.
he shrugged. "when the occasion calls for it."
you glanced down at the narrow walkway. "just don't let me fall, okay?" you joked.
he didn't laugh. instead, he wrapped an arm securely around your waist. his warmth pressed on and through your clothes, and you caught the faint scent of his dry shampoo. as your surprise slipped onto your expression, his act dropped too. what was left after it cleared was a bashful but confident smile, and the most earnest eyes that had ever looked your way.
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β pretending to be offended when they kiss you out of nowhere
Would be SO CUTE with Holland March x reader π»π€
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.β your inner monologue poured out and your eyes never left the mess. βitβs a nice comforter. white goes with everything. i donβt know, iβm not sureβ!β
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. βholland march! bedroom interior is a grave matter!β you exclaimed, hands on your hips with a feigned attitude. βwhat do you think youβre doing, trying to distract me like this? i'm trying to create a home!β
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.
Like a reader who is also lowkey touch averse and they cuddle together and at first its really scary but then very relaxing and yeahπ«ͺβοΈ
I LOVE YOU LARS LARS I LOVE YOU π 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. βhow was the drive here?β
you smiled. βthe drive was nice. they cleared up the roads yesterday so i was glad that i didnβt have to worry about slipping on them,β you explained.
he nodded, taking all of this in with incredibly serious nods. βthatβs good. thatβs goodβ¦β he glanced back down at his lap before adding with a blink, βitβs not too cold out?β
βno. no, i brought enough layers for cold outside.β
βthatβs good. thatβs good,β he repeated. and the silence came over again.
you took a breath. βwe donβt have to do anything today,β you said. normally the two of you played scrabble or you watched him chop wood. activities brought the pressure off of larsβ social skills. but youβve always wanted the pressure off of him entirely. βi didnβt have any expectations. we can justβ¦ relax together.β
lars gave you a few hard blinks, processing what you said, then finally nodded. βthat sounds nice,β 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 wasnβt too bad.
and then he reached out his hand. youβve held his hand on moments before. he doesnβt 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 werenβt 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 werenβt 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. βyou smell nice,β 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. βi like your shampoo,β he replied.
and soon, he slumped more into it as well. you readjusted your head to lie in the crook of his neck, and larsβ repositioned one hand from the cushion to your shoulder, holding you in place. if you or lars fell asleep, you wouldnβt mind. βdo you want a muffin?β he asked.
βtheyβre for you, though,β 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.
βhere you go,β he whispered.
you looked at him, smiling ear to ear. his face was focused, but calm. βthank you, lars,β you replied, and hearing his name from your lips somewhat tickled him. he shuffled under you and moved his arms to hold you again.
βi like this brand,β 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.
βme too, lars.β and soon enough, the attention wasnβt 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.
ryland grace calls you baby around the ship, which is another cultural thing he has to explain to rocky. when grace needs to find you, "baby" has replaced your name, and he never thought much about it. but rocky was curious. "what is baby question?" grace looks over his shoulder at rocky and chuckles as you come over. "it's a nickname," he explains. "it's a sweet way you talk about your, uh..." and he gets shy, avoiding your gaze. "your mate." "baby is common name on earth?" "no, no. i mean, yeah, sort of. when humans are born, they're babies. then they grow up." this baffles rocky and he starts waving his "hands" around in confusion. "but not baby. is grown adult exclamation!" so, ryland walks over and pulls you in close, then starts up the baby voice as you laugh and cringe. "it's just a term of endearment! it means that she's just a little baby, yes, she is." "oh my god, grace, stop!"
ryland grace calls you baby when he gets cuteness aggression from seeing you. you could be doing the most boring thing in the world: checking coordinates, updating travel time and fuel necessities, cleaning, or cooking the weird astronaut packets they gave you. he'll watch you for a moment in complete awe because look at you! you're just a sweetheart doing your little chores! and when you spot him, he holds his arms out and you just roll his eyes. the guy is nothing but a big, mushy mess. "aren't you the cutest little baby in the world?" he pinches your cheeks, and you complain. "grace, i'm trying to work!" but he doesn't stop. "i know, but look at you! how are you just walking around looking so cute? cutest little baby i ever did seeβ!" and on and on and on he goes. you'll have to find another time for chores.
ryland grace calls you baby in small whispers when you're trying to sleep. rocky and him are talking quietly about something, who knows. you're trying to get some shut-eye. but just as you're about to doze off, you hear, "baby. hey, psst. sorry, didn't mean to wake you. um, how do you explain a merry-go-round?" you let out a quiet sigh and reply. "it's a bunch of... horse statues you sit on. you pretend you're riding them. and they go... around. in a circle." there. you readjust onto your side and close your eyes again, but it's much too soon when you hear, "sorry, baby. do you know their history or anything?" "honey, i don't know. for all i know, it's war propaganda. tryna get kids to wanna charge onto the battlefield." and then it's quiet. you think, great. it's finally over. rocky and grace have fallen back into their own conversation with just the two of them. vague, colorful pictures begin crossing over your eyes and a scene forms behind your eyelids... "baby?" "jesus christ."
ryland grace calls you baby when he has no idea what's going on. if he's alone in the laboratory, doing calculations, and suddenly the lights turn red and an alarm starts blaring throughout the ship, he shrieks like a child and immediately drops everything he's doing. and the first thing he does is call out for you. "baby! baby, what's going on, where are you?" this godforsaken ship, he'll never be an expert on its layout. he'll never be an expert about space in general! it seems that there's always something else he doesn't know about (but that's the life of a scientist). when he does find you, he's more than relieved, but before the two of you start pillaging to find out what the problem is this time, he always hugs you or gives you a quick kiss: an acknowledgement that he's grateful you're here, and that you two will always be safe as long as you have each other.
ryland grace calls you baby after the long days and sleepless nights, when you, him, and rocky finally break through on something. you three have been slaving away for weeks, running the same tests over and over and over again, each time changing something miniscule in your work to salvage what little calculations are correct and to be as thorough as possible. none of you thought that the work you'd have to do up here could be this meticulous. space is a whole different playing field. but after weeks of work, the glass tube turns the right color and suddenly you're a whole lot more awake, waving at rocky and shaking grace on the shoulder to snap both of them out of their dazes. "what? what is it...?" rocky notices first and his musical cheers ring out, waving his "hands." grace then looks over and sees you holding the tube, and he springs out of his chair and tackles you, laughing with absolute glee. "we did it! what'd you change? oh, baby, you're a genius!" you all know you'll do this same song and dance in a month or so, but three brains are better than one. you'll keep trudging onwards for as long as you need to.
notes: guys i finally wrote for project hail mary, they were gonna get me soon enough. aughhhh grace my wife grace my love. haven't stopped thinking about this movie since i saw it. i'd be happy to write more for the gosling verse in general, so we'll see! requests are open so feel free to drop any request, headcanons, or if you just wanna geek out with me
i am literally in such shock. this post just hit 1K likes and i could not be more grateful. thank you so much to everyone who showed their love for my writing im so so happy :( !!!! i have not been very bold with sharing my writing at times so this is very sweet, im so glad we can all geek out about this lovely lovely movie together :)))
thank you so much aughhh!!! i used to not veer towards bright themes since i like more muted or neutral colors usually ie. my main, but i decided to switch things up >< glad you like it, esp since your theme is to die for omg hearing from the best
holland calls you baby naturally to (try and) command attention like the tough guy he thinks he is. he doesn't usually get results from his boldness at work, but that never stops him. he's impulsive, sassy, and prideful, and will direct your focus with a quick gesture of his hand and a cool, casual, "baby, need you to look at this really quick." however, he's also a single dad, the worse half of the nice guys, and could trip up a flight of stairs soberβdon't even ask what it's like after an evening of whiskey and a night of margheritas. with a lifetime of failures and slip ups, heβs not ignorant to the reoccurrence of mistakes. but the least he can do is pretend.
"baby? come over here, check out this alibi. so, mr. anderson claims that he hasn't seen the victim since two weeks ago, but CCTV caught them at gibbs' on the 18th. exactly. i don't believe it for a second."
holland calls you baby when heβs drunk, and itβs the only word he doesnβt stutter. you find him at healy's place, barely holding on, meanwhile healy's desperately trying to yank holland's sixth beer bottle out of his hands. mind you, he's already had shots of whiskey, and he was supposed to be winding down with one or two beers. you appear seemingly out of the blue, but really, he's just too wasted to notice healy giving you a call. as you hold him and slowly walk together to your car, holland hiccups and slurs his words, talking to you about everything they did that night. but he never messes up calling you baby. it's near sacrilegious to do so.
"i was just- hic! speaking my mind. it's not my fault that- hic! that they didn't wanna hear it. i don't know, baby, i don't get people sometimes. they don't get me either. you do, though. oh god, i love you so much, baby.
holland calls you baby when he's absolutely smitten by you as you do what you do best, proving why he loves you yet again. you're no detective, but at this point, you might as well have your own badge considering how many times you're dragging into an investigation. when the bullets fly, you don't flinch anymore. you just fire right back. holland gets googly eyes in the background. and when you're at home, enjoying your hobbies, he's as giddy as a schoolgirl. he likes to watch. sometimes asks you to pose in the middle of what you're doing so he can take a photo. he's your number one fan.
"i don't know how you do it, baby. you're incredible. you should be famous, everyone should know who you are. it's always the wrong people getting the spotlight, isn't it? guess i get you all to myself."
holland calls you baby when the world turns upside down and he lands in jail for another failed B&E mid-investigation, or a car chase leads to a car crash, or enemies leave him on the ground with a broken arm or leg. his klutzy nature is going to kill him someday, youβre more than sure of that. so, you always stay close to a phone. and when he does call you, you're quicker than lightning, having learned all the side roads just for the sake of holland. and there you find him, beaten and bruised, crying his eyes out. he calls out for you over and over, hoping for the comfort in your arms he always gets. he's a little fragile, but that's okay. that's why he has you.
"jesus christ, baby, thank god you're here! there were so many of them and healy and i got separated a-and my phone died right after i called. i was justβi was so worried. i think i tore something... i wanna go home.
notes: i will always continue to write for the holland march fans. yes, this movie was 10 years ago. yes, no one talks about it anymore idgaf holland is pathetic and whipped and hes mine
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there really is a drought anon :/ the economy for gosling verse fanfic is booming but some of my kings are heavily underappreciated (colt and holland sigh)
i'll look for more opportunities to write for him, and you're free to submit any prompts if you want!
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.
