#12 days of goosemas

[goosemas]

2024 Goosemas Collection - Colt Seavers - 512 x 512 icons

[drivinmeinsane]

Snow ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Four ※ Sierra Six / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: You expected a quiet night in, but that changes when you follow a trail into the trees.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Pre-relationship, Treatment of injuries, Caretaking

※ Word count: 1920

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Of course you notice that the log basket by the fireplace is empty when you’re already sprawled out on the couch, remote in hand, Christmas tree plugged in, and fully prepared to settle in for the night. You grumble as you get up and pull on your boots and your coat. Grabbing your flashlight, you open the back door and step out into the cold. You’re nearly to the shed when the beam of light picks up something unusual in its field. You come to a complete stop and examine the ground with a growing sense of horror.

The snow is churned up, something had clearly come through here recently enough. Probably within the past hour or so while you had been snugly tucked into your remotely located home. You can make out footprints. Human, likely belonging to a tall male judging from the size and the distance apart. They’re messy like the maker had been stumbling along. Your flashlight picks up dark blotches on the white. Blood. You look up, frantically scanning your surroundings for a sign of who might have left this path across your yard. There’s nothing other than the trail that leads off into the woods. 

You silently backtrack to your home to grab the hunting rifle leaning against the wall in the coat closet, an assurance for living out in the middle of nowhere in the wooded hills. Feeling like a side character in a cheaply stereotypical horror movie, you go back outside to follow the trail. Flashlight off now that you’re in pursuit. You desperately want to nope out of the situation, but there is no one else around for miles to handle this. You push follow the path into the thicket. There’s a shape huddled at the base of a tree not far into the brush. 

The moonlight is blocked by the branches, so you resignedly turn your flashlight on to illuminate the figure. It reveals a man dressed in bloodstained street clothes. He’s slumped forward so you can’t see his face, but his jeans are covered in a mixture of blood and snow. Some of the blood is glossy, fresh, but most of it is frozen. He is only wearing a thin windbreaker for warmth. There’s a gun resting on his lap. His fingers are slack around it, not even holding onto the weapon. They look waxy and stiff. Only his labored breathing lets you know that he’s alive. 

“Hey.” He doesn’t respond to your slightly hesitant yell so you nudge his foot with the tip of your boot and try again, louder. “Hey!”

No movement, or any awareness of you at all. He just continues breathing like each exhale might be his last. Emergency services are at least forty-five minutes away, if they are even able to get through the snow at all tonight. 

Gritting your teeth, you inch forward to kick the man’s outstretched leg. “Hey!”

That finally gets a response. The stranger groans and lifts his head up. He squints against the bright light you have pointed at his face and raises a shaky hand to block it. You shift so you’re pointing the rifle at him in case he gets it in his head to make any sudden movements. 

“Put your other hand up too,” you order him. He complies, leaving the handgun on his lap. You can barely hear your voice over the pounding of your own heart. “What are you doing out here? You’re on my land.”

His mouth works a couple of times before he’s able to speak. When he does, his voice is hoarse. “Sorry. I got turned around.”

“Yeah? Why are you so messed up if you just ‘got turned around’?”

“Had to jump out of a moving car. The people I was with didn’t appreciate that much.” He sounds so serious that you raise your eyebrows in disbelief. 

“Are you going to be trouble for me?”

“Probably not.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” His answer is immediate, out of his mouth before your question has the chance to linger in the air.

Against your better judgment, you take his word at face value and tuck your rifle under your arm, pointed away at him. His handgun gets stowed in your waistband before you help him to his feet and sling his arm over your shoulder. The arm not occupied by your own gun gets wrapped around him. Your knees nearly buckle under the weight of him. It’s slow going to your back door. He seems to be intermittently losing consciousness. On the second of the three steps leading to the small porch, his foot drags and slips out from under him. He nearly takes the both of you down. 

“C’mon,” you grit out and bodily haul him up the final stair.

The stranger slumps in your hold as you get the door open and all but drag him into your kitchen. He comes to enough to stagger through to the living room. You more or less drop him onto the couch. He sags limply into the cushions like a puppet with its strings severed.

“Can I call for medical help or do you need me to try to do a patch job?”

“Please don’t call anyone. I’ll be fine.”

You exhale hard, nerves jangling. Patch job it is. “Sit tight.” 

Leaving him alone and dripping melting snow all over your couch, you gather a couple towels and the medical kit that you keep well stocked for emergencies. He is exactly as you left him when you come back in the room laden down like a pack pony. You put the supplies on the seat next to him. 

“What’s your name?”

“Six.”

You want to comment on how that’s obviously not a real name, but you bite your tongue and swallow the words down. It’s not your business. Keeping him from dying on your couch is your business. 

Without any further preamble, you wrestle him out of his wet clothing, leaving him in just the underwear you don’t dare to touch. Once he is stripped naked, you start examining his body to find the source of the blood. You find it immediately, but your eyes can’t help but take in the rest of him. Six, as he calls himself, is muscular, but you knew that from how heavy he was over your shoulder and in the circle of his arm, but it’s the expanse of his injuries that is more notable. It’s unsettling. He’s marked with old scars and fresher ones that are still uncomfortably raw and pink. You don’t think you want to know what this strange man does for a living. It looks as though several people have tried to kill him over the years, admittedly with limited success if his presence in your home is any indication.

Ignoring the rest of his body, you focus on the sizable gash in his size. A bullet must have burned its way across his side at a close range judging from the singeing around the edges of the wound. It’s still sluggishly bleeding, but it’s thankfully shallow enough to not be fatal in the short term. You wet a piece of gauze with disinfectant and press it against the wound. Six does not so much as flinch. He looks resigned to the pain when you glance at his face to gauge his reaction. You pinch the sides of the injury together and secure it with several meticulously placed butterfly bandages to keep it closed. Holding a thick gauze pad on the wound with your hand, you wind vet wrap around his abdomen to hold it in place. It should serve to put pressure on it to restrict the chance of bleeding and further trauma to the sight.

You’re relieved to discover that the rest of his injuries are minor in comparison. He has a slightly sprained wrist that you stabilize with more vet wrap. Unfortunately, he is covered in scrapes and abrasions. All you can do for them is to put a large band-aid on the worst of the road rash. It’s next to a tattoo that says something in Greek. Your stranger appears to be more well-versed in literature than you might have expected, not just a thug despite the obviously prison quality tattoos. 

Injuries aside, the man feels concerningly cold due to the exposure to the freezing temperatures and not insignificant blood loss. You realize that if you had been more prepared and hadn’t needed to restock your log barrel, he would have likely succumbed to the elements right outside of your home. The thought of finding his body in the morning makes you shiver reflexively. You push that line of thinking aside and pick up one of the towels. You hold it in both hands and rub his extremities in between your cloth covered palms, trying to encourage circulation back into his body. It works. His fingers lose their waxy appearance and his body temperature seems to level back out. He starts shivering, a good sign that means there is no more need to worry about hypothermia. You take the fresher towel and dry his sodden hair before wiping his torso clean. His shivering gradually subsides as you work. He’s dozing off, breath whistling through his nose. Some of the tension has left his face. 

Once you’re finished with him, you finally fetch the logs from the shed. On your way, you take the time to disturb the tracks. Even though it’s still snowing, you do not want to take the chance that they will be discernible by a hostile party. Knowing that you will be cleaning up anyway after you put your unexpected guest to bed, you don’t take any great pains to avoid tracking more snow into the house. 

You drop your armful of logs into the basket and put a couple of them into the fireplace. They should last a while. You approach the couch, catching Six awake but not alert. He’s staring blankly at your Christmas tree, seemingly captivated by it. His eyes redirect unsteadily to you when you’re close enough to touch him. The man squints like he’s having a hard time seeing through his exhaustion.

“You an angel?”

You almost laugh, but he sounds so tired and so sincere. “No,” you tell him gently. He mumbles something unintelligible in response.

Crouching at his side, you take hold of his legs and guide him until he’s laying down, curled on his non-injured side on the cushions. Six manages to lift his head enough for you to shove a decorative pillow under it. His eyes slip closed when you cover him with the throw blankets that you always keep in the living room. You practically tuck him in. Just before you withdraw, you impulsively smooth his hair back and press a kiss to his forehead. Something in your heart tells you that he could use the comforting gesture. 

You pull away, satisfied that he’ll make it through the night and that you will be able to get some food into him in the morning. Just as you turn to leave to start cleaning up the mess that has been left in the wake of his arrival, you’re brought to a halt. Six’s fingers are wrapped around your wrist just long enough to make you pause before he lets go. 

“Thank you,” he says, muffled against the pillow.

Your face softens and you feel the corners of your lips rise in a smile. “You’re welcome."

[danime25]

Silent Night

ao3 //normal masterlist // christmas masterlist

*Summary: Lars and his real girl go to a Christmas party hosted by one of his coworkers

*Rating: +18 for explicit mature content

*Content/Tags: Semi-public blowjob, female dom aspects, orgasm control, holiday party

*Status: Oneshot/Complete

“Welcome!” His coworker greeted the couple standing in the entryway, “Oh this must be the girl you’ve been talking about at work! Lars has said so much about you.”

“Only good things, I hope.” She giggled, hiding her smile behind the back of her hand. Lars looked at his girlfriend with a smile and nodded

“Well come on in.” Their host motioned for them to come in. They walk into the entryway and Lars takes their coats, throwing them into the convenient pile next to the door. She pressed a hand against his back firmly. While the host and her husband walked back into the living room she whispered into Lars ear,

“You remember our rules Lars?”

“Yes.” He shivered

“Good. Let me hear them.”

“I’m yours. I only listen to you.”

“Yes.” She bit the bottom of her lip as he said it in neediest borderline whiny voice

“I can’t react.”

“Yes.”

“I’m subservient to you.”

“Such a good boy.” Her hand works its way underneath his hair and over his ear. She pulled a tiny remote from out of her purse and discreetly pressed the power button. Lars crossed his feet as the toy inside of him slowly pulsed away. It was too slow to really get him worked up, but he knew it’d be uncomfortable for him when she flipped it any higher. “Let’s go have some fun now, okay?”

“Yes dear,” He replied, pressing his lips onto her forehead. With a gentle graze of her hand across his cheek, he wrapped his arm around her back and began to introduce her around the party.

“I’m going to get us a drink, okay?” She broke away from him and flicked the vibrator up two levels. She looked over her shoulder carefully and saw the way that Lars squirmed as he tried to finish his thought. She grinned as she heard his voice catch in the back of his throat, and poured herself a cup of the communal punch. She came back and handed a beer off to Lars who thanked her quietly. She leaned up against Lars, making him shift again to open his stance up a little bit more. His arm hooked back around her and his fingers dug into her side as she “accidentally” turned the vibrator up one more setting. “Did you want some food, love?”

“I’m fine.” His teeth were gritted as he tried to say those words. “You get something if you need to.”

“Okay.” She smiled and kissed his cheek, “I’ll go in a moment.”

“Okay.” He went to sit down at the side of the room. Just somewhere he could get away with letting his eyes roll to the back of his head and suppress a moan. She stood over him and feigned concern for his condition. He crossed his legs and took a sip from the can. He looked at the can and jittered a bit.

“You’re not doing a very good job.” She whispered, “You want to cum when we get home, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He bit down on his lip

“Then act like it.”

“Okay.” He stood back up and she turned it up again for him. He desperately resisted the urge to rut against the wall. She saw the sweat starting to collect at his hairline and smiled as she kissed him. His lips quivered ever so lightly as she broke the contact. He needed more of her. She still had at least two more levels to go up on the vibrator before she got tired of toying with Lars, but Lars couldn’t focus on anything but his need to have her hands roaming all over his body. Her touch. Her breath swept along his skin. He whimpered and felt himself start to leak into his boxers. His eyes went wide and tried to think of something chaste to make sure he didn’t displease her.

“Oh honey.” She rubbed his back, “You normally last so much longer, but I guess you couldn’t help yourself.”

“I couldn’t…” He whined

“Let’s get back to the car.” She moaned into his ear and he practically ran to grab their coats. She made the rounds across the party to apologize, and said Lars just wasn’t feeling too well. He wrapped her coat around her shoulders and they said a quick ‘bye’ to the host. He walked down the steps leading to the driveway and she turned it up one more level as he made a dash to the car. He unlocked the door to the back and she slid in next to him. Her hand rested in the center of his lap as she leaned in to give his cheek a quick peck. She playfully palmed his bulge in the jeans just to see how close he was to cumming. He let out a grunt and bucked up into her hand. She smiled and slowly unzipped his fly, letting his cock pop out of his pants. She lowered herself so her mouth could wrap around his dick. The warmth of her mouth made him pull on her hair as her head bobbed up and down and back again. He leaned back against the seat more and bucked his hips up carefully. She used her hands to keep his body down, and looked up at him. From the way his moans kept getting broken by needy breaths, she knew he was close. She kept at her current tempo until Lars threw his head back and moaned as he felt a bead of cum drip from his dick and onto her tongue. She swallowed every last drop until Lars was soft again. She pulled away, laid her head on his shoulder and rested a hand over Lars’ belly. He carefully zipped himself back up before wrapping his arms tightly around her.

“Love you Lars.” She smiled

“Love you too.” He kissed her head and fixed her hair, turning it into a beautiful waterfall across his sweater. He kissed her head once more before letting his eyes flutter shut. She’d probably have to drive the two of them home, but he felt safe with her.

[theghostpinesmusic]

Ahead of their looming summer tour, Goose posted one last (?) video from the April Capitol Theatre run the other day: "Tumble" from 4/10. As I've written about before, I like "Tumble" a lot as a song, both in its "fast" and "slow" arrangements, but even longer versions of the tune tend to stretch out into dance-party territory rather than exploring heretofore unplumbed Depths Of Jam. But hey, this is Cotter's first live-concert "Tumble" and it's twenty-four minutes long: how better to put off doing actual work for another hour than listening to this again and writing words about it?

Unlike the version of "Tumble" from Goosemas X, this version is decidedly the "fast" arrangement all the way through. It's a pretty standard reading of the composed section, all told, though it's always fun to watch Peter make those super-quick transitions from guitar to keys and back again. The minor-key, "Stash"-y parts of the tune feel a bit more percussion-focused than they used to be, which is cool. Also, I think but am not sure that Peter is playing Ezra Koenig's guitar during this set (Ezra and two other members of Vampire Weekend would join Goose on stage later in the night).

The song finishes and moves into jam territory at 5:17 (literally punctuated by that loud-ass smoke machine again). Sometimes there'll be a little noodling around on the song's closing chords next, but here we immediately drop into a super-funky two-guitar jam. I love hearing Rick and Peter play off of each other in situations like this. It's nice of Peter to come out from behind the keys for a face-to-face showdown. The fact that he then proceeds to hide behind Cotter's kit for awhile is just extra fun. During Peter's little road trip, some give-and-take between Rick and Trevor develops and it is also pretty, pretty cool.

I really dig Rick's tone around the 9:00 mark, especially shortly after when he starts repeating that little ascending riff.

For my money, the quality, variety, and control of his tone has suddenly vastly improved since 2023. For what it's worth, I'm not at all on the whole "the new guitar/new amp SUCKS" bandwagon that's formed since he made some big gear changes in late '22 and then in April '23. Sometimes I'm in the mood for the old PRS sound and sometimes the DeLuis sound really works better for me but, ultimately, it's all gravy as far as I'm concerned (fun fact, though: I was in attendance for the last PRS show and the first DeLuis show, both at the Warfield). That said, I think they both had their downsides: the PRS often struggled to cut through the mix and to differentiate itself from Peter's guitar especially, and the DeLuis had a tendency to overwhelm the rest of the band (especially live as opposed to over livestreams or on SBD recordings). Recently, though, it looks to me like in addition to whatever other changes he's made, Rick's now playing through two Fender Deluxe Twin Reverb amps and they sound wonderful to me. To be fair, the Twin Reverb is also the amp that I own and play through 95% of the time, so I may be biased. But goddamn, it sounds good.

Anyway, self-indulgent guitar tone digression over!

I thought the light rig for the Cap run was a little...weird? But at moments like 9:20 it really shines. I mean, literally but also figuratively.

Rick's fuzzier, more aggressive tone finally pushes the whole band to pull back a bit starting at 10:10, and we get this really rhythm-heavy space anchored by a repeating figure that he keeps playing on guitar. Trevor sounds fantastically growly here.

Ultimately, this darker space serves a transition to something a bit more upbeat but also more ethereal, and by 11:00 we're fully enmeshed in it. Peter moves to the Vibe shortly after, which feels like both the obvious and perfect choice.

Also, by the 12:00 mark I take back every negative thing I've ever said about this light setup.

One of the things that this more patient "New Goose" has brought to a lot of their jams is using that patience to fully explore some of these more almost-ambient but delicate, gorgeous spaces. It's not that the band didn't have the capacity to do this before Cotter or something: one of my all-time favorite jams of theirs is the "Borne" from 4/25/23 in Eugene, and it's a quintessential example of the form, in my opinion. But this sort of improvisation seems to come more easily to the band in 2024: there are a few great examples from Ted Tapes 2024, one or two examples from those YouTube "Gemini" jams, the "Borne" and "Chateau Jam" from The Chateau Sessions do it a bit, and even though I've been mostly covering the more raucous jams from the Cap run, there are other examples besides this "Tumble" from there as well.

Anyway, it's great. It feels like spaces like this one really pull out Rick's jazz influences, a facet of his playing that I feel often gets lost when the band is just crushing peak after peak. The bit that starts at 13:00 in particular is a great example of this. Also, Cotter is just super fun to watch play (13:40 or so for an example).

Anyway, the jazzgasm finally comes to an end at 16:12 with a super smooth segue into something that initially sounds a bit like Deodato's "2001"/"Also Sprach Zarathustra." Not a huge stretch, I suppose, as the band covered that tune as recently as...2019, I think? I'm gonna be lazy and not look it up for once.

Rick continues being completely on fire for this section, looping a melody around and around and back on itself for a minute or two before transitioning into some funk chording. The chording meshes really well with the staccato stuff that Peter starts laying down on the Vibe, and Cotter's cymbal-centric playing is a great background for it all.

Rick busts back into solo mode at 19:50 with a very Allman Bros. tone, and Pete shifts over to the organ. Here, Trevor takes a bit more of a forward role, and, well, if you wanted some peak jamming in your "Tumble," this is your time.

Holy crap, there is this bit at 21:15 where Rick is just noodling away and Trevor is utterly destroying the building by alternating between two notes, and it's fantastic.

We get a classic bit of unhinged tension injected into the jam at 22:00 and emerge on the other side in the key of "Tumble" again, and then at 23:00 the band brings it home with the ending of the song proper.

Okay, so that was way better than I remembered, and certainly not a "typical" version of the tune. This is why I love revisiting these things!

Also, I definitely have to go work now.

One more Phish jam for y'all next time, and that'll likely be the last for awhile as Goose fully takes over my music-listening life until June 30th.

[drivinmeinsane]

Thank you for the tag! I have quite a few WIPS, especially with things temporarily on hold for a holiday drabble collection... Whoops.

12 Days of Goosemas: Drabble Collection 5 Times Ken Called Driver His Boyfriend: Driver x Ken Doll Dissection Day (Dead Dove): Ken x Reader Face Surfing: Colt x Reader Finger that Wound (Dead Dove): Driver x Reader Forgive Me: Six x Reader Gladiator: Holland x Healy Get that Fick (fish dick): Holland x Healy Groping on the Beach: Colt x Reader History Repeats Itself: Driver x Reader I Know What You Are: Driver x Reader I Want You to be the One (Dead Dove): Henry x Sam Let's go Catch a Killer: Holland x Healy License and Registration: Driver x Reader Mirror: K x Six Put on a Show (Yikes): Seb x Reader Sequel to I do Nothing but Think of You (mutual stalking): Driver x Reader Sorry I Almost Hit You with my Car: Driver x Ken You Won't Resuscitate: K x David Loki Wild Country Final Chapter: Six x Reader

I never know who to tag so let it be my partner in crime, @danime25.

Thanks so much for tagging me @savageandwise

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Madferit: The Novel

1. Chapter 154

LMPYITP: The Random Passages

1. Currently Untitled but could possibly be called Dear Sir or Madam, Will You Read My Book…

2. I Said, “Stand Up! Don’t Sit Back Down!”

Patience

1. Chapter 2

This was a lot of fun to do!

I tag (with no pressure to do this of course) @waketheewitch @headshrinker94 @heresthestorymorningglory @liamgallgherlover

[drivinmeinsane]

Snowstorm ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Ten ※ Colt Seavers / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: You and Colt discover that some gambles don't pay off.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Cuddling for Warmth, Ill-advised Winter Safety Practices, Fluff/Humor

※ Word count: 1998

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Despite your layers, you’re shivering enough that your teeth feel like they’re going to rattle right out of your skull. It’s hard to imagine that the weather is going to take a turn for the worse when it’s already cold enough in the warehouse that everyone’s breath is visible in front of their faces. This far north by the Great Lakes is always a gamble this time of year. This movie production is certainly not winning the lottery. 

“Alright crew, let's wrap this up,” calls the team lead. 

Everyone picks up speed, finishing their tasks so they can separate into pairs and small groups to carpool back to their temporary housing. Automatically, you gravitate towards Colt. The two of you have been working off and on together for years on various movie sets. Being around him comes as easily and naturally as breathing. It was a massive relief when you were assigned to share an airbnb for the couple months you’re going to be spending here. 

“This sucks, huh?” You comment, helping him to roll up an impact mat. 

He laughs, breath clouding the air. “Yeah, it super sucks.”

The rest of the crew files out while the two of you work, alternating between sweating and freezing. Securing all the impact mats for storage is a miserable task, but it gets done. The building is empty aside from Colt and you. 

The stunt guy straightens up, groaning as his back loudly pops. “Ready to bounce on outta here?”

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

At the door, the two of you take the time to adjust your layers. Colt wraps your scarf around your head teasingly after offering to help you put it on. You give him a scathing look between the layers of material before you break and the two of you start laughing. Colt is wiping at his eyes, still chuckling a little, when you shove the door open. 

The cold air immediately tears right through your clothes. The hollow thud and click of the door closing and locking behind you both sounds ominous. Colt offers his arm to you and you take it, resigning yourself to the weather conditions. The snow is coming down heavily, making it difficult to see across the sprawling parking. 

Your Lord of the Rings worthy journey to Colt’s truck starts out easily enough, until you wipe out on a snow-covered patch of ice. If it wasn’t for the death grip you have on each other's arms, you would bust your ass right then and there. Instead, you and Colt end up doing a weird dance to try to stay upright. 

“Maybe we should consider a career in couples ice skating. Maybe retire from the stunts biz.” Colt suggests, breathing heavily from the unexpected exertion.

“Toddler level, maybe,” you grumble back, foot skidding again. You hate the fact that the stunt crew has to park clear out of the way on the very fringes of the parking lot. 

You risk a glance at your coworker. His gaze is focused intently on the ground. Snowflakes are collecting in his beard and in his shaggy hair, making his blue eyes appear even bluer. After what feels like an age of taking minuscule steps across a frozen wasteland, you finally spot his garishly colored truck through the snow. You’ve never been happier to see the yellow and brown eyesore. 

Colt helps you up into the passenger seat. Once you're settled, he pushes his tuck keys into your hand. You pass him the windshield scraper in return. It was a new purchase after having to use the airbnb’s dustpan the first morning the two of you had walked out to the vehicle to find it under a thick layer of snow. 

“Start her for me?”

Mumbling an affirmative, you lean over and slot the key into the ignition switch and twist. The truck sparks to life with a smooth rumble. Meanwhile, Colt skirts around the edge of the vehicle. He’s scraping at the windshield, chiseling the packed snow in sheets. He suddenly slips, hitting his sternum on the truck’s grille guard. Upon seeing your horrified expression through the cleared glass, he flashes you a thumbs up and a grimace. You give him the same in return.

Working faster now, he finishes the windshield and makes sure that the side windows and mirrors are clear. He knocks the scraper clean before opening the door and heaving himself into the truck. The stunt man tosses it at your feet onto the already cluttered floorboard. The cold air that followed him into the cab does neither of you any favors.

“You think we’re good, Colt?” You ask, watching him pull off his gloves and tuck them into his sun visor for safekeeping.

“Hope so. If it doesn't get worse we should be fine,” he says with a shrug only to yelp when his bare hands come in contact with the steering wheel. “Shit, that’s cold!”

With the heat on full blast, Colt backs out of the parking lot and then you’re off to the airbnb. He handles the truck expertly. While not used to driving in what is essentially a blizzard, the man has done enough crazy stunts to keep from skidding all over the road. That and his monstrosity of a vehicle with its sizable off-roading tires makes the trip go a little easier. 

“Colt…” You say, worried. The weather is getting worse, much worse. The truck is struggling to maintain traction.

“Yeah, I know, sweetheart.” Both of you are so glued to the increasingly limited visibility and heavier snowfall that neither of you acknowledge the unintentional endearment Colt lets slip.

Spotting a ihop coming up, he makes the choice to pull into the empty lot. There’s no way he’s going to be able to push through. The weather is just too bad for his vehicle. The restaurant is clearly closed. This isn’t the southern part of the United States where there’s a Waffle House around to keep its doors open no matter the situation.

“There’s no way a tow truck is going to be able to get out here, is there?” You comment rhetorically. 

Beside you, Colt groans when he can’t get reception on his cell phone. “Looks like we’re going to be here until the plows come through. Might be in the morning.”

You sigh and settle into your seat. Both of your phone batteries are too low to risk running them down by idly scrolling through old saved pictures. It’s going to be a long night. 

To pass the time, you decide to lean over and rummage through the pile of trash and receipts on the floorboard. Like his apartment, he does not keep his truck clean or organized. You spend the next couple hours going through his receipts and judging him for his purchases. It’s mostly “Another Bonsai tree?” and “Just how much do you love this fast food place?” while your best friend does his damndest to defend himself as though he’s in front of an imaginary jury. 

Eventually, the light fades too much to see the small text. Colt has long since turned off the truck. As the sun dips below the horizon, it gets colder in the cab. 

You shiver and Colt notices. “C’mere.”

You slide across the bench seat and underneath his offered arm. He’s warm but the meager contact is too scant to do much. You seem to take turns shivering against one another. 

“It’s a shame we don’t have a tauntaun,” he says suddenly. 

You turn your face into the side of his chest to smother a groan at the reference. “I’d give anything for a hot drink right now.”

Colt makes a sound in agreement and slides down in his seat, struggling to get comfortable. His knee hits the steering wheel and you feel his pained exhale. “Yeah, I would too.”

A particularly vicious wind tears over the truck. It feels like it bypasses the layers of barely insulated metal entirely. The two of you clutch at each other in response. The lack of light isn’t helping it feel any warmer or cozier. Snow has entirely covered the windshield and the windows are fogged up from your breath and body heat. 

“I’ll turn on the truck for a sec to run the heater, but then I guess we oughta try to get some sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You don’t separate when Colt turns the key. The warm air is luxurious against your cold face. You nearly shove your fingers into the vent. He turns the truck off once you’re both sufficiently warmed. Now comes the difficult part, navigating where to put your bodies for sleep. The temperature has ruined any semblance of personal space. 

“Wanna be on top?” 

“If you insist on bottoming, stunt guy.”

“Oh, I always insist.”

Nearly hitting your head on the cab’s roof, you manage to shove yourself off of the bench seat enough for Colt to wedge himself into the short space. You can barely make out his shape. His hands find you and he guides you on top of himself. He hisses sharply and puts a hand over your kneecap when you graze it dangerously close to his crotch. 

“I don't have plans for kids any time soon, but I’d like to keep my options open,” he jokes.

Finally, you are settled on top of him. It’s incredibly uncomfortable for both of you. He’s got his knees drawn up, shins against the door. Your left knee is wedged between his hip and the seat as you lay with your cheek on his shoulder. His arms are up and around you. Yours are tucked alongside his torso with your hands under his shoulders. You feel like a pair of pretzels.

You lay in silence, listening to the winter storm outside. Both of you start to shiver again.

“I know it’s silly but-”

“This sucks so-” you accidentally start at the same time. “Go ahead,” you encourage. 

You hear him swallow. He seems stiff, nervous all of a sudden. “I know it’s silly, but uh… skin to skin contact works. With us both wearing jackets we can’t share body heat as well. So maybe if we… Wow, I promise I’m not trying to come onto you.”

“Okay.” You say gently.  

Sitting up in his lap, his hands fall from your back to the sides of your hips. You unzip your jacket. You’re instantly colder. Underneath you, you feel Colt’s breath hitch and pick up the pace. You put your hands on his amble chest and find his coat zipper and tug it down. His fingers twitch, but they don’t make any move to stop you. You push his shirt up over his pectorals, all the way to his neck. You don’t touch his bare skin with your fingers. His hands find the hem of your shirt and together you draw it up to your collarbone. Both of you are bared in the truck cabin. 

The man leaves you holding your shirt in place while his hands move to your back. He guides you into laying down on top of him. Your friend sucks in a breath and exhales slowly as inch by inch you make contact. Your bare skin colliding is sinfully warm. 

You sigh into his neck, resisting the urge to press a kiss against it even as the stubble of his jaw grazes your face. He pulls his jacket up and over you as much as he can. His hold on you is tight, comforting. The direct contact of his body provides much more heat than between the layers. You’re not as cold as you were before. 

“Heck of a holiday season, huh?” You mumble, already beginning to drift off.

Colt hums in agreement. Before you slip entirely under into the oblivion of sleep, you swear you feel a kiss pressed to your forehead and a low “Sweet dreams.” that rumbles against your chest.

[goosemas]

2024 Goosemas Collection - Sierra Six - 512 x 512 icons

[goosemas]

Happy winter, everyone! Welcome to the 12 Days of Goosemas event for 2024. I had enough fun with this concept last year that I have decided to offer it up in a free-to-participate format this year.

As with the year prior, this will be collections of 12 works pertaining to characters played by Ryan Gosling. Not all of these works may necessarily be Christmas themed, but all the provided prompts are intended to be set in the month of December and have some seasonal vibes!

❅ The Prompts ❅

Day One ❆ { Miracle } Day Two ❆ { Stranded } Day Three ❆ { Family } Day Four ❆ { Joy } Day Five ❆ { Lights } Day Six ❆ { Alone } Day Seven ❆ { Tradition } Day Eight ❆ { Snow } Day Nine ❆ { Mistletoe } Day Ten ❆ { Warmth } Day Eleven ❆ { Meal } Day Twelve ❆ { Gift } * Day Thirteen ❆ { Free Space }

❆ Goosemas is a twelve day event celebrating Ryan Gosling and the characters that he has played. The event spans from December 13 to December 24th. There is a thirteenth optional day (noted as "Free Space") for those who would like to share their self-prompted work on Christmas day.

❅ Information ❅

❆ All works must be centralized on characters played by Ryan Gosling and (at least loosely) follow the provided prompts to be part of the 12 Days of Goosemas event.

❆ Any medium is allowed. While fanfictions might be main focus; art, edits, and other form of creativity is welcomed. AI generated content is not.

❆ Despite the name of the event, the works that you create during the 12 Days of Goosemas do not need to be "Christmas related" in the traditional sense. You are welcome to incorporate the winter holiday you celebrate or to turn the prompt into a winter situation/activity if holidays celebrations aren't your thing.

❆ To be featured (have your post reblogged to the event page), be sure to put @goosemas in your post and/or throw a #goosemas2024 in the tags.

❆ This event is managed by @drivinmeinsane (Bee). Feel free to reach out with any questions, concerns, and comments.

[drivinmeinsane]

Hot Chocolate ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day One ※ Officer K / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: It has taken months of trading and seeking but you finally have all the ingredients for a special surprise just in time for the winter holiday.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: K survives, Fluff, Established Relationship, Generic Winter Holiday

※ Word count: 1480

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Gnawing on your lip, you examine the careful line up of ingredients on the counter in front of you. Cocoa powder, honey from K’s bees, salt, milk, vanilla extract, and marshmallows. All real, not fabricated, and painstakingly collected. You’re all too aware of the cost of the items. Everything has to be perfect and it has to rely on your faded memories of a paper recipe card from your childhood. It, along with the rest of the recipe cards in your family’s possession, had eventually been used as tinder for a fire. You sigh, more of a growl than a quiet exhalation of air. 

“I told you not to fuss,” K says from the other room, his voice gradually getting louder as he comes to stand in the doorway. He leans on the frame, finger marking his place in the paperback he’s holding.

You look over at him and are about to lean to block his line of sight to your kitchen project when you realize that his eyes are solely focused on you. Warmth bubbles up in your chest. “And I asked you to stay on the couch.”

He shrugs, unbothered. You approach him, knowing that he will be a silent observer until he gets a scrap of attention. K never asks for it directly. You’re barely to him before the replicant extends his arms and pulls you to his broad chest. You encircle his waist and find comfort in his warmth. Heat is a rarity this time of year. Central heat belongs only to the wealthy. He allows you to turn the two of you so his back is to the kitchen and to the surprise that you’re so worried about. Thankful for his patience, you press a kiss against his collarbone where the neck of his shirt has loosened up enough with age to expose it. K shivers and his arms tighten around your body, but one of his hands comes up to cradle the side of your face. His fingertips gently trace the shell of your ear.

“What are you working on, sweetheart?”

“It’s a surprise,” you say, closing your eyes contentedly.

K is all but petting you. His fingers leave trails of heat in their wake as they course new paths over your skin. The weight of his gaze bores into you, equally heated. He always looks at you like he cannot believe you’re present, tangible, able to to be touched. Filled with regret, you extract yourself from his embrace. His hand lingers, sliding across your jaw as you take a step back to gain much needed distance. If you weren’t careful, you would spend the rest of the holiday in his arms. Not a bad thing, but you want to give him even a small token of your affection in the form of a new experience. You’ve spent many hours discussing the flavors of different foods with him. He had been limited to the tasteless, synthetically produced excuse for food from his inception date to the time Deckard gathered his body off the stairs outside Satelline Labs.

Catching his free hand as it falls from your face, you give it a firm squeeze that he returns, careful to not crush your considerably more fragile bones in his grasp. His eyes are darting, examining every facet of your features. You bring his hand to your lips and give it a soft kiss across the scarred knuckles before letting it go.

“I won’t be long, honey. Put something festive on?”

He nods, relieved to have a task. You retreat back to the kitchen while he starts to flip through the collection of records that you and K have slowly been building together since he came into your life all those months ago. As with most of the objects in your shared home, they were scavenged from defunct buildings or traded for.

Turning on the burner, you place a pan with milk on the slowly heating element. You let the milk reach a near simmer before turning it off and slowly add the cocoa powder and salt to the liquid. You whisk it thoroughly, breaking up any clumps, and stir in the vanilla extract and then a reasonable dollop of honey. You scoop up a little bit into a spoon, blow on it, and sample. You add another pinch of cocoa powder before gathering up a second shallow spoonful and having checking it again. It tastes good, real.

From the other room, you hear music start to play. It sounds like the opening notes to Jingle Bells. You smile. Of course he chose the Frank Sinatra album. 

You move the pan to a potholder on the counter and take a mug down from the cupboard. You’re careful when pouring the hot chocolate into it, not wanting to waste a single drop. It is just enough to fill the mug with a finger’s width of space left for the marshmallows. You pick up the pillowy shapes with your fingers and gently deposit them on the surface. They float on top of the concoction like the seabirds you and K saw over the edge of the sea wall during a calm morning not so long ago.

Before making your way to the living room, you pick up the mug. Its chipped porcelain is warm against your knuckles when they brush against the side of it. K is sitting on the couch, drumming his fingers on his knee. He’s watching the record leisurely spin.

“Honey,” you say, coming to a stop in front of him.

He looks up at you with a crooked smile. “Darling.”

“Happy Holiday,” you say, offering him the still steaming mug, “Here. Be careful. It’s hot.”

The replicant takes it from you with a steady hand. He peers curiously into the vessel and pokes at one of the marshmallows with an exploratory finger. “What did you make?”

“Hot chocolate,” you tell him.

K brings the mug to his face, inhaling the scent deeply. He presses his lips to the edge of the cup and takes a pull. He doesn’t swallow right away and insteads lets the hot chocolate sit in his mouth for a brief moment, savoring the flavor. His eyes slip closed when he swallows but when he opens them, he looks dazzled. He rushes to take another drink of it. 

“Thank you,” he says once he has swallowed the second sip.

“Anything for you.”

The former LAPD officer reaches out with the hand not holding the mug and draws you to him, not standing. You come to rest on your knees between his spread legs. He leans forward and tips your head up with a still calloused hand, once from a firearm, now from farming a few select crops and tending to bees. You meet his gaze and hook your arms around the outsides of his thighs. You’re waiting for him to make the next move and he doesn’t disappoint.

He leans over further and presses a kiss to your mouth. His lips are hot against your own, and he tastes of sugar and chocolate. You can’t help but brush your tongue against the seam of his lips, swiping your tongue against his when he willingly opens for you. You’re fighting to not pant into his mouth and instead force yourself to withdraw, consoling yourself by sucking on his bottom lip. His grip on your chin tights slightly, just on the edge of too tight. He pulls away. You rise onto your knees to chase after him but he sits up just enough that you can’t capture his mouth in another kiss 

His blue eyes scan your face, tenderness etched onto his features. His lips are kiss-swollen and glossy. “What can I do for you?”

“Read to me?” You ask. You get to your feet, using his sturdy legs as an aid. You take a seat on the couch next to him.

“Such a simple request, sweetheart,” he says softly, picking up the book he was holding when he sought you out earlier. He shows the cover to you and you nod your approval before shifting so that you’re pressed against his side. You are all but curled up in his lap. 

K puts one arm around you, holding you close. His body temperature runs slightly higher than yours and you sigh into the warmth of him. He parts the pages of the book with his free hand. The book is splayed open on his knee. He seeks out the first page and upon finding it, he begins to speak.

“‘And still I dream he treads the lawn, Walking ghostly in the dew, Pierced by my glad singing through,’” K reads steadily. The soft tones of the album playing on the restored record intertwine with his voice. He reads long after the needle reaches the end, long after you’ve dozed off against him.

[drivinmeinsane]

Winter Break ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Three ※ Henry Letham / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: During winter break, Henry decides to take you to meet his parents for the first time.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Hurt/Comfort. Self Harm Scars Mentioned, Canon Divergence - Henry Lives, College Student!Reader, Not Entirely Reliable Narrator, Established Relationship

※ Word count: 1924

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

There is a repetitive sound in the room when you wake up, the dry rasping of graphite over paper. You know without looking that Henry is beside you on the bed. The weight of his observing stare pins you in place like a physical touch. You’re sure that he has likely been sketching you for a while. One of his hands reaches out to adjust the way the blanket drapes over your body.

You peer at the clock resting on the floor beside the mattress, staying still while he manipulates the cloth however he wants. It is already past noon. Usually, the both of you would be on campus by now, but winter break allows for small luxuries. No early morning and a lull in assignments feels almost decadent. 

“Good morning,” you say, fighting to speak through your yawn.

“‘Morning,” Henry returns, closing his sketchbook in favor of giving you a less remote kind of attention. He drops it onto the floor before sliding back under the covers to wrap an arm around your waist. You trace the spaces between the cigarette burns on his forearm as though you are an ancient astronomer mapping the constellations.

Just when you are on the cusp of falling back asleep, Henry speaks. His breath blows hot against your shoulder. “I guess we ought to get going, huh?”

You sigh in response, knowing that he is not wrong. There are only so many hours of daylight left and the two of you need to squeeze in a visit to his parents today. You have never met them before and Henry wants to make the trip to go see them, complete with something cooked at home.

Electing to officially start the day Henry rolls away and gets to his feet. You do the same, following him to the living room. While he steps out for a brief smoke, you beeline to the kitchen to start gathering up the ingredients. You are just setting the carton of eggs on the counter when he comes back inside and wedges himself next to you in the narrow space. He immediately starts helping by peeling and grating the potatoes while you dice the onions. Henry heats up a frying pan of oil on the stove, and you set to mixing the shredded potatoes, onion, flour, and eggs together. He begins frying the mixture after dropping sizable dollops of it into the pan. He doesn’t flinch when beads of hot oil hit his bare arm, just watches the food fry with a pair of tongs in his hand. 

As he keeps a close eye on the cooking process, you silently check in with him by running a hand down the knobs of his spine. He nods in response, letting you know he is alright for now. Slightly more at ease, you ready a plate with a folded paper towel and set it on the counter by the stovetop. You do the same with a tupperware container. It will help to drain the excess oil off of the latkes as he takes them out of the frying pan and when you move them off the plate for transport.

He and his mom had made them together every year while his dad busied himself with setting up the chessboard for a lengthy post-dinner game. Henry told you the previous day that it would not feel right to visit empty handed. A last minute dash to the grocery store following that conversation had helped put today’s plan in motion.

You observe him while he cooks, your hands itching for a pen and a piece of paper. Henry is the kind of person that makes you want to write about him, to let endless streams of consciousness flow onto a page. Those feelings made a home in you ever since you saw him hunched over his sketchbook on the floor in between classes. The two of you had quietly observed each other for weeks until you had finally approached him when you needed a partner for an assignment in your only shared class that semester. He had been shy and withdrawn, not at all like he is with you now. 

Coming out of your musings, you move to your partner’s side and begin transferring the latkes. Henry turns the burner off and sets the pan on another to cool down when he scoops up the last of them with the tongs. Now that the cooking is out of the way, the two of you get ready together. You do not dare to leave Henry alone right now, not when he is so vulnerable. Like a stubborn shadow, you will be stuck to his side for the foreseeable future. Thankfully, the next semester is a couple more weeks away. 

With a few hours of daylight left, you both get into Henry’s inherited SUV. He shoves a Radiohead CD into the player almost immediately after starting the vehicle, not able to bear the ambient silence right now. He turns the dial so that it is low enough to be considered background noise. You’re just able to hear the opening lyrics to Airbag over the sound of the vehicle. The tupperware container in your lap is hot, almost burning you through your pants during the start of the half hour drive to New Jersey. The chessboard and its pieces rattle noisily in their case on the back floorboard. The drive is mostly filled with conversation about an upcoming literature class that you will both be attending for the spring semester. Since you first met in freshman year, you have tried to share one class a semester. It gives the two of you something to look forward to during the day.

It is not until you are only a streetlight away from the destination when your nerves finally get the best of you. You turn to your boyfriend with a sheepish smile. “I’m a little nervous,” you admit.

“Don’t be. Mom and Dad are gonna love you. Promise.” He takes his hand off of the Ford Exploror’s steering wheel and offers you his pinky.

You hook yours around his and yelp as he clamps his finger onto it and draws your hand down towards his knee. He lets you go as soon as you make contact with the top of his thigh. You press your palm into the meat of it. The gnarled scar tissue arching across the top of it is apparent even through the material of his pants. You idly trace your fingers over the ridges, soothing you both with the repetitive motion. 

“We’ve got three minutes until we pull up. You’re gonna be fine.” He laughs a little and drums his hands on the steering wheel to the music playing on the radio. “Bet you would steal the title for favorite family member.”

You feel tears sting your eyes and you squeeze his leg. “Unlikely. I’ve heard you talk about them a lot. You’re their boy, Henry. That doesn’t change.”

The other college student just nods. Mahlus Gardens is just ahead on the left and flipping the signal on, he makes the turn through the gate onto the narrow drive. He leans forward, scanning for the right lot. Upon locating it, he slows to a stop. He angles the tires and pulls the parking brake. You sit in silence before he steels himself and unbuckles your seatbelt, letting the material start sliding across your chest. He undoes his as well and drops out of the SUV. He loops around to your side and pulls the door open before you can reach the handle. He skims a fingertip over the bridge of your nose and steps back to let you stand at his side so he can close the door. He snags the chess set out of the back before taking your hand. 

Together, you walk through the grass. One of your hands holding Henry’s and the other carrying the tupperware container. Finally Henry finds the right spot and comes to a stop. Beside you, he takes a shaky breath and lets go of your hand to drop into a squat. You kneel beside him.

“Mom, Dad, this is my partner. ‘Thought we'd stop by. The first night of Chanukah is tonight, and I…” He breaks off, almost curling into himself. You pick up the conversation in his stead.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Letham. It’s nice to meet you.” At your side, you hear Henry let out a small sob and swipe at his face. You put your hand on his back and rub it soothingly. “You’ve raised a wonderful son.”

You both sit on the lawn across from one another and settle in. You place the tupperware in the middle and Henry takes out two latkes and places them side by side in front of the family gravemarker. Henry sets up for a game of chess. As you play, you eat despite neither of you having much of an appetite. The food is comforting though, enough so that Henry manages to relax. He tells stories about his childhood, filling in for his parents, embarrassing stories and all. In return, you talk about how the two of you met. You share some of the best moments you have had with their son. It is bittersweet. An ache settles in your chest.

Once the sun is finally starting to tap the horizon, Henry calls a close to the match, you’ve been locked in a stalemate for the last half of it anyway. Your fingers brush as you jointly put away the game. He stands and dusts his pants off before offering you a hand up. You allow him to help you to your feet. Before making the journey back to the vehicle, Henry rests his hand on the stone for a moment. 

“Bye, Mom, Dad.” He makes no promises to be back. 

You are the one who drives back to the apartment. Henry looks out the window the entire time, biting at the sides of his fingers. He looks wrung out, on the cusp of screaming or crying. Maybe both. There is a reason you both had decided to save the visit until the break. Going to class and managing emotions would have been difficult. This is Henry’s first Chanukah without his parents. There was no way of knowing that the previous one would end up being the last.

You put the Explorer in park once you pull into the crowded parking lot of your apartment complex and tap his arm. He follows you to the door, emotionally exhausted. The tupperware container goes in the fridge and once you vacate the kitchen, you meet Henry at the window. The Shamash is in his hand as he looks down at his family menorah. It was one of the only things he had kept that belonged to his family. It was passed down through his father’s side for generations. You had painstakingly helped him clean and polish it the night before, a task he and his dad used to do together every December.

Once at his side, you pick up the lighter resting on the window ledge next to the menorah. You flick the wheel. It lights in a smooth motion, flame steady. You offer it to Henry. He tilts the candle and holds the wick in the fire until it ignites. You stand at his side in silent support as he wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue. He shakily starts to recite the blessings, tears running down his face.

[drivinmeinsane]

Decorating ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Six ※ Sebastian Wilder / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: You and Seb reach a compromise when it comes to the holiday season at the jazz club.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Established relationship, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Gratuitous Christmas Vibes

※ Word count: 1434

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Leaning a little too far out to weave in the string lights between the branches of the Christmas tree that you’re decorating, you feel the step ladder wobble precariously under your feet. A hand immediately presses against your lower stomach to steady you before it’s joined by a second one on your hip. The top step of the ladder is not the most secure place to be.

“Careful,” Seb says, sounding tense.

“I’m almost done,” you say in the effort to reassure him. You tuck the end of the plug amongst the needles of the tree, right against the trunk.

Satisfied that no one will be able to see it, you call the precarious job finished and take a step down onto the rung below. Sebastian does not take his hands off of you. You know he won’t be satisfied until you are off the stepladder entirely. Looking down at him, you can’t resist brushing your fingers over his hair. It’s loose, not yet gelled since it’s only the two of you here. He’s in a loose shirt and comfortable pants. The jazz enthusiast is soft and approachable like this, not the serious, buttoned up pianist in a tasteful suit. He won’t be until much later. The club doesn’t open until 6 tonight, and it’s not even quite noon yet. The two of you have plenty of time to get everything ready. 

Christmas music plays quietly in the background. You had insisted on bringing your old CD player and a stack of holiday disks to the club for this decorating process. It was one he hadn’t been looking forward to, being rather scornful of the holiday in general. His experiences at the restaurant as a gig worker during the Christmas season hadn’t helped him foster warm feelings for it.

“Tinsel, please.”

He lets his hands slide free from your body and fetches what you requested. He offers it to you with a flourish, a knight presenting a sword to his keeper. Seb sounds fond as he offers up the length of navy blue plastic. “Here you are, my liege.” 

“Thank you, good sir,” you respond grandly, lifting it from his presenting palms. 

Starting from the top of the tree, you anchor the tinsel and work your way downwards. Sebastian circles around to the opposite side to assist so you do not run the risk of toppling head first off the stepladder. His long reach is beneficial, and he works with the same attention to detail as he gives to his music. 

“I’m thinking I might have the band do a seasonal set once a night. Whatever music feels right. Christmas, Yule, Kwanzaa, Chanukah…” He announces conversationally, passing the tinsel end to you from the other side of the tree.

Stuttering to a stop, you let the garland dangle forgotten in your hand. You lean around the tree to look at him incredulously. He raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring.

“But you hate the holidays.” You don’t even bother phrasing it as a question. It’s just a fact about the man across from you. 

“Mmm, but,” he shrugs, “you like it. A relationship is about compromise sometimes. You work with me so I work with you. We both get what we want.”

“Which is?” You ask, utterly baffled.

“I get to see you happy. You keep me from being a scrooge. It’s all about balance.”

You roll your eyes at him with a fond smile. “I don’t know about that, I think you’re still pretty scoogey.”

“That’s not a word,” Seb protests.

After waving a dismissive hand at the amused man, the two of you arrange the tinsel in content silence. Sebastian occasionally hums a melody as you work, parts of songs that he has been composing for the past few weeks and months. You abandon the stepladder to kneel at the bottom of the tree to finish. Seb works in the end of the strand on his side. The two of you step back to survey the tree, the musician coming to stand at your side. It looks promising. You’re about to tell him so when he nudges your hip with his.

“What?” You question, turning to him.

He doesn’t say anything, just does it again, adding a gentle tap of his ankle to yours. Oh, you get it now. Casting him a smile, you offer him your hand, palm down. He takes it willingly and pulls you into a spin. The dance turns into a lindy hop. The two of you are a mess of held hands and dramatic spins. Each time you pull close together, he brushes his mouth over yours in a playfully fleeting kiss. 

Dizzy and with sides aching from laughter, you let Sebastian pull you against his chest. He holds you in his arms, letting you lean against him. He gently sways, matching the beats of the still-playing seasonal music.

“Ornaments next?” His voice rumbles in his chest, against the side of your face. 

“Yeah,” you respond into the sharp angle of his collarbone before reluctantly pulling away from him. You take his hand and tug him after you towards the boxes. 

“Here,” you say, offering him an ornament. “You get the honor of putting the first one on.”

He takes it with careful fingers and secures it onto a branch. The small, piano shaped ornament dangles merrily from its new home. It was what the two of you had settled on. Seb gave you his blessing to decorate the club in preparation for the month of December as long as your choices were appropriately themed. Which was not a problem as you had confirmed that you would be sticking to a theme of instruments and jazz musicians. 

You were rather proud of the ornaments. You had gotten a small stockpile of hanging photo frame ornaments and presented them to Sebastian alongside a stack of photos of jazz musicians. He had excitedly relayed lore about his favorite artists for hours as the two of you slipped the pictures into the frames while seated at the bar. He’s talking about them again now as you both settle into a rhythm, passing each other around the tree as you decorate. 

“-into Five Spot for a while, but people thought he was kind of crazy because of the way he played the piano. He would get up and dance for moments at a time, then sit back down and play a flurry of notes like he was possessed. He really was something.” Seb is gesturing wildly with his hands as he talks. You worry for a moment that he’s going to launch the ornament he’s holding clear across the club.

Catching the way you’re looking at him, he puts the ornament he’s been gesturing with on the tree. “What?”

“Nothing, I just love you.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, crinkling his eyes. “I love you too.”

While Sebastian busies himself with finding a place for the last ornament, a trombone, you pick up a cloth wrapped bundle. You offer it to him when he turns away from the fir. “Here.”

The musician takes it with curious hands and unwraps it. He looks up from the tree topper with a stunned expression. You could almost swear you see tears starting to well up in his blue eyes. 

“This is…” He trails off, you don't often see him speechless. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get this on the tree?” You ask, reaching out and giving his hands a gentle squeeze. 

He shakes his head when you gesture for him to do the honors. Instead he places the topper in your hands. You start to ask him what he’s doing, but then his hands are on your waist and he’s giving you a boost so that you can put it on the top of the tree. A joint effort, unexpected and sweet. You manage to get it on securely and Seb takes care when lowering you back to the floor. As soon as your feet touch the wooden boards, you kneel and plug in the lights, wanting the full effect. Sebastian tugs you in so that your back is against his chest, his arms locked around you. 

“It looks good,” he says.

Your partner is right. It does look good. The cool tinted lights are reflected in the brilliant blue of the tinsel. The effect is almost that of neon signage. The ornaments sit proudly amongst the branches, all indicative of passion for the history of jazz. At the very peak of the tree, welded of brilliant polished steel, is the logo for Seb’s.

[drivinmeinsane]

Mistletoe ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Twelve ※ Driver / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: Your apartment complex decided to decorate for the season and who else is with you but your ever-present shadow, Driver?

※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Cumming Untouched, Shy!Driver, Kissing

※ Word count: 1087

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

As the sun sets, the temperature continues to drop further. It’s cold and you rub your hands together, fighting the urge to blow on them. If you’re this chilly, you can’t imagine how your neighbor must be feeling. The quiet man had moved all the way from California about a year ago. You’ve become fast friends since meeting each other in the parking lot. He had been there when another neighbor backed into your car. His intervention when the guilty party decided to pick a fight had been invaluable. Strangely enough, that neighbor broke the lease and moved out not even a week after the accident. 

Today, the mechanic is helping you bring in the groceries. Driver had softly insisted on carrying all the bags, leaving you empty handed. Your only jobs in this process until getting inside the apartment were to close his truck and unlock your front door. Almost all your trips have turned into mutual excuses to spend time together. 

Your apartment complex has decided to decorate for the holidays. String lights are twinkling in the hallways and along the awnings of the buildings. The effect is admittedly cozy. You’re looking up, admiring the lights when you spot it and come to a dead stop. Driver nearly stumbles over you.

“What is it?” His tone carries an edge of concern.

Pointing upwards at fake leaves and berries, comically large for visibility, you answer his question. “Mistletoe.”

Driver doesn’t move when you spin on your heel to face him. He makes a low, questioning noise, but doesn’t speak, There is a moment of silence while he processes the word. You see the moment when he realizes what you’re getting at. His eyes widen slightly and he looks as flustered as you’ve ever seen him. 

Biting down on his toothpick and clearing his throat, he finally speaks. “It means a kiss, right?”

“Is that okay?” You ask softly, not wanting to push him into something he doesn’t want.

The man quietly nods. He stays still when you step into his space and reach up, slowly, to pluck the toothpick from his lips. You tuck it into its customary spot behind his ear. Driver leans down, angling his grocery-laden arms out of the way. You lean up to meet him, mouth hovering over his. He makes no effort to close the gap. He’s waiting for you to make the choice, breath brushing erratically over your face. His blue eyes are hooded, nearly closed as he observes you. There’s a flush creeping up his neck, dusting his ears in pink. He’s so lovely like this. 

Reflexively, his tongue darts out and wets his lips. They glisten in the light. He’s almost trembling, his jaw working. Finally, you take pity on him and kiss him. His mouth falls open under yours. You had genuinely intended to keep the kiss chaste, but the way he melts against you causes you to kiss him deeper, thoroughly. 

When you finally pull away, he makes an involuntary, wounded sound. It’s so needy that you immediately catch the tall man in another kiss. His breathing is ragged, and you can feel the muscles in his upper arms tensing underneath your hands. Your teeth catch on his bottom lip and you suck it. He lets out an unrestrained whine and his body jerks, hard. You pull away, concerned. The man is trembling, chest heaving. He’s flushed and his eyes are glazed. His lips are kiss-swollen and shiny with spit. 

Worried, you visually scan him for something wrong. You start to open your mouth to ask him if he’s okay, but that’s when you see it. There is a sizable wet spot spread over the front of his jeans. You can see the imprint of his erection straining against the thick material. Under your astounded gaze, you see it twitch and the spot grows larger. 

In a daze, you reach out and press your fingertips to the clearly visible head of his cock. The denim is warm and damp to the touch as you rub over it. Driver’s hips instantly press against your hand. Your hand opens and he’s grinding against your palm, over sensitive but desperate for contact, as though he can’t help himself. He’s silent now, but panting. 

“Oh,” you breathe wonderingly. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, sounding distraught. He can’t meet your eyes when you finally look away from the sight of his gradually softening cock against your palm, separated only by a single layer from the look of things. 

“Don’t be,” you tell him, voice gentle.

Reluctantly, you remove your hand from the front of his jeans. Driver sways forward after it before coming to his senses and taking a step back. Neither of you speak as he follows you back to your apartment, still carrying the groceries. He lets you close the door behind him after he enters and makes his way to the kitchen to set the bags on the counter. You join him, hastily putting away the cold items. The two of you stand there for a moment in crushing silence. The mechanic turns to leave, but you interrupt him. 

“Would you like a glass of water?” It’s irrational considering the man has an issue to take care of but you can’t stand the thought of him leaving. There’s a growing certainty that you will only see him in passing if this doesn’t get resolved. He’s clearly embarrassed. 

He’s quiet for so long that you’re certain he’s going to just walk right out the door. “Sure.”

Your hands brush when you fill the glass and hand it to him. There’s no missing the way his breath hitches and his eyelids flutter at the small amount of contact. Your eyes are glued to the movements of his throat as he swallows. He sets the glass down on the counter at his side. There’s something sad in his expression, like he’s in mourning. You can’t stand it.

“Oh look, more mistletoe.” you say, tipping your chin at the ceiling.

“Yeah?” He asks quietly.

“It’s the invisible kind,” you confirm, getting a smile out of him.

Driver reaches out, sliding his hand over your side. He crowds against you. The devastated look is gone, replaced only by his searching gaze. You tilt your head back for him and then he’s kissing you. The way he groans into your mouth when you slide your hands under his layered jackets makes you thankful for your apartment management company for the first time since you moved in.

[drivinmeinsane]

Cookies ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Nine ※ Driver / Ken

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: Thanks to a generous neighbor, Ken ends up with a cookie decorating kit. He decides to recruit Driver for an extra hand.

※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Smut, Handjobs, Ken has glittery cum (glizz), Established Relationship

※ Word count: 1764

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Hours have gone by since Ken’s boyfriend left for work in the early moments of the morning and he misses him terribly. He hates it that Driver has to work a job that he can’t accompany him to. Ken does not do well on his own. He was made to be loved by his own special person. 

The end of the necessary separation is in sight, so close that Ken can almost taste the reunion. Driver hadn’t said anything about any post work activities or an overnight job, so the other man should be his for the rest of the day. The time is just after four o’clock and depending on traffic and how slow Driver is when walking up the stairs… Ken is almost trembling in his anticipation. He’s pacing back and forth in the tiny kitchen, from the bathroom doorway to the kitchen doorway. Over and over again. The blond man is surprised that he hasn’t worn a hole through the floor or gotten a complaint from the neighbors yet. 

Finally, he hears the key in the lock. He has to stop himself from yanking the door open himself, but he’s patient. He can wait. He’s a good boy. 

With rapt eyes, he holds himself in place as Driver opens the door and closes it behind him, locking it. He’s holding his keys in one hand. Ken waits until the other man sets them on the counter and turns to face him in the narrow space. It’s an invitation for contact, and one that he gratefully accepts. He all but throws himself at the mechanic. They’re cheek to cheek, chest to chest. Ken is clinging to him like his very life depends on it, and Driver puts his arms around him and holds him just as tightly in return. 

“I missed you. I missed you. I missed you,” Ken says, nearly sobbing. 

Driver gives the back of his neck a reassuring squeeze and rubs his cheek against his. His thumb brushes soothingly back and forth over his nape, just barely brushing his hairline. The returned affection has Ken squirming impossibly closer until he has the mechanic pinned between his own body and the kitchen counter. Driver’s belt buckle is digging uncomfortably into his own lower stomach, but it’s not enough of a deterrent to get him to ease up. The other man doesn’t seem to mind, content to let Ken do as he wishes. 

“I ran into one of the neighbors, the goose lady downstairs that always waves to you, while I was getting the mail earlier, and she told me to hold up and wait a minute and came back with a cookie kit thing and said ‘Merry Christmas’,” he announces in a rush.

Shifting against him, Driver makes an acknowledging sound in his throat. Ken suddenly feels a little shy. He moves away until he’s leaning on the counter across the way from the other man. Navigating the real world can be hard sometimes, and he’s worried that he’s terrible at it. Irrationally, he worries that one of these days, Driver will finally tell him that he’s silly and not manly. It hasn’t happened yet. The mechanic has taken everything in stride, infinitely patient with him when it really matters. His confidence in himself is rocky all the same. 

“I… uh… I was thinking we can maybe decorate them? I don’t know what plans you have so I don’t want to be a bother if there’s something else you’re wanting to do or if you-.”

Driver gently cuts him off before he gets even more wrapped up in his own self-flagellation. He reaches out and pets him, a calloused hand carding through his hair, blunt fingernails lightly grazing his scalp. The gesture knocks the words right out of him. Ken goes silent and relaxed under his touch. His eyes slip closed of their own accord and he wants to push up into the contact, wants it all over his body. 

“Okay. Let’s do that.” Driver’s voice is quiet, steady. Grounding. 

Ken nods, relieved. He hadn’t been foolish. Driver’s fingers work into his hair and angle his head so he can press a kiss against his mouth. It’s brief, so brief that it has Ken chasing after him for another only to be stopped by the hand holding him in place. The other man makes eye contact, considering, and kisses him once more before releasing him. Ken is satiated for the moment.

Before he steps out of the kitchen, the mechanic gestures to the still boxed kit on the counter. Ken carefully lays the contents of it out while Driver busies himself with stripping himself of his jacket and tugging off his boots. He wonders if he can do a good enough job that the other man will praise him. He likes it when he does. Even the smallest bit of approval can bring the blond man to his knees. 

He’s scanning the instructions when Driver returns, slipping in behind him. His arms are bared in his blue henley. Part of Ken wants to abandon the task in front of him in favor of tracing vascular veins that are so clearly running down them, but he can’t. The approving nod he gets over his shoulder when he figures out that he needs to cut the tips of the bags off in order to screw on the piping tips is almost enough to make up for it. 

Unthinkingly, Ken shifts back and presses himself flush against the other man. Driver easily wraps one arm around his narrow waist and slips his other hand into his pants pocket. Ken feels his face starting to flush.

He clears his throat, struggling to not shift so that hand is somewhere else further to the left. “Do you want me to go ahead and start?”

“Yeah.” Driver’s breath is hot against the side of his neck.

Ken picks up the white frosting bag and starts filling in a snowman cookie. He leans down to get a closer look at what he’s doing, shoving himself back against the wheelman’s pelvis unintentionally. He feels the hand flex, nearly kneading his thigh through his pocket. He swallows at the sensation. Satisfied with his work, he straightens back up. He is breathing hard, trying to keep his composure. 

They settle into a routine. Driver calmly watches, body fully pressed against his. Ken feels the other man’s arm tighten around his waist when he moves, but otherwise his boyfriend is a barely there spectator. He finds himself so wrapped up in decorating that it’s not until the last cookie that he realizes that Driver is starting to get hard. Electricity arcs up his spine at the realization and heat immediately pools in his gut. He throws caution into the wind and grinds back against the man, slowly, purposely. 

Ken hears a low grunt in his ear. Driver’s hand slips free of his pocket and rests against his stomach, fingers barely dipping into Ken’s waistband. Desperately wanting more intimate contact, he rocks back again. That’s all the prompting it takes for Driver to shove his way down the front of his loose pants and into his thong to take him in hand. 

Despite himself, he lets out a whimper and his body jerks, making a break in the icing of the tree cookie he’s in the middle of decorating. He fights to keep his hand steady enough to fill in the break as the rough pads of Driver’s fingers drag along his cock. It quickly stiffens under the attention. Already, he’s leaking generous amounts of precum, allowing the other man to slick his erection enough to make the glide of his hand over it on the pleasant side of rough. Driver’s arm keeps him pinned in place. He can’t do much more than squirm against him. 

He gets so caught up in the sensations from what the mechanic’s hand is doing that he lets the piping bag fall out of his grasp. It sits on the counter. It’s forgotten until he hears the quiet rasp of the other man’s voice in his ear.

“Did I say stop?” It’s friendly enough, but Ken can pick up the edge in it. His cock twitches at it, soaking the inside of his pants.

“No, but it’s really hard to focus. I can’t do it.” He knows he’s being petulant. 

Driver starts to remove his hand, slowly telegraphing the movement. The thought of this moment ending spurs him into action. “Wait, Driver, wait, please,” he gasps out.

Snatching up the bag, he hovers it over the cookies and does his best to keep his arm still. He wants to be good for the wheelman. He’s rewarded with a pleased noise and the feeling of the other man wrapping his calloused hand around him once more. Driver resumes the thought-scattering jerking of Ken’s cock.

Detail by shaky detail, he decorates the cookie. It’s taking him way too long, but he doesn’t dare stop lest he lose the attention he’s being given. Ken can’t help but writhe against the firm bar of the silent man’s arm, torn between thrusting up and into the circle of his hand or grinding back against the erection he can feel pressing insistently against his ass. He settles for neither, seesawing wildly between both options. He is a whining, whimpering mess. Driver makes no effort to quiet him, almost seeming to savor the noises he’s dragging out of his throat. 

His vision is swimming, his pulse is hammering in his ears. “Driver!” He manages, breathless, “Close!”

A low growl at his shoulder and a quick twist of the mechanic’s wrist are what brings him over the edge. His release hits him like a train, ruining the inside of his pants. He makes a complete mess of the counter with the frosting. Loops of blue twist in nonsensical patterns on the surface. It’s a miracle he didn’t pop the bag altogether. 

Ken sags back into the other man as he continues to stroke him lightly through his aftershocks. He only withdraws his hand once Ken is soft and over-sensitive enough for tears to prick at his eyes. His hand is covered in the blond’s cum, the glittery fluid sparkling in the kitchen light. Ken lets the icing bag fall out of his grasp and wraps his own, frosting smeared fingers around Driver’s wrist to bring the man’s hand to his mouth. He licks a long stripe across the work-worn palm. He feels a rush of satisfaction when the other man shudders and rocks forward.

[goosemas]

2024 Goosemas Collection - Luke Glanton - 512 x 512 icons

[danime25]

Last Christmas

ao3 // normal masterlist // christmas masterlist

*Summary: Colt happened to overhear that there was a gift exchange. What will he do to get involved when he hears a member of the lighting crew shit talking someone else on staff?

*Rating: E for Everyone

*Content/Tags: Bittersweet Ending, Secret Santa

*Status: Oneshot?/Complete

“Ah damn.” Colt’s ears perked up as he overheard one of the lighting guys. He was in between scenes right now and he had another two hours of sitting on set before they’d actually need him for the day. So he did what came naturally to him, snoop.

“What?” The other guy asked, not looking up from the lights he was tweaking

“You know that one PA?”

“There’s a lot of them on set.” The other man rolled his eyes

“The one that hardly talks to anyone, and if she does she covers her mouth with that stupid clipboard she has?”

“Oh that frigid bitch.” His friend laughed. Colt raised an eyebrow. He knew the production assistant that they were talking about. He’d never had a problem with her in the past, and honestly she was probably the nicest member to him. She’d always make sure that he had enough time in between scenes to run to the craft table when he needed some coffee. 

“Yeah, her. So I got her for the stupid secret santa. Wanna trade?”

“Hell no. You think I want that bitch who sucked a cock to get her job?”

“Well I don’t want her either, and no one else in lighting fucking wants her.”

“Did you ask the prop department? Someone in there might be desperate enough…”

“I’ll take her.” Colt, who up until then had been silently listening made a couple strides across the way, “I’ll take her for the gift exchange or… whatever.”

“Okay.” The first guy looked him up and down, “Who are you anyway?”

“I’m the stunt guy.” Colt nodded

“Fine. Here. Give me your sheet.” The guy held his hand out

“What sheet?”

“The secret santa sheet.” He rolled his eyes, “Did you even sign up?’ “Yeah. It’s just… in my car.” Colt slid away for a second and pulled a sheet of paper out of a script someone left around. He copied the general format, and wrote down a bullshit name. He strided back in and handed it off to the guy, “There.”

“Thanks.” He looked over it for a second before a runner came and started screaming about how the director needed everyone in lighting over at the other lot. Colt took a look at the sheet that he had tucked in his pocket so as not to get the two confused. He frowned a little bit as he saw how little she wrote. A woman of few words, he guessed. If he was going to get her something she’d like as a thank you for all the coffee breaks on set, he’d have to continue snooping. He looked down at his watch and hurried to the set where his next scene was. She was probably setting up there.

---

Sure enough, he found her pointing directions out to other members of the crew. He could hardly hear her and he was only about 10 feet away. Maybe his eardrums were just shot to hell being next to explosions? He shook his head and walked over to her. He gave her a quick nod. Without missing a beat she quietly said,

“You’re early. You’re never on set early.”

“Yeah. But I’m on time.”

“Last time you were two minutes late.” She looks down at her phone. He sees the music banner on her screen and asked,

“What are you listening to?” He was fishing, but maybe that would give him some ideas about what to get her

“Nothing.” She looked at him, a bit confused. “I was listening to something on my commute.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned against a cart, only for it to move out from under him. He tipped over slightly before catching his balance and giving her a thumbs up. “That could’ve been bad.”

“Don’t get injured.” She replied. That was nice of her. “Our insurance won’t cover it.”

“Ouch.” He laughed, “I mean you’re probably right.”

“Not probably. I am right.” She sighed, “I appreciate your company, but I really need to finish setting up for the scene… Mark will be mad if I don’t.”

“First name basis with the director?’

She sighed again, even more exhausted, “Listen if those… guys from VFX sent you to spy on me. I swear I’ve never done anything immoral to keep my job… I just come to set, do my job and go home.”

“No that’s not why I’m here…” He tried to explain, but how could he without giving away that he was trying to get her something? “I’ll just… sit over there.”

“Thank you.” Her shoulders loosened up as he sat quietly in the corner of the studio. Other members of the crew filtered in, then the actors paraded in. She started talking with the star about some rewrites the writers had come up with and guided them through it. He crept closer to listen in, given that it might change his performance too. She raised an eyebrow as she saw him move into her line of sight, but decided to not do anything about it until one of the actors piped up about the intrusion. Surprisingly, no one said anything and they got to work filming. The director guided both Colt and the man he was doubling for on how to perform the stunt correctly, the angle and distance the camera would be to ensure no one saw the switch between the two. Colt nodded along as if he were paying attention and his eyes darted back to the PA. She looked to be underlining the script with due diligence.

“And action!”

Colt watched the scene until it was his time to step in. It was a basic fight scene with a fall, easy enough. He landed on the mat perfectly and rested on it for a moment, waiting for his back to crack as he pushed into the plush pad. When he got up he walked back over to behind the camera, seeing her with her teeth pressed down into her lips.

“You okay?” He asked her

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You want some coffee?” He asked in a way that wasn’t really a suggestion. She nodded and he guided her outside the studio. When she knew no one was looking at her she started to sob. Something in Colt’s heart broke seeing her completely shatter that he took her into his arms and held her. She seemed a bit confused by the gesture but wrapped her arms around his and cried. After a couple heaves and a tear stained shirt, he asked, “You want to talk about it?”

“I… sorry this shoot’s been a lot. Doesn’t help that Mark is fucking asshole.”

“Yeah.” He never noticed it, but the director was kind of a raging asshole when he thought about it. “The shoot’s done for the day, right?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, trying to regain her composure

“Why don’t I take you home?’

“Okay,” she said with a little grin. It wasn’t a date, per say. Colt considered it a mission to find out more about her when no one else on set seemed to care. He just knew when he saw something in her house it would click like that.

---

At the Christmas party, Colt was eager to give her her present. He’d grown to really like her and he noticed her more on set. There was some kind of change in her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. People talked behind her back still, but it was less about her being cold and her being ‘bossy’. Colt shrugged it all off because at the end of the day it really didn’t matter to him. His head kept turning instinctively towards the door every time someone came in, but she was nowhere to be seen. He almost decided to go home when he saw her walk in. Her hair was styled, but the curls were mostly deflated as she played with the ends at her shoulder. He waved at her and she caught his gaze, practically running over to him.

“Hi! So sorry I’m late,” she started to apologize to him, “I know I said I’d be on time…”

“It’s okay.” He smiled

“I just had to make sure my boyfriend, Nick… well he texted me that he had a flat tire…” She explained. Colt’s smile faded. He tried to pretend to be happy for her sake, but he hid the box behind his back.

“Is he okay?” He asked. It was polite, if a bit disinterested

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s parking my car now.” She replied, looking over her shoulder

“That’s good. Glad you’re alright.”

“Thanks.” She smiled back at him. “Oh there he is.”

“I should let you go then…” He hesitated

“No, you two should meet, I think you’d really like him!” She pulled him over. “Hey hon.”

“There you are.” The other man pressed his lips onto her cheek once, then again on the other side. She hugged him tightly. It wasn’t personal, but Colt couldn’t help but see it as a reminder that she wasn’t his. From the looks of it, she’d never be his. After she pulled out of his reach, she turned to face Colt. She gestured towards her friend on set,

“Hon, this is Colt.”

“Nice to meet you.” Her boyfriend smiled back at him. He looked like he was in another world… Colt really couldn’t blame him. He held his hand out and Colt shook it loosely

“You as well,” He replied. He didn’t have much else to say to her boyfriend but he tried his best to keep a conversation going between the two of them while she went to grab a drink. She managed to find the person on the crew who she was Santa for and gave her her gift. They shared a quick hug and she came back to the two.

“I guess I should tell you, I was your Santa.” Colt rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand

“Oh!” She smiled, “Thank you. I’m sure whatever you got me is nice. You don’t have to give it to me right now if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I seemed to misplace it…” He acted like he dropped it when he went to get a drink, but really he left it on the table everyone had discarded their presents on. “I was just gonna head out then. I’m all partied out.”

“Oh. Okay.” She nodded, “I get that… Let me see if I can find my present before you go though. I’ll just hold onto it.”

“Okay.” He smiled at her as she went to find his present. Sure enough, she found the little box and she brought it back with her

“I can’t wait to open it later.” She smiled as she held it between the palms of her hands

“Yeah, I hope you like it.” His words seemed to deflate as they left his lips. He turned around and left the party. He sat in his truck for a moment before riding home alone.

---

The next day that they needed him on set, production had promised it would be his last. He came in with thoughts running through his head. Would she be mad at him? Would she scream ‘how could you give me this’? He wasn’t sure how she’d react. Maybe he didn’t really know her enough to have wanted to ask her for a kiss. He walked into the studio and it felt like nothing had changed. He followed her directions, the scene was shot and it was time to go home. Before he could though, he felt a tug on his shirt sleeve from behind him.

“Hey.” She said

“Hi.” He replied

“I…”

“Listen. I’m sorry about my gift. I just thought that we were getting really close. And I was gonna ask you that night for a kiss.”

“I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, “We’d just gotten together a couple days before the party.”

“Oh.” His heart broke even more. “He seemed really nice though. I hope you’re happy.”

“I am now.” She nodded, “I… don’t think I would have been able to talk to him if we hadn’t met.”

“Oh.”

“That’s to say… I feel like I owe you something.”

“Whatever it is, let’s just call it even,” he took her hand off of him

“No I mean… Colt.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe… maybe it could have worked out.” She said after a moment of silence lingered in between them. She leaned in and pressed her lips onto his. He pulled away from her and looked at her. He had to walk away otherwise he’d never be able to live with the feeling in his chest of tearing her away from her happy ending. He dryly laughed and said,

“Well at least we weren’t under the mistleto…” She pulled the gift box from out of her pocket and held it out for him to see. He turned his back on her and walked away. She didn’t try to chase after him. Maybe they were better off this way after all.

[goosemas]

2024 Goosemas Collection - Sebastian Wilder - 512 x 512 icons