bimbocoreblonde - Tumblr blog

[bimbocoreblonde]

sorry I disapeared for a while - moving house is a bitch lol but I'm gonna try and be a bit more active now that my wifi is working properly!

if anyone wants to send me and headcanon prompts, I'd love to start writing again this week.

[bimbocoreblonde]

Winston Duke as Dan Tucker in The Fall Guy

[bimbocoreblonde]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 6 (Final)

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The one time Colt Seavers kisses you — or, rather, the first time.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.6k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer, @chemococktailonthehouse, @1word (sending directly to the rest because Tumblr isn't cooperating)

Author’s Note: Well, folks, we've come to the end of this fic, and I hope it's everything you've all been waiting for. I can't express how much your kind words and amazing feedback has meant to me, and it has truly shaped this fic in more ways than you know. I'm really going to miss writing this fic, soooo........ if y'all are interested in a little epilogue, I'm up for that ;) Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy!!

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Colt can’t get out of the camera crew’s station fast enough. He’s been searching for you all morning, but Holly finally pressed a note in his hand, telling him that you asked her to pass it on to him. He instantly searches for a quiet place where he can read your note, dreading what it might say.

Yesterday shook him up, in more ways than one. Staring down the headlights of a train while Elijah Gordon pushed him to stay a few more seconds was terrifying even for him. Seeing you engage in a showdown with Gordon himself in front of the entire crew was so completely unexpected and selfless that he hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind. No one has ever stood up for him like that.

The more he’s thought it over, the more he’s realized that he’s been blind. Blind to your feelings, blind to your sincerity, blind to the fact that he’s been on the verge of his sweetest dream come true. He’s been pushing you away because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you, but after what happened yesterday, he’s starting to realize that doesn’t matter.

He keeps remembering the look in your eyes when you were in the tent together. The gentle way your fingertips stroked his hair, the soft skin of your neck against his lips, the way you held him as if he were designed to fit in your arms. If your fierceness in defending him didn’t convince him that he needed to wake up and confess his love for you, the heated look in your eyes did. His plan upon finding you has been to simply pour out his heart and see if you’re still willing to accept him after everything that’s happened.

Colt finally finds an empty bench a few stations down from the camera crew, and he unfolds your note carefully. A gentle smile crosses his lips when he sees you’ve scribbled it by hand, your artistic handwriting scrawled in green ink across a piece of office paper. The smile slowly fades, though, as he scans the contents of your letter.

Dear Colt,

I’m sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but I figured we’ve already said a lot of things that are more important than goodbyes. I want you to know that I’m not leaving because you hurt me or because I’m angry with you. I just think it’s best this way, for both of us.

I quit my job last night as Gordon’s set director. After everything that’s happened, I just can’t work for him. I’ve already had a few offers back in L.A., so I’ll be fine. I wish you the best as you finish the movie. You really are the best stuntman in the business, and I hope you stay safe.

I’ve already told you most of what I feel, so I won’t beat a dead horse any more. Still, in case I haven’t told you enough, I want you to know that the time I’ve spent with you has been the happiest I’ve had in a long time. I don’t know why you’re so dead-set on believing you’re not good enough for me. That thought has never entered my mind and never will. You’re the best person I know. When I look back on my memories of love, I will always think of you. Whatever you think you’d be holding me back from, it doesn’t matter to me half as much as you do. Please believe that.

I wish you all the best, and I hope one day our paths might cross again. Until then, thumbs up and happy landings.

Colt squeezes his eyes shut once he’s finished reading the letter, fighting the urge to crumple the piece of paper into a ball. How could you have been so stupid? his inner monologue chides him. How could you not have recognized unconditional love when it was staring you in the face?

The memory of your touch hits him like a knockout punch. Suddenly, every moment the two of you have shared comes back to him in excruciating detail. Smudging paint on each other’s faces. Walking you back to your hotel room. Flirting with you at the club. The look in your eyes when you ran to him after the train stunt. Your hands on his face, in his hair.

Setting his jaw, Colt glances at his watch. 7:42 AM. If he can figure out where you’re leaving from, he can catch you in time. There are a lot of things he needs to say before it’s too late, and now, for the first time, he’s ready to say them.

He folds the paper, tucks it into his pocket, and starts running.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You grip your steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. The sun has already risen over the mountains in the distance, but the beauty of the landscape is the furthest thing from your mind.

You can’t believe you actually left. You’ve never quit a job before, especially one as high-profile as this one. But you just couldn’t take it. You couldn’t work for someone who would so carelessly risk the life of one of their employees. Especially when you happen to be in love with that employee.

You haven’t told anyone but Holly (and Gordon, of course), and she understood. She also promised to pass along your note to Colt.

Writing that note is the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. You wrote eight versions of it before settling on the one you passed to Holly. The most painful part was knowing that that note may be the last time you ever communicate with Colt. Saying exactly the right thing was vital, and you finally felt satisfied with the ninth version, which included a lot less poetic verse and a lot more explanations of why you were really leaving.

The airport is looming on the horizon, and a wave of emotion sweeps over you, biting at the backs of your eyes. What was the point of knowing him if this is how it has to end?

You can’t stop replaying your memories with him as you pull closer to the airport parking lot. Things started out so simple and easy between the two of you — making each other laugh, sitting together at lunch, cheering on each other’s projects — but once the tension between you started heating up, maintaining a friendship has seemed almost impossible. You thought you could handle it, but it turns out you’re not strong enough to face Colt every day if you can’t express your love for him openly.

You pull into a parking space, facing the vast grassy field that leads to the plane runway. A passenger jet soars into the air, leaving a trail of jet stream behind. You’ll be aboard one of those planes within the hour, and maybe when you get to L.A., you can leave all your sorrows behind you.

You’re still trying to muster the strength to climb out of the car and drag your suitcase to the airport, when something… odd catches your eye. On the busy street leading up to the airport entrance, a vehicle is moving too fast to be driven by a normal person. The truck rounds the corner to fly up the airport drive at top speed, and your heart constricts.

That’s Colt’s truck.

All your attention is suddenly laser-focused on that familiar GMC pickup, and before you know what you’re doing, you’ve leaped out of your car and started running as fast as you can towards the driveway. A few seconds later, Colt’s truck pulls to a stop on the side of the drive, and he jumps out without even bothering to turn the truck off.

The fifteen seconds it takes you to get halfway across the grassy field feels like an eternity, and by the time you’re halfway, Colt has already cleared the distance. He sweeps you into his arms, holding you off the ground as you try to catch your breath, completely overwhelmed by this grand gesture.

He came for me. He couldn’t let me leave without saying goodbye. It’s not over yet.

You’re content to stay like that, suspended off the ground and feeling his heartbeat pound against your chest, but Colt carefully sets you back on your feet and holds you at arm’s length. His face is a jumble of a thousand emotions, more than you’ve ever seen from him in all the time you’ve known him. He’s breathing hard from his enthusiastic sprint across the greenway, but his eyes are illuminated by his excitement at catching you in time.

“Colt—” you start, gripping his forearms as if he’s going to disappear.

He shakes his head, cutting off whatever you were about to ask. “I’ve been wrong. I’ve been so wrong.”

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, trying to make sense of his words. “Colt, how did you find me here?” you ask.

“I got your note,” he tells you. “Holly told me how to find you.”

“Don’t you have to be on set?”

“Actually, I’m not filming anymore.”

You can’t hide your confusion. Colt isn’t working on the movie anymore? What kind of insane coincidence could this be? “What?” you squeak, gripping his arms even harder. “Please tell me you didn’t quit because I did!”

Colt shakes his head, which relieves you. “Tom quit the movie last night,” Colt explains, his eyes never leaving yours. “Called Gordon and told him he was sick of taking orders and wasn’t working for him anymore. I’d say it had something to do with you taking Gordon to task yesterday,” he adds with something that sounds a little like humor. “Tom doesn’t want something like that reflecting badly on him.”

You laugh in pure disbelief, amazed at the turn of events you could never have expected. “Well, I never thought I’d be grateful to Tom Ryder for anything,” you say honestly, and Colt laughs with you, genuine joy behind his eyes. You search his face for answers about why he has rushed to the airport to see you. You begin, “Listen, you didn’t have to come all this way just to tell me—”

“I did,” Colt says definitively. “Believe me, I did. Because what I have to say isn’t something that can be done long-distance.”

Your heart drops. This is it. After all this time, you’re about to hear the words that you know are true, the ones you’ve been waiting for, from his own lips.

“Colt…”

Colt takes a step backwards, his hands falling from your arms to hold your hands between the two of you. The look in his eyes can only be described as utter sincerity.

“I have been so wrong about selling you short,” he says softly, emotion threatening to break through his voice. “I keep putting you on this impossibly high pedestal and believing that you’re way too good for me. I thought you could never feel what I feel because I don’t see myself the way I see you. To me, you’re every wonderful thing that ever existed.”

Tears spring into your eyes at his words, so totally without guile. “Are you serious?” you whisper.

“Absolutely serious.” His eyes blaze with an intensity you haven’t seen before, and his grip on your hands grows tighter as he says, “Listen, I’ve never said this to anyone in my life, but… I love you.” Colt stops, his voice catching in his throat when he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you on set painting that triple-sized stop sign.” You both laugh at the memory, relieving some of the overwhelming emotion.

He keeps going. “I’m so in love with you it actually scares me,” he finishes, “because nothing has ever meant so much to me as getting this right. I can’t keep holding it back, and you deserve to know. It’s killing me.”

“Colt…” It’s as if you’ve forgotten every word but his name.

Still, Colt presses on, trying to get three months’ worth of communication out in three minutes. “I’m not asking anything in return,” he tells you insistently. “If you still want to go, I won’t stop you. You don’t need to say or do anything, but I just had to get this out. After yesterday, with the train stunt almost going wrong, and you telling Gordon off, and then when you told me you love me and want to be with me no matter what, I don’t know… it just sort of woke me up.”

Your eyes brim with tears again, and you squeeze his hands, giving him an encouraging smile to keep going. You can feel his pulse in his hands, flying as fast as the jet planes soaring over the nearby mountains.

“I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want you to be stuck with a guy like me.” Colt can’t seem to stop the avalanche of words spilling out of his mouth, every one as sweet as honey to your ears. “I keep imagining this amazing future for you and thinking that I’m only going to hold you back and get in the way. I’m still not sure it wouldn’t be that way, but… I’m not the only one who gets to make that decision.” His voice thickens with emotion again. “No one has ever cheered me on the way you do. No one has ever supported me with everything I do, and made me feel like I actually have a chance at real love. But you’re different. You make me feel like I can do anything, and if you still want me after all we’ve been through, I’m yours.”

The look in Colt’s eyes is enough to make your knees feel weak, and you throw yourself forward to steady yourself, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. Colt’s instant embrace is more welcome than you could have imagined.

“Of course I want you,” you whisper in his ear. “Just you, no strings attached.”

Colt holds you against him for a few moments, long enough that a plane takes off from the landing strip and zooms far enough away that it doesn’t drown out his words. Finally, carefully, he pries himself out of your arms and holds you at arm’s length, his hands on your waist. “Look, I can’t promise that it’ll be easy,” he continues in a rush. “I’m a stuntman. Life is scary and dangerous and all that.”

“I don’t care about that,” you answer honestly, beaming through your tears. “If it’s what you love doing, there’s nothing I want more than for you to do it. I can handle it.”

“It’s not just that. I’ve never… I’ve never had a serious relationship before. Everything will be new for me, and I’m going to make a ton of mistakes.”

Colt’s eyes are misty, too, and your heart is so full of joy that it feels like it will burst. You know it must be radiating from your face, because Colt starts grinning back at you, seeming to sense how much you’ve been aching to hear these words from him.

“So am I,” you insist, your hands fluttering back and forth from his face to his shoulders over and over. “Mistakes are just part of a relationship. As long as we communicate and stay committed, we’re not going to fall apart just because of a few mistakes.”

Colt nods, flexing his fingers against your waist as his smile overtakes his entire face. Still, he doesn’t lose control: he seems to be holding back until he’s finished saying everything that’s been building up over the months. You’re more than happy to let your gaze wander over his wonderful face, to bask in the fact that Colt Seavers loves you back and isn’t going to let you go.

“There’s one more thing,” he says gingerly. “I… I don’t really have a lot of grand aspirations for the future. I’m a stuntman because that’s what I love doing, but there aren’t a lot of ways to move up the ladder. I’ll be doing stunts until I’m dead or until I can’t anymore, so basically, my future is just to be a working-class guy. I’ll just be an unknown stuntman.” He hesitates at the end of his speech, as if he honestly believes this could be a problem for you.

You want to laugh in sheer glee, but you hold back so Colt won’t think you’re taking his seriousness lightly. “If that bothered me,” you inform him, moving your thumbs lightly against the sides of his neck, “I would never have fallen in love with you in the first place. Colt, I’m not exactly shooting for the stars myself as a set decorator. Sure, I may have a chance to work on even bigger films, and it can always open up some new opportunities, but I’m not doing this to climb the ladder either. If we’re both working-class professionals for the rest of our lives, that’s fine with me. As long as I have you in my life, I don’t care what kind of life it is.”

Colt’s eyes finally brim over with the tears he has valiantly been holding back. His hands are trembling against your waist, and he ducks his head so you won’t see how much this confession has affected him. You pull him close to you again, resting your head just below his chin while he squeezes you tightly enough to take your breath away. This is what heaven must be like.

He’s whispering something against the top of your hair, so low you can barely hear it. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do,” Colt replies, the regret in his voice obvious. “I haven’t been able to make up my mind about what to do because all this has been in the back of my head. I should have just come clean with you the first time you ever let me know how you feel.” He lifts your head with his fingers under your chin, meeting your tear-stained gaze with one of his own. “It would have saved you all this heartbreak,” he whispers.

You smile up at him, resting your hand on his cheek. “What’s love without a little heartbreak?” you tease him. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

Colt finally returns your smile, his shoulders relaxing as if he suddenly believes that this is real. “I promise I won’t break your heart again,” he says solemnly.

“I believe that.” And you do.

Colt is looking into your eyes with all the passion of the ocean in a storm, and you can feel the blush in your cheeks building just from the way he’s looking at you. You’re suddenly hyper-conscious of his hand that’s still resting under your chin, tilting your head back to look deep in your eyes. The hand that is slowly, ever so slowly, bringing your face closer to his.

Colt hesitates for a moment when your lips are just inches apart. You’ve been here so many times, so close to a kiss, and have parted every time. This time, however, you know his heart is beating for you alone, and you feel like you have all the time in the world to savor this moment.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, and his breath seems to double its pace as he considers what he’s about to do. He lifts an eyebrow at you, as if asking, Are you ready? Your smile tells him all he needs to know, and finally, finally, Colt closes the endless distance between you.

The moment your lips meet his, your heart whispers, This is what you were made to do. Colt’s kiss is everything gentle and passionate, his lips moving slowly against yours in a rhythm that is so incredibly natural. His hands find landing spots on your back when you tighten your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as he deepens the kiss.

Every last circuit in your brain is exploding in the sweetest way possible. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? you wonder, and Colt pulls away from your mouth at that exact moment, fixing his eyes on yours with an expression that tells you he’s wondering the same thing.

The separation only lasts a moment, though, because now that Colt has had a taste of your lips, he can’t get enough. He kisses you again, and again, and again, and again, until you’re both so out of breath you wonder if you’ll ever recover. His hands move up and down your back, clutching your body so tightly against his that you’ve started breathing in rhythm with each other. You can taste salt on his lips, and you have no idea if it’s from your tears or his.

Just when you think you’re about to drown in the sweetest possible way, Colt presses one more soft kiss against your lips, then pulls back so you can breathe. You find yourself gasping for air and aren’t surprised to see him doing the same. Your hands stay on his shoulders as they heave up and down, and he doesn’t loosen his hold on you for a second.

“Colt…” you sigh, your lips feeling like they’ve actually changed shape, “I’ve dreamed about this so many times. You have no idea.”

He inclines his head toward you, resting his cheek against yours. His beard scratches your skin in a way that sends a delightful shiver down your spine. “Me, too,” he whispers against your cheek.

“Promise me this is real.”

“It’s real,” Colt assures you, dipping his head so he can press a kiss against the skin right below your ear. “Realer than anything I’ve done in my life.”

You feel like your body is about to sail into orbit at the contact, and you grip Colt’s broad shoulders even harder as his lips move down your neck, across your throat, down to your collarbone. You know you’re making breathless sounds that betray how much he’s exciting you, but you are far past the point of caring.

With every kiss, it’s as if Colt is repeating the words he said just a few moments ago: I love you. I love you. I love you. One of his hands moves from your lower back to cradle your chin, tilting your head to the side to give him better access to your neck.

“I’ve been aching for you,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Burning for you.”

His words inspire an entirely new shiver down your spine, one that makes you stand on your toes and arch even further into his arms. All you can manage to choke out is, “I love you so much… so much…”

You slide one hand into his hair, remembering how he reacted the last time you did that. Right on cue, Colt lets out a soft sound that makes every inch of your skin erupt into goosebumps. He goes still in your arms, his mouth still on the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. You run your fingers through his hair with firm but gentle strokes, reveling in the way he seems to melt in your arms.

After a few moments of it, Colt finally straightens again, his intense gaze locked on your face. You leave one hand in his thick hair and let your other wander to his face. Using just your fingertips, you trace his forehead, his cheekbone, his nose, his lips, his jaw, everything you’ve been dying to touch. Colt’s eyes flutter closed at your touch, as if he’s about to come undone right before your eyes. Your heart leaps when he leans his head to the side, leaning in to your touch.

You choose to copy his actions, rising up to press your lips to his pulse point, right below his neck. The way Colt’s hands on your waist flex in response tells you you’ve found something he likes. You trail your way up until you’re peppering kisses behind his ear, then on his cheek, on his nose, on both his closed eyelids.

At the sensation of your kisses on his face, Colt opens his eyes and smiles at you. It’s a new smile this time, one that speaks of a new emotion he’s feeling for the first time. Peacefulness. Assurance.

Colt raises his hands to frame your face, tucking the strands of hair that he’s pulled loose back behind your ears. His voice breaks when he says softly, “I may never find the right words to tell you how I really feel about you, but I promise I’m going to take every opportunity to try.”

You rest your hands on his chest, grinning as you reply, “We’ve got the rest of our lives for you to think of the right words. I’ve heard all the ones I need to know what you mean.”

Colt’s eyes are brimming over with the love he’s been demonstrating, the adoration, the gratitude, the sheer bliss of sharing this moment with the one person he’s been waiting all his life for. “You’re everything to me…” he murmurs, lowering his lips to touch yours again. “I’ve never…” he restarts, only to interrupt himself with another kiss. “No one has ever…”

He doesn’t even try to finish the last sentence, and your lips are meeting in a gentler kiss, one that calms the fire you’ve been building for the last little eternity. His lips are so soft against yours, coaxing things from you but never demanding. Colt’s hands stroke through your hair and down your spine, holding you close against his chest protectively. You can feel every breath he takes, every movement that reveals how wrapped up he is in feeling you with him.

Another deafening jet plane roars over your heads, but neither of you take the slightest bit of notice.

Colt finally slows your kiss down, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth and leaving one of his hands to tangle in your hair. He doesn’t pull away, just lets his lips linger on your jaw, as he asks casually, “So, Sofonisba, are you still flying out?”

“Sofonisba?” you repeat, words slowly drifting back into your brain.

“I was running out of artist nicknames,” Colt explains, a husky edge still noticeable in his voice. “Had to look that one up.”

You grin at him, though he feels it rather than sees it. “I don’t have to fly out. I don’t exactly have somewhere to be.” You snuggle closer to him, not quite ready to leave his comforting embrace. “Haven’t even gotten my ticket yet.”

Colt hums in approval at that, the sound lingering on your skin. “In that case,” he suggests softly, “what do you say to some coffee?”

“Can’t think of anything I’d like better,” you say honestly.

Colt returns your smile, pulling you forward for one last, reverent kiss to your lips. Then he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and the two of you gaze off into the distance, where another plane soars into the sky over the mountains.

You don’t know what lies ahead for you, and you know Colt doesn’t either. But you are assured of one thing now, and that is that you’ve found the man you were made to be with. All it takes is one glance up into his eyes to know that he’s confident of the same thing.

That’s more than enough for you.

[bimbocoreblonde]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 2

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The second time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — in which he thinks he might be losing his sanity.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.2k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer

Author’s Note: As the Colt obsession rages on, I hope y'all enjoy part 2, because it certainly was sizzling when I wrote it :D This one is more from Colt's POV, and it includes some of his inner monologue (which I loved in the film). I appreciate everyone's kind words so far and would love to hear your thoughts about this chapter! Thank you all! <3

Part 1

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Ever since the little paint-smudging incident, Colt has been, well… off.

This never happens to him. He’s a professional, he’s been working on movie sets for years, he’s known hundreds and hundreds of coworkers. But something is different. You’re different.

As he leans against the hood of his truck after filming, one leg propped on the fender as he takes a deep breath of the midnight air, Colt can’t stop replaying the events of the day before. You painting a prop sign, you laughing at his dumb jokes, you smearing red paint across his face. The steadiness of your hands, the smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. The sunbeams luminescent in your hair. The way your hand felt for the few seconds it lingered on his cheek.

Get it together, man, his inner monologue scolds him.

Colt can’t deny that he has feelings for you. You’ve been on set together for about two months now, and he sees you practically every day. Every time he performs a stunt, you’re always there adjusting the furniture, dabbing color onto the walls, rearranging props with that magnificent touch that brings every setpiece to life. Colt is amazed by your talent in your job as a set decorator, and your skill pushes him to try harder stunts each time, to try to impress you with his own skills.

But there’s one major problem that he can’t get past — he’s just not good enough for you. Sure, Colt has all the confidence in the world when it comes to throwing himself from a moving car or flashing a dazzling smile at you across the set, but he’s destined to be an unknown stuntman for the rest of his career. Your talent and dedication promises great things for your future, and Colt has already made up his mind that he’s not going to stand in your way by coming on too strong.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Even when he’s trying to be noble and keep himself from getting you distracted from your career, he’s replaying the way your eyes fluttered shut for a moment when his thumb brushed your jaw.

I’m so screwed.

Colt has just agreed with his inner monologue that he will keep his distance from you and turn all his unfulfilled feelings into protein powder when you step out of a nearby trailer, one arm over your eyes as if you’ve been crying.

All thoughts of noble detachments shatter instantly, and Colt pushes off his truck to make his way toward you. He’s relieved when you lower your arm from your face and he can tell that you weren’t crying — just so dead tired that you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, Van Gogh,” he calls to you, keeping a distance of about six feet as he reverts to his usual habit of artist-nicknames. Too familiar, too familiar, abort, abort. “Too much moonshine?”

Your eyes pop open in surprise to see him standing there, but a wearied smile crosses your face nonetheless. “Too much moonlighting,” you correct him, leaning back against the art trailer with a sigh. “Gordon has been on my back all day about the props for the train station scene. I got wooden benches for a rustic vibe, but he wants metal for a grittier vibe. I painted the graffiti mural in multi-colors, but he wants it red for a sharper contrast. I spent the last week distressing the station floor so it would look lived-in, but now he wants it clean. Clean, cold, and clinical.” You bury your face in your hands, rubbing your red-rimmed eyes. “I just finished making twenty neon signs for the depot, but I don’t know if he’ll even still want them by tomorrow.”

Colt’s heart tugs seeing you so exhausted and discouraged, and he elects to ignore his previous inner monologue and take a few steps in your direction. “Sounds like Gordon is trying to direct a hospital soap opera instead of an action thriller.”

“Exactly!” You throw your hands up in frustration, letting your head loll to the side as you look at him through half-opened eyes. “I never want to see another paint roller again. Or at least not until tomorrow.”

Colt chuckles at that, taking another step closer. “It is tomorrow. It’s past midnight.” His brow furrows in concern as he watches your eyelids drift closed again. You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.

“Right. I knew that,” you mumble. “I need some sleep.”

“I’d say you need a hibernation,” Colt says gently, cursing himself for the way he feels the urge to reach out and touch you. “When’s the last time you got any winks?”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you try to recall. “Uhhh… Tuesday?”

Colt shakes his head. “Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

Your eyes open at that, and you automatically shake your head, swaying a little as you do so. “No, you don’t need to do that! I’ll be fine. My hotel is just a few blocks from here.”

“Good,” Colt agrees, reaching out to put his arm around your shoulders. “Then you won’t have to pay me back for gas money.”

You sigh in mock frustration but give in when he starts leading you to his truck. He can feel you leaning on him, drawing from his strength when he knows yours is depleted. Colt has to force himself to focus on the task at hand and not get distracted by the intoxicating smell of oil paints and charcoal and wood chips emanating off your skin. He especially tries not to notice the way your head naturally falls against his shoulder while he leads you to the passenger door.

Once you’ve climbed into the seat, you immediately droop forward and rest your forehead on your knees. On an impulse, Colt pulls off his jacket — his most comfortable one: the brown one with the drawstrings — and drapes it across your shoulders. He suppresses a grin when you mumble something that sounds like “hmmk hmum” but probably was supposed to be “thank you.”

The drive to your hotel lasts all of three minutes, and he parks his truck under the portico so you’ll be closer to the door. Against the pitch black of the midnight sky, the hotel looks cozy and welcoming, street lamps bathing the sidewalk in a halo of golden light.

Colt opens the door to the passenger side, a smile crossing his lips when you turn your head from where it’s resting on your knees to peek up at him.

“Are we there yet?” you mumble, eyes fluttering between open and closed.

“Just a rest stop,” he informs you jokingly, holding out a hand to help you out of the truck. You gladly accept it, so exhausted that you can barely stand up straight. Colt feels another shimmer of worry at seeing you so worn out.

With his arm around your shoulder again, Colt walks you to the hotel door, which opens automatically to let you in. His thoughts are a jumble of worry, consternation, and elation at this situation, but he breaks out of his reverie halfway to the elevator, when you start giggling uncontrollably.

“What?” he asks, basking in the way your musical laugh wraps around him like a melody. Colt, get it together. Stop romanticizing this.

You snicker again, pressing the elevator button to your floor. “I bet the desk clerk thought I was drunk and bringing you home with me.”

Colt goes stock-still at that comment, only moving again when the elevator door opens and you enter the compartment together. Your sleep-deprived brain is so addled that you barely even register the implications of your remark, but Colt’s mind instantly starts racing with his own thoughts. Be professional, don’t make a saucy joke, just play it cool, play it cool, change the subject, change the SUBJECT—

“You should call Gordon,” he suggests, so enthralled with the feel of your head resting on his shoulder that he can barely get the sentence out. “Tell him you can’t make it tomorrow. You seriously need to get some sleep.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, one that flutters across his collarbone like an autumn breeze. He swallows and turns his head the other way, using all his willpower not to completely come undone right in front of you. You have no idea the effect you’re having on him, so sleep-deprived that you’re missing any cues that would clue you in normally.

“I have to be there tomorrow,” you insist drowsily. The elevator door dings open, and Colt leads you through the opening, his arm still tight around your shoulders as you point him in the right direction. “We’re filming the train station scene, and it has to be perfect.”

“What, at the cost of your health and sanity?” Colt quips, though he can’t deny that there’s a note of seriousness in his tone.

You shake your head stubbornly. “I’m fine. This is my job. I just have to do it.” You yawn widely, stumbling a little as you get closer to your hotel door. “I just need a few hours and I’ll be good as new.”

Colt lifts his eyebrows skeptically but doesn’t argue with you. You’re pulling your room key out of your pocket, and he’s suddenly torn between the desire to run before he violates his vow of noble detachment, and the need to confess every passionate feeling coursing through his veins right now. He knows this isn’t the right time, though, and that there may never be a right time at all.

You unlock your door with a swipe but pause before going inside, leaning your back against the doorframe so you can look at Colt squarely. “Thank you for bringing me back.” Your smile steals his breath, makes him imagine a halo of stars around your face. “I couldn’t have made it without you.”

Every muscle in his body is urging him to lean forward, to close the distance between you, to capture your lips against his so he can whisper every unconfessed feeling, every gentle passion, every overwhelming longing in this silent, dimly-lit hallway. His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he thinks you must be able to hear it.

“Anytime,” Colt manages, his throat so tight that can barely rasp out the word. He has to clench his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to you.

You reach up to shed his brown jacket and hand it back to him, but Colt stops you by holding up his hand. “Keep it,” he tells you. Shut up, shut up, shut UP— “It looks better on you anyway.”

The golden light from the street lamps outside must be playing tricks on his eyes, because he could swear that your eyes brighten at his words. Your fingers tighten around his jacket, and all he can imagine is your fingers entwined with his, your head on his shoulder again. The way it should be.

Your eyes flicker closed for a moment, and you sway against the doorway. Colt instinctively reaches out to steady you, his hand landing on your arm and holding you up for the moment it takes you to regain your balance. His skin feels like it’s on fire from this close proximity. He releases your arm so he doesn’t lose his sanity, but the touch lingers on his palm, making his heart race and his mouth go dry. His eyes flit down to glance at your lips again before he can stop them. Another moment, and he won’t have any self-control left.

You seem to feel the tension, too, lingering in the doorway when you should have said goodnight by now. He knows you’re struggling with it, and he knows it’s his responsibility as the clear-headed one to end this before it starts. His breath is rattling in his throat as he says, “Get some rest. Let me know if you need a ride over tomorrow morning.”

His voice seems to break the spell over you, and you give him a sleepy smile as you nod. “Thanks, Colt.” Your eyes linger on him for a moment more, and then you disappear behind the heavy hotel door.

Once you’re gone, Colt turns and leans heavily against the hallway wall, suddenly feeling breathless and exhausted from the intensity of what he just felt. He can’t believe he even let himself think about kissing you when you’re so dazed, but surely he wasn’t misreading those signals? Surely he felt the heat of your own gaze meeting his?

Colt sighs, trying to clear his head while he catches his breath. He can’t even entertain the idea of starting a fling with you, because his feelings have gone way too deep for a fling. He just needs to keep his distance and stop overanalyzing every moment he shares with you. He needs to get a grip on reality so he doesn’t completely ruin your friendship and burden you with any guilt. This has to stop. I’m going to stop right now, and I’m not going to think about it anymore, and I’m going to get hold of myself before it’s too late.

He hopes his inner monologue is right this time, because he knows he’s only falling harder for you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 3

[bimbocoreblonde]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 1

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — on set, with lots of paint involved.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: let me know if you want to join! :)​

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of what I hope will be a six-part series, but it can be read as a stand-alone too. I am so obsessed with Colt right now that I can't even see straight, so just take this and do whatever you want with it!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you, you’re not sure it actually happened.

You’ve been on set for about two months now, and your job as set decorator for the biggest action thriller of the decade has ended up being way more challenging than you expected. Every day, it’s a new demand from the director — more realistic graffiti, more subtle light fixtures, more beat-up furniture. It’s going to look amazing, but you’re exhausted just thinking about another day of smearing grime on the set walls by hand.

The one bright spot of every day is Colt Seavers. He’s the best stuntman in Hollywood, so naturally he’s been recruited to perform stunts for almost every scene in the movie. Watching him get thrown against walls, riddled with bullets, and dropped from dizzying heights is heart-pounding for you, but nothing gets your heart pounding as hard as when he leans a little too close to you, so close you can see the dusty brown of his eyelashes against his soot-stained skin.

“Nice sign,” Colt quips, dropping onto the picnic table seat next to you. You’re hand-painting a bright-red Do Not Disturb sign for the next scene, and you barely manage to keep from smearing the paint when you whirl to face him. “Is it for your trailer door?”

You give him a mock glare, laughter slipping through the edges. “Very funny. It just so happens that you’ll be kicking this sign in half in tomorrow’s scene, so show a little respect.”

Colt’s eyes sparkle at your words, all his attention focused on you. He leans forward on one elbow, the other reaching up to ruffle the dust out of his hair. “Wow, a handmade prop just for me to kick in half?” He grins, inclining his head in a mock bow. “I’m honored.”

You can’t hide your return grin, or the blush rising under your skin at his close proximity. Colt always has this effect on you — never pushing the limits to make you uncomfortable, just taking up space with you in a way that steals your breath.

“What’s this?” you ask, using your free hand to tug on the shoulder of his fireproof vest. One side is seriously singed, close enough to his skin to set you to worrying.

Colt shrugs, flashing you a crooked smile that makes his left eye crinkle. “Little pyrotechnics mishap,” he informs you casually, brushing imaginary dust off his arm and onto you. You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Ray got a little overexcited with the stun grenades.”

“What?” You can’t keep the concern from slipping into your voice, even though you try to disguise it behind a joking tone. “You’re working with real stun grenades now?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “It’s only a stunt if it’s real, you know?”

You narrow your eyes, cocking your head to one side. “I think that’s the opposite of how it works, actually.”

Colt just laughs at that, the golden rays of the setting sun turning his tanned skin golden. His smile is warm and directed entirely at you, heating up the blush in your cheeks again. You turn your eyes back to your painting to keep from completely giving yourself away.

These past few months have been both paradise and torture for you. You thought you could hide your crush easily enough — it’s not like you haven’t done that before. But with Colt, it’s different. He sees through your stoic facades and teases out your laughter, searches for ways to make you smile even on your bad days. Whether it’s pulling a goofy face at you from his rig or remembering that you like sour cream in your soup, Colt has found some new way to surprise you every day that you’ve known him.

The thing is, you’re not sure if he’s actually interested in you or just being flirtatious. Misinterpreting the signals would be awkward and painful for you at this point, so you’ve decided that he’s just going to have to make the first move. You’re too old to play middle-school games with him.

Even if he does give you middle-school butterflies all over again.

You don’t realize that you’ve been lost in your thoughts until you notice that Colt has imperceptibly moved closer to your side, peering over your shoulder as you put the finishing touches on the purposely-sloppy sign.

“So I kick the sign in half tomorrow,” he says softly, his husky voice in your ear sending goosebumps over your skin. “What happens if we have to do another take?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at him, letting a coy smile slip. “Do you really think this is the only one I’ve done?”

Colt just lifts his eyebrows at you and smiles, returning his eyes to the sign in your hands. Colt has a way of burning you up just with his gaze, and you can’t help breathing an inner sigh of relief every time he focuses his attention elsewhere. Concentrating on anything when he’s looking at you is impossible.

“You know, I could definitely give you some pointers on set design sometime,” he mutters, as if he’s genuinely musing on the thought. You know he’s warming up for a joke, so you let him continue, hiding your smile while he watches over your shoulder. “I have tons of experience in your department.”

“Oh, really?” You grab your black paint and begin the focused task of sprinkling the sign with the darker color for a realistic touch. Realism is the key to making memorable set designs, and you’ve mastered the technique.

“Mm-hmm.” You feel the murmur reverberate in his throat when he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder while you lightly dab your paintbrush in your paint bottle. Your heart skips at least three beats when you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his eyes still locked on the sign as if he’s studying it. Does he really not know what he’s doing to you, or is he doing it on purpose?

You try to keep your hands steady while you feel his chest rise and fall against your shoulder. Struggling to hide the tremor in your voice, you tease, “What could I improve about this piece, then? I can always use an expert opinion.”

He tilts his head to the side, his chin still resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bristly stubble on his cheeks now. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, one that forces every bit of your self-control to the brink in order to keep yourself from moving your face to the side and nuzzling your cheek against his. You feel his face move slightly as his mouth turns up into a smile.

“If you really want some advice…” he begins, lifting one hand up to trace the edge of your sign.

“Careful,” you warn him, “that’s wet paint.”

Colt doesn’t even get close to smudging your paint, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your free hand to rest on his wrist, holding it in place while you set your paint bottle down. Colt stills at your touch, and your heart accelerates again at the gentle way his fingertips rest on the edge of your sign.

He lets the moment hang in the air between you for a moment, then comments, “I was just going to suggest a nice artist’s signature. See this big gap right here between Not and Disturb? Your name should go there in big red letters.” You’re already swatting his hand away playfully as his serious tone devolves into snickers. “Just like Bob Ross does on TV.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you laugh, glad to feel the tension slipping out of the atmosphere. Colt lifts his chin off your shoulder now, his hair brushing your earlobe as he does.

“No, it would look perfect,” he insists, his eyes sparkling as his smirk widens. “And then I can aim right for your name when I kick it in half tomorrow.”

He laughs out loud when you slam the sign down on the picnic table surface in mock irritation, your grin making your amusement at his joke obvious. The slam sends a few drops of the black paint from your brush flying up, spattering your jawline.

You reach for a dry rag nearby, still grinning as you prepare to respond, but Colt stops you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me,” he says seriously, placing your hand back into your lap and raising his other hand to the side of your face. You freeze in place, unprepared for the wave of emotion that washes over you when Colt touches the side of your jaw softly.

His eyes are still sparkling with humor, and you know he’s about to do something to make you laugh, but you can’t help the feeling that sweeps through your heart when you’re face to face with him, one of his hands holding yours on your lap and the other just beginning to cradle your face. It feels so gentle, so intimate, so right, and your heart aches as you realize that there is no going back from the feelings you’re developing for Colt Seavers.

He hesitates for a split second, his hand hoving on your jaw for practically no time at all, but it feels like a lifetime to you. You watch his dark blue eyes as they dart down to look at your lips, flitting back up just as quickly to latch onto your eyes with a stare that could melt diamonds.

Then the corner of his mouth turns up again into his usual smirk, and he strokes his thumb across your jaw to smear the black paint up the side of your face.

“Now,” he offers, “don’t you think you look more realistic?”

He dissolves into laughter as you reach up and feel the streaks of black now smudged across your face. You immediately reach past him to dip your fingers in your bottle of red paint, giving him a mischievous grin as you slather three fingers’ worth of paint across his nose and cheeks. The combination of his semi-shocked expression and the ridiculousness of his painted face pushes you over the edge into another fit of laughter.

“You’re the one who will be on camera,” you retort, smiling wider than you can remember doing in a long time. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s realistic?”

“Touché,” he acknowledges playfully, rubbing his face and only succeeded in smearing the red paint further across his face. “Though I doubt Tom Ryder is going to accept any glimpses of my face on camera, so I won’t even have to wash this off.”

You impulsively reach up and drag your fingertip through the splotch of paint on his cheek, resisting the urge to draw a heart and settling on a simple smiley face instead. His own smile resurfaces at that, eyes twinkling as they stay locked on yours.

“If you keep it until tomorrow, you’ll match my sign,” you muse, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which has suddenly grown a bit more intense now that Colt’s gaze is focused on you again.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t play it off, doesn’t do anything that you expect from him. His breathing seems to slow down, while yours feels like it takes off in a flurry of movement. Colt doesn’t make a move to touch you, but you can feel the distance between the two of you closing infinitesimally.

You’ve never noticed the flecks of silver-gray in his eyes, or the almost-invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, or the ragged cut of his hair right beside his ears. Even the brilliant red streak only serves to bring out the golden tones of his skin, the swirls of blonde in his hair. Every detail of his face seems vivid, as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

His eyes seem to drink you in, too, traveling over every inch of your face before stopping on your lips again. This time, though, he doesn’t flick his eyes back up. Words escape you, as do any coherent thoughts. This is it. He’s actually going to kiss me. This is real.

“Seavers, on set, ASAP.”

The squawk of his walkie-talkie shatters the intense moment, and both of you release a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. Colt swallows, smoothes his hand over his beard, turns to slip the walkie back into his pocket. You turn back to your painted sign quickly, trying to regain some composure.

Uncharacteristically, Colt doesn’t speak as he stands and turns to walk back to the filming set. He does, however, glance back at you the moment you lift your eyes to watch him walk away. Your heart is still hammering, recovering from his closeness to you.

With a wordless smile, he reaches up, swipes a bit of red paint off his face, and presses it onto the tip of your nose in the shape of his fingerprint. Then he walks away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Part 2

[bimbocoreblonde]

Danger

Colt Seavers x fem!reader

a/n: hey team! surprise! also, i despise the way this turned out. but i haven’t written in ages, so i guess I’ve gotta start somewhere. if it’s shit, i apologize in advance! but enjoy!!!

summary: you have an issue with your boyfriend’s addiction to danger. he doesn’t see the problem. but will he see it when the shoe is on the other foot?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“you’re not listening to me.”

“no, i hear you loud and clear. you don’t agree with me doing my job.”

you and colt have been at it for the entirety of your lunch break. this all started when you heard from your coworker, hannah, in the animal welfare department that colt had agreed to perform a stunt involving him leaping from one helicopter to another. you were outraged to hear this through the grapevine instead of from your own boyfriend.

so, when he walked into your tent during lunch with that stupid smirk on his face, you just lost it. needless to say, he was not receptive to your worries.

you sigh, running your hand through your hair frustratedly. “that is not what i’m saying and you know it, colt. i’m just saying i can tell you’re getting riskier and riskier. this isn’t a car roll we’re talking about here, colt. this is literally leaping through the air. something that could absolutely be done through vfx.”

he takes a deep breath, trying to calm the conversation down. “you just don’t get it. the pressure to agree to something when you’re on set with everyone watching you…you just don’t get it.”

you furrowed your brows at this. “i don’t get it? i work on a film set too, in case you forgot.”

he can feel tensions are high, so he attempts once more to calm things by making a joke…one that happens to be in very poor taste.

“i mean, technically, but, don’t you just sit in your trailer all day and tell dogs to sit and stay? it’s not like you’re actually experiencing the pressures of hollywood,” he says with a chuckle.

your heart drops at that. no way did he just demean your entire life’s work to ‘telling dogs to sit and stay’. you’ve worked for years to be a professional animal trainer for screen and stage. it’s been your dream since you were a little girl growing up helping your parents with the animal sanctuary they founded.

“what did you just say?” you ask, shocked.

you see the fear on his face as he realizes the implications of his own words. “oh my god, no, i didn’t mean-“

you cut him off, a look of pure betrayal on your face. “no, i know exactly what you meant. now, if you’ll excuse me, i have to get some dogs to sit.”

“baby, wait, i-“

“out, seavers,” you demanded.

colt knew upon hearing you call him by his last name that there was no mending this right now, so he nodded his head in defeat and slowly left your tent.

you sat down in your chair and put your head in your hands, trying not to cry. deep down, you knew he was just trying to ease the tension of the situation with his typical colt-seavers-awkward-humor. but you just couldn’t shake the feeling his words left you with. he knew how hard you had worked for this position and how demeaning people could be about it. you just never thought that your biggest insecurity would be the bud of one of his jokes.

taking a deep breath, you stand up and try to shake off your argument. you had work to do.

~

meanwhile, colt is back on set, trying his best to focus as dan briefs him on what his airplane jump will look like. understandably, the stunt man is having trouble focusing. all he can think about is the look of complete and utter betrayal on your face after he made that joke. that stupid fucking joke. why couldn’t he have thought before he spoke, just this once?

“earth to seavers…” dan snaps in colt’s face, trying to get his attention.

“sorry, dan, you were saying?”

dan rolls his eyes. “you might wanna listen to this, considering it’s going to be one of the most dangerous stunts ever performed.”

colt cringes at that. “actually, dan, on second thought-“

dan’s walkie interrupts the conversation as a panicked voice comes through.

“we have a code red in animal welfare, code red in animal welfare.”

colt’s eyes widen at that. “dan, what the fuck does that mean?”

dan puts up a hand to shut colt up. “shhhh, i’m trying to hear it-“

“everyone please clear the area, emts to animal welfare, emts to animal welfare.”

dan speaks into the walkie. “can we request some elaboration on the situation please?”

the walkie beeps with a response. “koda got spooked.”

colt is terrified at this point, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. “dan…isn’t koda a black bear?”

dan slowly nods his head, worry prominent on his face.

“colt, i think you’ve gotta get to animal welfare. this could be bad.”

~

as you slowly regain consciousness, the first thing you notice is that you can only see half as well as usual. you lift your hand up to your face with a shaky hand and make contact with gauze that seems to be covering half of your face.

“oh fuck.“

your words startled a certain fall guy out of his slumber. upon noticing the panic on your face, he’s quick to move to your side.

“hey, sweetheart, how are you doing?” he gently asks.

“that depends,” you start slowly, “do i still have two eyes?”

he stifles a laugh at your blunt response. “yeah, don’t worry. you still have two eyes. it was a close one, though. he got you pretty good.”

you look at him confused. “what even happened? all i remember is koda getting overwhelmed and going to jump on me. everything else is lost on me.”

colt sighed. “you were knocked unconscious once you hit the ground, but from there koda did some damage with his claws. luckily, hannah was able to get him off of you before he-“ his breath hitches at the thought.

you squeeze his hand. “hey, it’s okay. it’s all okay.”

colt’s face crumples at this as tears fall down his face. you take his face in your hands and gently wipe his tears away. “what is it, honey?”

“i get it now. getting the call on the walkie. i get it. my heart fucking stopped because i thought that you were gonna-“

you press a kiss to his forehead. “shhh. i didn’t, though.”

“but you could’ve, and the last thing i would’ve said to you was that dumb joke that was the opposite of the truth,” he sobbed out.

“baby, i know that. i was just upset in the moment because it hit a sore spot, but of course i knew your true intentions. we’re okay, yeah?” you stroke his hair to calm him down, and the two of you sit there for a moment until his sobs become sniffles.

you bask in the silence, happy to still be alive and still be with him.

“i’m not doing it.”

upon your curious look, colt continues.

“the plane stunt. i’m not doing it.”

you sigh. “i just worry, but ultimately you do know best-“

he cuts you off. “no, no. i learned today how terrifying it is to watch you in danger of losing your life. i can’t imagine how you feel everyday on set. i’m not doing it.”

you smile. “well, i can’t say i’m not relieved to hear that.”

he smiles back at you.

“i love you, darling.”

“i love you right back, fall guy.”

[bimbocoreblonde]

This is what makes The Fall Guy such a beautiful love story.

Colt is insane bc the whole world thought he was dead but his main priority was to tell his crush that she would be able to finish her movie… he was so excited and proud of himself 😭😭 the way he was definitely concussed and in pain 3/4 of the movie too

[bimbocoreblonde]

Can I request A, D, and G for Colt? Thank you so much :)

You absolutely can! I was away seeing Taylor Swift (I'm such a lucky girl), so I'm sorry this is a little late, but I hope you like these headcanons for Colt!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?), D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?), and G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) for Colt Seavers!

A = Affection

Colt is very, very affectionate, both verbally and physically, often without even realising that he's doing it. He reaches out for you without thinking: wrapping an arm around your waist, guiding you with a hand on your lower back, pecking on on the cheek whenever you're close enough - and the whole time he'll be smiling, calling you pretty, praising you for whatever you've just done, using pet names. If you were ever in doubt about how Colt felt about you, literally three seconds in his presence will set you straight.

D = Domestic

A little surprisingly, Colt isn't looking to settle down just yet. He loves being in a committed relationship, but he also loves his work, which means for the forseeable future he's going to be all around the world, be away for weeks at a time, and can never promise he's going to be around for big events. I think if you worked in the industry too, it wouldn't be a problem, but if you didn't think it could be a source of friction between you two.

Also, Colt seems to be blind to mess, and cannot cook anything more complicated than a toastie.

G = Gentle

Colt is conciously very gentle with you. His work is rough on him, and he doesn't really bother being gentle with himself, but that makes him hyper-aware of how he is with you because he can't bear the thought that he has inflicted even a fraction of what he receives onto you. He touches you with featherlight hands, is always careful not to bump into you, insists that you sleep on top of him when you share a bed so he doesn't crush you. He treats you like spun glass, because he thinks you're precious than any delicate work of art.

[bimbocoreblonde]

Yes they do, Colt.

(I cried during the Taylor Swift concernt, so sue me)

THE FALL GUY (2024) dir. David Leitch

[bimbocoreblonde]

Colt 🤝 Jean-Claude ​​​

[bimbocoreblonde]

@foxdev1l lol

[bimbocoreblonde]

Fall Guy fandom where are you at????

[bimbocoreblonde]

me making bracelets for going to Taylor's concert...

now i can’t think of anything else but colt and jody when i hear all too well (taylor’s version) 😅😂

[bimbocoreblonde]

Shot Through the Heart

※ Colt Seavers x GN!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: You've worked with Colt off and on for years, building an easy rapport with the stuntman. The rest of the crew sends you to check up on him after he's bad off following a stunt that seems to have caused his nearly career-ending injury to act up.

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes.

※ Content/Tags: Fluff, Caretaking, No use of y/n, Mentions of old injury, Budding Love, Pre-Relationship, Solely based on the official trailer uploaded to YouTube by Universal Pictures

※ Word count: 3,052

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: The devil works fast but I work faster. That three and a half minute long trailer sure possessed me. Needless to say, I'm excited for the movie's release in a few months.

The setting sun is blinding you on its long journey below the horizon. You squint against the light at the block of apartments as you pull your vehicle into a stop alongside the curb. You really hope you’re at the right location. You’re not sure if you trust your crewmates to have given you the right address. You honestly did not really want to be here at all. Many of the crew for this particular production had worked with Colt before, so it really was wildly unfair that you had been unanimously volunteered to check up on the man after he was a no-show for the past couple days. Sure, he had called, but no one had actually laid eyes on him to verify his condition.

You put your car into park and open the door to step out into the evening heat. You immediately feel smothered by the warmth, and you reach across your center console to grab the items crowding your passenger seat. You withdraw, burdened, and nudge the door closed with your knee. You manage to hit the lock button on your key fob before you duck into the small parking garage. A flood of relief washes over you when you immediately spot Colt’s obnoxious brown and yellow truck. There are surfboards still resting in the bed of the vehicle. It’s parked haphazardly with no regard for anyone else’s need for the space. You’re in the right place at least. You skirt around it, eyes scanning for apartment numbers. You mutter his unit number under your breath while you look for it. You’re juggling a heating pad, multiple ice packs, and a bag of food. You’re not sure what you’re going to be walking into. 

After what feels like an eternity of searching, you finally locate what you hope is his front door. With your hands full, you contemplate figuring out how to knock. You finally decide to just bang on the wood with your elbow. There’s no response or any whispers of movement. You sigh and hit it again, more aggressively. You know he’s home. The lifted monstrosity in the parking garage is proof enough. He avoids going anywhere without it. 

You double down and are in the middle of hammering on the door for a third time when you finally hear muffled cursing gradually getting louder as the apartment’s occupant gets closer. To your relief, it’s Colt Seavers himself who yanks the door open hard enough you’re briefly worried he’s going to pull it right off the hinges. You open your mouth, about to launch into a bantering complaint about how he left you to rot on his doorstep when you register what exactly you’re looking at.

The man crowding the doorway is wet, straight from an interrupted shower. His shaggy, blond hair is falling into his eyes. The light from the setting sun reflects an orange glow on the water droplets racing down his body. He looks like he’s on fire. You drag your eyes from his obscenely exposed chest to his face. You try to pretend that you’re not talking to a very damp, very naked man preserving the last dregs of his modesty with only a towel wrapped around his narrow hips. You’ve just agreed with yourself not to acknowledge how large his hand looks clutching the fabric. 

“Where’s the fire?” He asks. His annoyance fades away at the realization that you’re the one bothering him out of the blue. 

“The guys sent me on a welfare check. We haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“I’m clearly alive so you’re welcome to-” He pantomimes you leaving by walking his fingers in the air “-report back that I haven’t died yet.”

“Welfare, not proof of life. Besides, you look like shit and I brought some supplies.” You argue, raising your arms to show your wares.

He looks like he’s thinking about pushing the issue, but he deflates, exhausted. He purposely lets out a dramatically weary sigh and gives you only the barest amount of space to get past him. You squeeze through the door, grazing against his wet arm. You hear him close and lock the front door behind you while you openly gawk at his apartment. 

“You live like this?” You ask, slightly aghast. The place is a mess. There are plants and exercise equipment everywhere. The stuntman hovering behind you clearly has his priorities. 

“Sure do. Just going to go finish rinsing off. I’d say make yourself comfortable but you’re already on your way,” he remarks, casting an amused glance at the way you’re wobbling while trying to extract yourself from your shoes with no hands. 

You frown at his back as you watch him skirt around you and head in the direction of his bathroom. He’s moving jerkily, almost stumbling. His back is definitely messed up. You really hope it’s something that you will be able to assist with in some capacity. You know first hand how stunt work takes a toll on the human body. 

Following the sound of a television, you manage to make your way to the living area. You shove over some electrolyte packets and gardening tools on his coffee table to create room for the bag of food that you made for him. The heating pad and ice packs get dumped on the floor next to one of the legs. As for yourself, you settle in on his couch to wait. You’re not surprised to see that he’s left an Indiana Jones movie playing on the screen. It seems like the kind of thing he would watch.

From the bathroom, you hear some muffled complaining before the shower kicks on. The sound of the rushing water does little to cover the noise of the shower curtain hooks on the rod as he wrestles with the material. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, thankful you didn’t hear Colt fall trying to get over the edge of the tub. The last thing you wanted was to wrestle your naked crewmate while on the phone with emergency services. 

Only a few minutes pass before the water cuts off and you hear the door open. You can’t help but notice that you didn’t hear the sound of his bedroom door closing. There’s just the sound of footsteps and rustling fabric. He emerges, wearing a pair of garish pajama pants. He’s still distractingly shirtless, because why wouldn’t he be? It’s not as though he has a guest that is trying very hard to be normal about this entire situation. There’s a towel draped over his bare shoulders in the effort to contain the mess produced by his sopping wet hair. Trails of water are running down his neck and soaking into the cloth. 

Colt practically drags himself over to you. He lowers himself onto the cushion at your side, and makes an effort to avoid leaning against the back of the couch. You turn to face the blond man, taking a hard look at him. He looks even worse up close than he did when he greeted you at the door. Exhaustion is deepening the fine lines in his face and his eye bags nearly have their own luggage. 

“How are you doing? Really?”

He gives you one of his goofy grimaces and flashes a thumbs up. He can’t hide the wince as movement pulls at his back muscles. The look you give him in return is unimpressed. 

“Can you even function?”

“Barely,” he says with a groan as he tries to get a little more comfortable. He still looks painfully stiff.

You suppress the urge to give him a comforting pat on the leg and instead lean over to dig the meal you had brought for him out of the bag. You shove a tupperware container, a wrapped sandwich, and a plastic fork at him until he takes them. He looks bewildered. 

“Eat. The dressing is in the small container hanging out in the salad greens.”

“Did you make this yourself?”

“I’ve worked with you enough times to know how you are, so yes.” You admired the man’s discipline, but it had been cause for concern while you desperately scoured your kitchen looking for something to make that wasn’t going to fall under the umbrella of junk food. 

“Maybe I should reinjure myself more often then,” he says with a smirk and raises his eyebrows. You don’t dignify him with a response.

He balances the container of salad on the armrest next to him and sets to work on unwrapping the sandwich. It’s grilled chicken breast with a truly ridiculous amount of lettuce and tomato. You hadn’t dumped condiments on it, not wanting it to get soggy during the car ride.

“I’m here to play nursemaid so can I do something about all of that? '' You gesture to his dripping hair and his hunched over body.

He looks up from the sandwich like he’s holding something precious in his hands. “You made me this. You can do anything you want with me. I’ve only got a few limits.” 

You roll your eyes at his suggestive tone before rising up onto your knees. You shuffle closer, knees mere inches away from grazing the outside of his thigh. The towel slips freely from his shoulders and he doesn’t complain when you drape it over his head. You gently work the material over his hair. Colt starts in on the sandwich while you work carefully to dry him without putting unnecessary pressure or movement on him. You take a corner of the towel and wipe away the water that has trailed down his face and his neck. You don’t go any further down than his collarbone not daring to drag the fabric over his chest. You have to cling to some level of professionalism between coworkers. He leans into the touches in the areas you are willing to wipe dry. You pretend not to notice. 

He eats like he’s been starving ever since the last day you and the rest of the crew had seen him on set. He probably had been if he was still in this bad of shape days later. You leave him to start in on the salad. On your way to hang the towel over the shower curtain rod to dry, you stumble over a stray weight that had been left in the middle of the floor. You manage to suppress your pained noises despite the tears leaping to your eyes. Why had you been volunteered for this? Your crewmates had been suspiciously giggly and evasive when you had protested. They had just made excuses and jokes about how you were Colt’s favorite person and you being the one to check on him would make his day. What a load of crap.

“What do you usually do for your back?” You ask, coming back into the room and trying to not let on you nearly had your own medical emergency just out of sight. 

“Just uh… stick the tens on it and stretch it out.”

“Gotcha. Finish that up and we’ll start on your back,” you tell him. You crouch down next to the coffee table and gather the ice packs. You won’t be using them today. The injury has sat for too long.

“Thanks, nurse,” he responds around a mouthful of greens.

You cross the apartment and pull open the door to the freezer. You cram the ice packs onto an already sizable stack of them sandwiched between the freezer wall and bags of frozen vegetables. The refrigerator itself is covered in receipts, bills, coupons, business cards, brochures… You’re really not sure how Colt is able to find anything. You suppose that it’s all his own brand of organized chaos. 

You make your way back to the living room in time to see him clamp the lid back on the tupperware container. You give your head a little shake. The man inhaled an entire sandwich and a salad in under fifteen minutes. Impressive. You hope his stomach handles going from zero to a hundred with more grace than yours would. You don’t feel like holding his hair back while he vomits. 

“How do you want to do this? Floor, couch, or bed?”

He twinges his back when he twists to look up at you. You’d laugh if you hadn’t felt a sting of worry at the way he winced. You know Colt’s a tough man. You have seen him take hit after hit over the past few years. He must be hurting badly to be showing this much sincere discomfort. You’ve seen him ham it up as a joke, but this was the real deal.

“I’m glad one of us thinks I’ll be able to get off the floor. How about you take me to bed, beautiful?”

He heaves himself off the couch and you trail after him into his bedroom. The floor is messy like the rest of the house. You’re not sure if he’s always this disorganized or if it was just something that has resulted from him not being able to keep up with it due to his back. Given the state of his fridge, you’re strongly considering that it’s the former and not the latter. 

“How do you want me?” The flirtatious tone isn’t quite coming through as intended with him standing like he’s auditioning for the starring role in a live action adaptation of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. 

“On your stomach, please. Do you have lotion or anything I can use on you?” 

He groans as he makes his way onto the bed and lays face down. He’s unable to relax, the muscles in his back are too tight. “I have some vaseline in the bathroom. Right drawer.”

You set the heating pad down on the bed next to him after plugging it in. You make another trek to the bathroom to search for the aforementioned vaseline. It’s not hard to locate and you manage to dodge the weight this time. You’re not about to wreck your foot on it again. Once was enough. 

You settle on the bed next Colt, careful not to jostle him. You swipe your fingers though the vaseline to collect a sizable dollop of the substance. You set the container aside and liberally coat your hands with what you had scooped out. Your eyes catch on the long scar running alongside the stuntman’s spine. It’s pink and raised, a fairly old wound but not old enough to fade to silver. You weren’t there when Colt got the injury. You’d been on another set halfway across the world, but the things you’d heard months later from people who had been present when it happened weren’t good. He had nearly died and if he had… you would have just been left with memories spanning the hours spent with this cocky man. You would have likely said a few words at his funeral, if you had even been able to make it, and that would have been the end of Colt Seavers. He would be just another stuntman who died doing what he loved. The thought puts a pit in your stomach. You push it aside, he’s still alive and he’s waiting for you to get on with the program. 

The initial touch of your hands against his bare back causes you both to tense up and go deathly quiet. Your pulse is hammering in your years and you swear you can hear the sound of his throat as he swallows. You try to not knee him in the side as you start to massage the expanse between his broad shoulders. It’s not long before he’s melting into the mattress, relaxing under your touch. You work him over, section by section. You gently knead the raised line of scar tissue, helping to discourage the excess building of collagen. A little lower and he’s groaning when you carefully dig your knuckles into the skin above his waistband, forcing the tight muscles to yield. He’s limp and unresistant when you catch him by the hip and pull his pelvis in your direction to better align his spine.

Thankfully, you spot an already dirty shirt nearby. You pick it up and wipe your hands on it with a grimace. Most of the vaseline has either ended up on the man currently face down on his bed or had absorbed into your palms, but you still didn’t want to risk tracing it through the house before you slathered your hands in dish soap to remove any oily residue. As a final token of care, you lay the heating pad across his lower back and turn it on the medium setting. You’ve done all you can do for him.

Colt is so still and quiet that you’re sure he’s fallen asleep. You turn away from him and inch towards the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb him while you begin your exit from his apartment and back to your vehicle. You nearly leap out of your skin when he shifts enough to catch hold of your forearm. His hand is so large that his middle finger and thumb nearly touch.

“Please stay.” He sounds tired, vulnerable. There’s no charisma or bravado to his voice.

You feel your face soften as you take in his words. “All right.”

You scoot back towards him and lay down on your back at his side. The bed is barely big enough for the both of you like this. It’s intimate, too intimate, especially since your arm is still in his grasp. You can’t bring yourself to mind. The line between being coworkers and whatever this is was blurred a long time ago anyway despite your best efforts to tell yourself otherwise. You're starting to realize your crewmates might have been more aware than you were. Those assholes.

When Colt rises up onto one elbow and leans over, taking all the time in the world to project his intentions, you don’t turn from him. You just bring a hand up to brush his still damp hair out of his face. You guide the stuntman the rest of the way in, your hand migrates to cup his bearded cheek. The kiss you share is inevitable and unhurried. It feels as natural as breathing.

[bimbocoreblonde]

Sitting on my bed, making bracelets for seeing Taylor Swift, and all I can think about is Colt crying listening to All Too Well.

This is not helpful, brain.

[bimbocoreblonde]

Hiii could you please make W, T for Colt??

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Of course I can, lovely! I found that these two prompts came together really well, so you've ended up with one headcanon rather than two, and I was too tired to properly proof-read it, but I was too excited not to write this tonight so I hope you like it anyway!

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) and W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) for Colt!

Colt did one more survey of the room, wanted to make sure everything was perfect.

It was his six-month anniversary with you, and he wanted the evening to be perfect for you.

He’d had a haircut, shaved this morning, and bought a new t-shirt. He’d cleaned his whole apartment from top to bottom, brought in the table from his apartment balcony, and lined the living room with candles. He’d ordered your favourite meal from your favourite restaurant, warmed up plates in the oven to put it on, set the table with a tablecloth and silverware and candles.

…But when he looked over it all, he was still worried that you would find it…lacking. He was also worried his contributions to your relationship lacking, even though you’d never given any indication that you were unhappy with him.

The thing was, after he and Jody decided that there was too much water under the bridge and they were better off as friends, he’d felt unmoored. He and Jody were still friends, and obviously him and Dan had never stopped being friends, and Colt was even on kind-of speaking times with Tom now the dick had apologised (albeit through the medium of emoji), but he’d still felt like he was treading water.

You’d given him a direction to follow, re-moored him. He’d fallen head over heels for you, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

Dan had laughed at him, and Tom had sent him what Colt thought was a meme, and one of the characters with his face imposed over hers holding a puppy with your name written in front of his face, captioned “I’ve only known them a day and a half, but if anything happened to them, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself”, but Colt didn’t care.

Maybe it was ‘too soon’ or whatever, but if there was anything Colt had learned, it was that life was sometimes short. He’d lost count of his near-death experiences, except the two most memorable ones, but he always remembered he was lucky to be here – be on this planet, with you.

So, sure, he could play coy, pretend that you didn’t own massive chunks of his heart and soul, but why bother? He adored you, and he wanted you to know it.

That’s why he needed this date night to go perfectly – because you were perfect, and you deserved to be treated as such.

Checking his watch and seeing you’d be here any minute now, Colt reached out to straighten to bouquet of your favourite flowers, making sure they were within reach from your seat, knowing you loved the feel of the petals under your fingertips.

It still didn’t seem like enough, (Colt wasn’t sure it would ever feel like enough), not for you…but Colt smiled anyway, because he knew you’d love it. You’d know he loved you.

And maybe, if he was consistent, and carried on showing you just how much he loved you…maybe one day soon you’d love him too.

[bimbocoreblonde]

They're the same picture.