#I have no idea whether I even have a side in this

[aialsposts]

Absolutely LOVING the use of Mabel’s slang and Ford’s slight hesitation but willingness to adapt because like. Those kids talked like old timers in the show (likely just from being around one for a while)

so you KNOW they came back when in high school with Dipper saying stuff like “I’m about to absolutely crash out on Robbie this time. MABELLL?? WHERE’S YOUR GRAPPLING HOOK-“

And Mabel saying stuff like

“Slay the house down mama!!” And “you better WALK that DUCK” and even Dipper is like,,

“So from what I gather this is… a way of her saying essentially you’re doing really well and your outfit is so good it could…kill her??? I think??”

And it’s also a lot of Ford finally caving and begging for a presentation from Dipper about their generation’s Slang. Mabel has to be Dipper’s project partner; while he initially didn’t want to drag her into this, unfortunately he hit a wall in his research where he fully couldn’t see the connection, and Mabel was completely overexcited to oblige.

First half of the presentation:

Very well put together slides, including graphics here and there introducing a timeline for when said slang started taking off, Dipper’s theories as to *why* certain slang rose more popularly/had longer “staying power”, and even some older slang from Ford’s generation that roughly translates to something modern. “I’m gonna crash out on ___” roughly equals “you’re cruising for a bruising, pal”

While the other half was essentially:

*disorganized bright colors and really hard to read print over graphics that don’t really technically go with what’s being talked about?? From what Ford can gather??*

The first presentation is an absolute disaster, but after finally setting aside their differences to create a better, much more comprehensive presentation, it ends up with Dipper learning a lot more lingo, too (for better or worse, you decide lmao), and having Mabel do more of the sort of explaining to Dipper (he did the graphics and visuals this time, it hurt his SOUL to see his sister’s side of the presentation BDJSVDJ) and Mabel helped Dipper grapple with the connotations of lingo a little more. For some reason the worse it sounds it seems to mean?? Something better?? It confuses him just as much as it does Ford, and Ford really starts to see ‘tism signs in Dipper as he slowly realizes how much Dipper is just like him growing up (like. Dude’s REALLY trying to understand “slay” “yass” “queen” and he gets that down and Mabel’s like “alright, beginner level over, now, what does, “slay the house down boots mama!” Mean?”

Even adding her extravagant gestures to the slang, which, to his credit, surprised Dipper because normally body language helps but like. Mabel body language and “what the culture’s feeling” aren’t exactly the same thing. He couldn’t, for the LIFE of him, figure out whether or not the gestures were actually included— as in, used by anyone other than just Mabel— and he was in fact wrong because it turns out the gestures ARE important, but there’s also varying LEVELS of importance.

Like the more emphasis (more ‘cartoony’/fluid/exaggerated the movement, the more the person REALLY fucking means it, no matter how little or how much emphasis they put into their voice (kinda going against his autism’s way of learning because like. Tones are?? So important I thought??? Why does this not apply here??)

Genuinely once they’ve presented all the information, and Ford gets a better idea of it, they’re all ready to just end this information exchange,,, until Stan walks in and overhears Dipper say to Mabel, “I think we slayed this presentation”

To which the twins simultaneously face palm as they realize they have to do the presentation again,

and Ford gets The BIGGEST grin, because, you see, Ford’s ability to process information is largely dependent on setting, generally, the mystery shack is… not a place he’s overjoyed about being at, but with others around it can sort of quell that sick feeling he gets and such.

So while he *mostly* understood the presentation, he didn’t want to have the twins repeat themselves (especially after learning what “unc status” means) so when his brother, Stanley, has to endure the same chaos but WITHOUT the prior understanding Ford’s now working with, all he can do is pull the twins aside and whisper, “how about we add something to your presentation, I think it might help Stanley understand this one term better-“

After a few slides where Stanley hardly seems to be paying any attention, Mabel clears her throat, Dipper stifling his laughter as Mabel announces loud and clear that a “new term” “just dropped”. She points the clicker super professionally, and as the slides turn, it’s the most abhorrent neon slide to ever disgrace the earth. Glitter. Fairies. Graphics that actually DO work this time though, she made sure to give more accurate visuals.

Introducing: GRUNK STATUS!

“It’s like Unc status but even more archaic!” Mabel enthusiastically declares.

Dipper is giggling so hard he’s having a full out asthma attack on the floor, and Ford finally can’t contain his laughter either. Mabel starts to laugh along and Stanley looks absolutely miserable for a moment.

“Aw, c’mon they’re just kids,” Ford laughs.

“You put them up to this. I don’t know how to prove it but I KNOW you did this. That stupid fucking Pun has YOUR NAME written ALL OVER IT-“

*cough/mumbles something about it being Stanley’s name, legally, last he checked which IMMEDIATELY Started a fight, until Mabel slams her fist down.*

“Ahem. Gentlemen. The presentation isn’t OVER. Sheesh, talk about Crashing out,” Mabel says, SO calmly that both grunkles sink back in their seats a bit like kids in trouble for causing a ruckus at school. (Mabel and Dipper do a lil thumbs up bc hey, that was a great way to give an example of a Term, Mabel! Good job!)

“Ohh… I get it, Crashing Out means you’re cruising for a bruising!” Stanley declares (sort of under his breath). To which Ford replies, voice equally lowered, “wasn’t that a few slides back? They already said that,” as if he hadn’t had the EXACT same epiphany earlier on, and was merely able to contain it before sounding “even more unc” (he tries, but the grammar with the slang is slightly off sometimes).

This essentially causes another argument.

This third run of their presentation took them 2 hours to get through due to Stanley and Stanford’s arguing.

Their first two runs with only Ford took maybe 45 minutes max (not including their needing to fix said presentation).

The twins put up with Stan and Ford’s fighting because they realized it’s probably essentially exactly how they looked when they were bumping into each other the first time they were trying to create this presentation.

Some things never change.

Sibling Rivalry? Absolutely timeless.

I was thinking about how he did not have to include this photo of himself in TBOB and how it really looks like it had to be taken by someone else.

[libraford]

Hi. My entire family is ex-cult. They raised me especially to be cognizant of and well defended against cults. If I had treated them with the hostility people are showing you, I would have been vulnerable to tech bro shit and probably either joined or started one of the various tech-adjacent cults that are now trying to wreck us all today. Instead, I accepted that they have forsaken the cult, learned vicariously rather than personally the hard lessons they taught me, and have become an incorruptible force of nature as a result. I see people hating at you because hating a cult’s beliefs but not its believers is one of the most difficult pro-social positions to take — perhaps even more difficult than giving the rehabilitated a second chance, whether of addiction or of crime. Without those such as you, I would be a force of evil today.you owe no one an apology as you had no intent to harm. Regret at any pain taken away? Absolutely. But, I plead of you, bow your head to them in empathy, not in concession. Remain secure in your cognizance. You have identified something essential to a healthy society and the outrage delivered you is a symptom of illness, not of a mistake.

I think its hard for some people to have positive emotions towards people who have hurt them, and because this is a high-stakes situation its getting twisted into 'forgive them for everything, hold their hand, allow them back into your spaces.'

When the reality is much closer to 'I recognize that you were misled. I am happy that you are trying to do better. Please accept that I will be wary of you for some time, due to how you have hurt me.' Forgiveness can be selective. I can forgive a person for being in a high-control group, I find it hard to forgive them for the things they said and did when they were in that group.

Recognizing that an extremist out-group can consist of regular people who took a wrong turn wrestles with the idea that your enemy is human. And that you are human. And that you are susceptible to propaganda. And that you may one day be in their position, if from a different side.

Having seen decentralized cults form in front of me puts into perspective how fast and easy it is for them to start, how easy it is to fall for one, and how hard it is to leave once you're in. Leaving should be congratulated, even if that person hurt you. The rest is up to you, and my personal approach is 'don't be a dick intentionally.'

There's a movie version happening where there's a big speech and a montage, and then there's the reality. When my uncle left MAGA, it was met with a nod. No one has to say anything. No one has to do anything.

Overall, the notes on that post have been positive. I think most people who have interacted with it have been glad that they're taking the first step towards better days. The people who have been against it are just... well... let's say they're articulate.

[prael]

Conciliation

ILLIT Moka x Yunah // part 2 to Punishment

words: 6,035 Masterlist

Two weeks have gone by. Two weeks since the incident in their dorm room. For Yunah, it's as though that night never happened. It was just some afterthought that had been shoved down in the deep corners of her memory, as though she would sooner forget and have Moka pretend it was nothing at all.

Moka thinks of nothing else.

She thinks about it in her classes, daydreaming when she should be practising. Rehearsals have become a stop-start procedure, with everyone turning to Moka with the same question: are you okay? She feels so pathetic. Embarrassed at herself, but still thinking, wondering, wishing, that maybe tonight might be that night; that Yunah might snap at some point and give her just a single touch.

She's thought about doing it again, just the same way, touching herself while Yunah is around. Even the mere idea has Moka wet with shame. It would work, surely, it has to work. Then Moka talks herself out of it. Doing it again, trying to instigate a reaction, she may as well just confess, beg, and plead with Yunah. Admit that she likes her. Tell her just how crazy it makes Moka when she walks around the room in only a t-shirt and panties. When she shakes her hair loose out of a ponytail, her brunette hair cascades in the moonlight, looking so soft and thick, and Moka can't get over her.

They're on their way out of the country, for another big show. Another sleepless night spent travelling. Another opportunity for Yunah to glare at Moka when she's obviously not focused or too busy stumbling through her moves. Another opportunity for her to sit there, only her and her dirty, little thoughts.

There's a slight turbulence, enough to make the sleeping Yunah move in her seat, her head rolling to the side. She looks peaceful and beautiful. That same fringe she's so particular about always ends up in her eyes, so naturally, Moka wants to reach up and push it away, but she forces herself back, that's the last thing she wants; to wake her and look suspicious.

"Not sleeping?" A voice from the other side, makes Moka tear her eyes away from Yunah and find Minju. Minju gives a curious look at Yunah before returning her gaze to Moka.

"Can't sleep," Moka confesses with a sigh.

Minju doesn't reply at first, the look she is giving, makes Moka believe she is contemplating whether she should share or not. "Me neither. Keep thinking about tomorrow."

Moka hums a vague affirmative in response. She wants to appear agreeable and that she isn't preoccupied with the thoughts of someone else.

Minju gives her a wry smirk. "What about you? You keep spacing out."

Her question strikes a chord in Moka. For some reason, she can't deny it or lie about what's been going through her head, and even when she should probably deny it, Moka still finds herself talking about her. "Have you ever liked someone who hated your guts? Like so much it physically hurts," Moka can't help the questions slipping past her lips. It's pathetic really. She should know better, and she knows she's saying too much and too openly, but it's not her fault. She just can't handle it all, not for another minute.

"Are you saying there's a guy you like?" Minju asks, which at least offers Moka the reassurance that the others haven't realised what's going on; why else would she ask that? "You know we're not allowed to date anyone, Moka."

"I know, and I'm not going to date anyone, but I can still like someone, right?"

Minju laughs. "Yeah, you can do what you like," she replies while stealing another look at the older girl across from them, sleeping. "So why does he hate your guts then?"

"Well, I—"

Yunah sighs, breaking the conversation as the pair suddenly falls quiet. They freeze like deer caught in the headlights of a car as Yunah, shifts in her seat, adjusting her position before relaxing again. There is a relief between them, letting out a heavy breath at the realisation that their friend is still very much asleep.

"Lucky her," Minju finally says, shaking her head. "I can't wait for us all to be back in our hotel rooms and having some proper sleep." Minju sighs, turning back to Moka. "You were saying?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it, forget I said anything," Moka rambles. She finds herself silently cursing herself. If the truth of her desires slipped and spilt out, there's no telling what kind of trouble she would be in. But Minju looks at her in a strange sort of understanding, nodding and giving her a reassuring smile.

Moka returns the sentiment and lays her head on her friend's shoulder. Her heartbeat starts to slow down, and as time passes, sleep draws in, luring her into its clutches, and at last, her eyelids flutter shut.

-

It's 4 am and they're shambling into the hotel lobby, weary, eyes burning, muscles tired, with sore shoulders and legs.

"We've booked rooms for you all. We just went with the same arrangement as the dorm," the manager explains, sending Moka's heart crashing. She and Yunah. Of course. She nods weakly and trudges to the lift alongside her members.

Yunah opens the door, and Moka follows. They haven't spoken a word to each other. The moment the hotel door is closed, and Moka drops her bag on the floor, Yunah takes off her jacket, hanging it on a hook. Moka slips her shoes off, trying her hardest not to make eye contact.

"Moka?"

Fuck. Why couldn't she just walk past without saying anything? Moka's cheeks feel hot. Why now? She glances up, and the look she receives from Yunah doesn't give anything away.

"What's gotten into you? Are you sick?" She snaps, walking right up to her. A rough hand takes hold of her chin, forcing her face up and it shocks Moka so much that it knocks her off her axis for a moment.

There she is. Again. So close. It takes a moment, or three, to figure out what she even said. Moka goes to shake her head, but with her face being held so firmly in place, it's impossible. "No, I'm fine." She swallows. "Just a little nervous."

"Why are you lying to me?"

Her face is still gripped, she's forced to keep eye contact with her and she hates it. She hates that her skin prickles as Yunah's beautiful gaze pours down.

"Whatever," Yunah says incredulously, her hand holding Moka's jaw. Moka nods as best as she can and then she's released. She misses her touch the moment Yunah's hand is gone and she's left to drop her head. "We can't have you being distracted tomorrow. Just get it together."

The older girl retreats into the bathroom, closing the door and leaving a disgruntled Moka alone. She could scream, but instead, she swallows down her frustration.

Moka undresses and slips into her shorts and tank top. She flops onto the soft covers and waits. Curses and empty wishes run through her mind; her fist tightens into a frustrated ball and her eyebrows furrow. How is she supposed to do anything like this? How can she think about anything other than her?

Soon, Yunah returns, but all Moka gets from her is silence, nothing, absolutely nothing, and yet here she is, lying and waiting. Pathetic, it's downright fucking pathetic. She takes a deep breath and lets herself turn and stare at her back. "Yunah?"

"What?"

"Why did you make me feel good?"

"You talk about that like it meant something," Yunah responds, turning her attention away from her phone. Her beautiful hair fans out against the pillow.

"Did it?"

Yunah responds with her own question, "Did you want it to?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." She turns her attention back to her phone, effectively dismissing her and the conversation altogether.

"Please—"

"Goodnight, Moka," Yunah bites. Her tone leaves no more room for discussion. No room for questioning.

Moka clamps her mouth shut, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. What more could she say? How many ways could she plead with her before it becomes demeaning? But the silence in her room makes the ache between her thighs feel unbearable and impossible to ignore.

It's nearly an hour later when Moka gives in, dipping her hands between her legs. She rubs against the front of her shorts and shudders as she teeters on the brink of losing her senses and giving in to her desires. But the bed shifts, the sheets move, and she stops.

Yunah rolls over and she looks at Moka, as though expecting her to do something, anything. The eye contact alone has Moka feeling so small and helpless.

"Do it," Yunah whispers.

"W-what?"

"I know you want to. These past weeks you've been so distracted. I know you're always thinking of it, of what happened, what I did. I see the way you look at me."

"I... I'm sorry."

Yunah rolls her eyes. "Just do it."

"But you hate it. It makes you uncomfortable, I can't—" Yunah cuts Moka off as she moves closer, she slips her fingers past the waistband of Moka's shorts, down to the wet warmth of her cunt. "Yunah," she whimpers. Moka bites her lip to hold in the noises, but it's impossible to stay silent as Yunah runs teasing touches over her lips, threatening to slip between them.

"You can't do it, can you? Not on your own, not since I've touched you." She says it so plainly that Moka can't help but agree. She knows the truth. "But you don't want to ask for my help because you know I'll just say no. So here I am, doing it for you." Yunah's finger slides between Moka's lips and runs up to her clit. It makes Moka gasp. "Think about why that is. Why would I want to help you?" she murmurs as her fingers circle the hard, little nub.

"I don't know." The words are barely audible.

"I think you do," Yunah says and then her fingers go away.

"No, don't stop."

"I know it's hard, Moka," Yunah whispers. Her fingers are back. They're running through the lips of Moka's cunt, sliding easily, making the skin slick and sensitive. Moka can hardly think as the fingers run up and down, stroking and teasing, edging closer to the opening. "But I need you to say it."

"Because," Moka chokes out. Her head is spinning, and she feels so dizzy. She can hardly form a single thought. All she knows is how good she feels, how desperate she is for those fingers. "You like making me feel good. Because you want it just as bad."

"Because I want it, Moka," Yunah whispers, pushing a single finger into Moka's tight entrance. It sinks in so deep and she moans. She's so fucking sensitive. The feeling of the finger as it enters and stretches her, the feeling as it curls inside, the way it moves slowly and deliberately, is enough to have her trembling. Yunah has to lean in and put her mouth by Moka's ear. "I can't get the fucking thought of you out of my head."

"Oh god."

The words have the desired effect and Yunah's hand moves faster, the thrusts come harder and Moka is completely helpless. Her body starts to arch, her back rises off the mattress and her chest is pulled upwards as if offering herself to the other girl. Her little chest rises, her nipples hardening under the material of her top. Yunah looks at her body and smiles. She pushes a second finger inside, her thumb begins to work her clit and Moka's hands are holding tight to the pillow behind her.

Moka doesn't care that she's moaning, or that she can't stop saying her roommate's name. All that she cares about is how her body is starting to clench, how her hips are bucking and how her legs have gone so rigid, and it's just the best feeling, the best thing that she's ever experienced in her life. Moka opens her eyes and finds Yunah staring. Her face is so close; Moka wants her closer.

She has the overwhelming desire to taste Yunah's lips, but not the strength to pull her down, so she settles for the fingers inside of her and the hand that keeps working her cunt until the orgasm comes.

Moka pulls the pillow tight around her head, muffling the sound that spills from her mouth. She feels her walls tightening around Yunah's digits, her entire body clenching and shaking, and her eyes rolling back. She's so close.

Yunah climbs over her, kneeling between her slender thighs and her fingers never leave. They're so deep. The pressure is too intense. She feels the walls inside of her start to tighten, the heat growing inside her. Moka's head turns and buries into the pillow she holds onto for dear life.

"Look at me, Moka," she coos, leaning into her. "I said look at me."

Yunah takes Moka's hand, prying it away from the pillow. Powerless to resist, Moka's arm is pushed above her head, and then the other. They're placed together, held under Yunah's grasp and Moka's head is free and forced to look at the beautiful woman on top of her, forced to see those deep brown eyes and that gorgeous hair, that pretty face with the full lips, the perfect lips, the ones Moka wishes were pressed against her. But that would be too much. Moka would never want anything more ever again. If she kisses her then it's game over, all she would ever need would be right here. Moka could never think about anyone or anything other than her, ever again.

Moka's stomach tightens, and her face contorts. She lies there helplessly as she is overcome, and the climax hits. She can't help it. She's moaning so loudly and she's clenching around Yunah's fingers. Her legs shake and her arms try to pull themselves away, to have something to cling to. But she can't move. All Moka can do is give into the pleasure. It washes over her, the sensation coursing through her body, making her toes curl.

She leaks messily onto Yunah's hand. The sounds of wetness fill her ears, the lewd, squelching noises as the fingers continue to work her pussy, fucking her through the high and prolonging the sensation until her mind blanks, her body convulses and her voice breaks into a pathetic whine. Moka's head thrashes back and forth, and she's crying, sobbing out loud.

She's left panting, chest heaving as she looks at Yunah who's smiling. That beautiful smile, the one she loves to see.

"You're so pretty when you cum, Moka." She says it most sweetly, and her eyes seem so sincere. Moka wants to kiss her more than ever, and she wants Yunah to feel good too, just like she did. But her body feels like jelly and she can barely move. So she can only lay there and try to catch her breath.

Yunah lowers, laying her head on Moka's chest, her ear pressing gently to her heart, as though listening to it. Her body still twitches and shakes and her legs remain spread with Yunah still nestled between them. Moka tries to calm herself, and she can feel Yunah's breathing slow and soften, her weight shifting on top of her.

"I'm sorry, Moka. For ignoring you, but I knew this would happen. I knew that once I gave in, I wouldn't be able to stop," she murmurs. Moka can only manage a hum in reply. She doesn't even understand what Yunah means, not really, she can barely understand her words. Yunah puts her hand on her waist and slips her own pyjama shorts over her hips and down her long legs. She kicks them off and they're left tangled up at the foot of the bed.

It's when Yunah raises her head from Moka's chest that Moka realises what's happening. Yunah slips her fingers into the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down and off of her legs and throwing them aside. Moka feels so exposed. She can't hide the fact she's blushing, that she's so nervous, that this is what she's been waiting for, what she's wanted.

Yunah pulls her own shirt over her head and throws that off the bed too, and now Moka's staring. Tight and toned. Perky. It's like she can't help but let her eyes roam. She's the most perfect girl in the world. Moka's hands reach up to her, running along the curves of Yunah's body, the smoothness of her skin. Her thumbs brush over her nipples, feeling them harden and rise.

Yunah sighs, and Moka wants to make her do that again. She wants to hear all her pretty noises, just like Yunah said she loved hearing hers. So, she sits up and her hands go around Yunah, holding onto her, bringing her closer. She's so tall. Moka's face presses into her chest and she breathes against her, feeling the heat and inhaling the sweet scent of her.

Moka is so nervous. So anxious that she will do something wrong. She has to force herself to lift her head and part her lips, to lean forward and place her mouth over the stiff, little peak on Yunah's breast. She sucks, pulling it in, feeling the way it moves, the way Yunah lets out a breath and the hand that comes up to her hair. Fingers run through her black locks, nails drag along her scalp, and Moka moves her head to the other, repeating the motion, sucking the skin, flicking her tongue over it and pulling it with her lips.

Yunah moans and the grip tightens, she holds her head, and the other arm wraps around Moka. Reassurance in the form of a touch. It tells her she's doing well, that Yunah's liking it. That's all that matters. Moka wants her to like it, she wants to please her, and she wants to know how to make her feel good. She smiles against her smooth skin, placing kisses, licks, and bites all over her. Appreciation for this girl and her beautiful, wonderful body.

Then Moka finds herself lying on her back. Yunah climbs on top of her and Moka's heart thuds hard against her chest. This is everything she's wanted.

"Don't freak out," she whispers, her breath against Moka's face.

"Never."

Yunah shifts her weight and then Moka feels it, the wet heat of Yunah's cunt against hers, and the sensation of her body on hers. Moka looks down at their bodies and can see the point of their connection, where their skin meets. The sight of it alone makes her mouth go dry, her stomach flips, and it takes all her strength to keep herself together. And then Yunah rocks her hips, grinding against Moka, her slick pussy rubbing against Moka's. The sensation of her skin moving, her wetness, it makes Moka's eyes roll back.

"Yunah..." Moka gasps, her body arching, and Yunah pushes her down.

She does it again, and again, sliding against her, pushing her hips hard. Her breathing is growing faster, and heavier, and her moans are so quiet. Sparks ignite in her lower body. The pressure, the heat. It feels so good to have Yunah against her like that.

Yunah leans down and buries her face in the crook of her neck and she kisses and nibbles at her skin there, whispering against the spot. "Why does this feel so good?"

"I don't know," Moka gasps. She's losing her breath already. She's panting and she feels so hot and dizzy, but in the best possible way.

Yunah can't hold back, she can't hide the fact that Moka makes her lose her control. This cute, petite little thing below her; with her innocent, big brown eyes, and her adorable smile, that makes Yunah want to melt, she's her weakness. Moka, who she heard so many times, night after night. Moka, who she's ignored and tried to put from her mind, but can't. And now she has her. She has her little Moka beneath her, squirming and panting and whining, and Yunah's hips can't help but rut down into her.

Yunah can't get enough of it. Moka's pussy feels so soft and warm against her own. The slick mess that grows between them, it's addicting. The sounds are even worse. She wants to make more. She wants Moka to scream.

All the confusion Yunah once felt has vanished, and in its place, a sense of belonging, a feeling that she has to do this. That she's supposed to be in this bed with Moka and no one else. She never understood it. She was scared to admit it. But now there is nothing else she could ever ask for.

Yunah takes Moka's hand, interlocking fingers and squeezing. It's reassuring, and Moka's grip on her hand is strong, it tells Yunah she's feeling the same way.

"Moka."

"Yes," Moka answers.

Yunah looks down at the younger girl. Moka's face is contorted with pleasure, her lips are parted, and she's breathing so hard. She's completely lost to her sensations, and the sight makes Yunah's heart flutter, her skin burns and her body feels weak. "Moka," she whispers again. This time Moka's eyes open, looking straight at her. Their gazes lock and their fingers squeeze. "I like you."

"I like you too." Moka's smile is the most beautiful thing Yunah has ever seen, it triggers an instinct to fuck her harder. Moka's hand snaps to Yunah's hip and holds her tightly. She's moaning louder now. She can't hide it.

The bed creaks, the headboard hitting the wall. The sheets become tangled. They're sweaty and panting, and Moka's moans grow more desperate by the second.

Yunah can't stop herself any longer. Her stomach tenses tight, her body is on the verge of breaking and she can't take much more. "Moka," she calls her name, she's saying it so desperately. "Fuck, I'm going to cum." She can't hold on. Moka feels too good. Everything about this moment is perfect. It feels so right. Yunah can feel her own pussy twitch, she's getting closer to that edge. She can hear Moka whine, she's almost there. She wants Moka to finish. She needs it. "Cum with me."

"I want it, please Yunah. Please make me cum."

Yunah grinds harder. Moka's moans are so pretty. They fill her ears and they're the only sound in the room. They're music, they're the most perfect thing she's ever heard and the best song Moka has ever sung.

Yunah feels Moka's fingers tighten on her hip as she bucks her own up to meet Yunah's thrusts, and the sensation overwhelms them both. They cling to each other, both bodies trembling as the climax washes over them. Moka cries out, and it's loud. She doesn't even try to muffle herself as she squeezes Yunah's hand, and her hips jolt against hers. Yunah's face buries itself in Moka's neck, groaning into the skin, kissing, biting and sucking as the heat consumes her and her mind blanks, the pleasure takes over.

They lay there for what feels like forever, panting, their hearts thumping in their chests, the sound filling their ears.

It's then that Yunah looks up, pulling her head away. She looks down at Moka. Moka, her Moka, staring back up at her with her big eyes. The most gorgeous girl she's ever met. Her skin is so smooth and flawless. Her little nose, her cute lips, and the black, messy hair splayed on the pillow behind her, framing her face like a painting.

"Moka."

"Yunah."

Yunah leans down, pressing their foreheads together and Moka smiles, she can feel it against her face. Their breaths mingle and their hearts are so close, and Moka is holding onto her.

"I shouldn't have," Yunah pants, "shouldn't have lied to myself. Shouldn't have tried to ignore this."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not okay." She can feel Moka's lips brushing against hers. They're so close. It's just a little movement to close the distance between them, but Moka does it. She pushes her head up, and then Yunah's lips part. She kisses her and Yunah can't help but kiss her back, her tongue slipping into her mouth. Their tongues swirl and slide. Moka moans against her lips. The sound sends shivers down her spine. And Yunah wants her. She wants her so bad.

Moka is panting when Yunah breaks the kiss.

"It's okay now," Moka whispers, her breath ghosting over her. Yunah feels so weak. She's completely helpless.

"I think we need to talk about some stuff. But not now, not right now."

"No, not now," Moka replies with a giggle, leaning up and stealing another kiss.

Yunah gives her a lazy smile, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. She rolls onto her back, lying next to Moka, their legs still half-tangled. They lie in a comfortable silence. It feels so natural and normal as if it were always supposed to happen, that they were always meant to end up here. Yunah turns and looks at her, watching Moka stare at the ceiling.

"Is it weird that I want to do it again?" Yunah asks.

"Probably," Moka answers. She looks at her, grinning, "But so do I."

-

Thirty minutes later and Yunah finds herself mounted over Moka's face.

She's on her knees, straddling the girl, and the tip of her tongue is tracing patterns against her cunt. She's writing out love letters with her tongue. Signs her name on her clit and makes her legs shake.

Yunah braces, flat-palmed against the wall and throws her head back as she cries out Moka's name, grinding her pussy against the tongue. Sensitive and overused, yet still she wants this. She has to. It's not an option at this point. She's going to ride her until she can't possibly take anymore.

There's no coming back from this. There is only this, them, this room. The whole world has fallen away. It doesn't matter.

Moka is all that matters.

The warm tongue pushes past her lips and sinks into the soft heat, tasting her from the inside. She's moaning into Yunah's cunt, sending the most beautiful vibrations against her and Yunah is so fucking sensitive. Her thighs are shaking and she feels weak, she's struggling to hold herself up, but she can't bring herself to get off her.

"Your tongue, fuck," Yunah moans. The wet tongue laps at the mess, licking up her slick. Yunah can feel Moka swallowing, gulping her down, her little noises growing louder as she feasts. She's going to cum all over that pretty face. She's going to ruin Moka's perfect features and make them shine. Yunah is so close. She can't stop herself from thrusting forward. Her pussy is aching for more, throbbing as Moka eats her. She needs this, wants this.

"Moka... I can't stop, please don't stop," Yunah pants, pushing herself back onto her. Moka grips Yunah's thighs and digs her nails into them. "Fuck!" Yunah squeals. Her hips jerk forward. It's happening. It's too much. Moka's tongue won't stop, it swirls inside of her, and Yunah's legs are trembling.

Her thighs close tight around Moka's face, trapping it between her legs and her back arches, her mouth open, her voice hoarse and broken as she cums, and the walls inside of her clench tight.

And Moka is still eating her out. Yunah can feel the hot mess dripping from her pussy. She feels so sensitive. She can barely stand it, and her body twitches and spasms, and her heart pounds so hard. Her mind blanks. She's so tired, her body aching and exhausted, but her pussy still wants more.

"Yunah," Moka calls to her, patting her thigh and bringing her back from the brink of collapse, "Yunah, I can't breathe." Her little, muffled pleas have her snapping back to reality, realising that Moka's face has gone bright red. Yunah shifts, and she watches the way the girl gasps for air.

"Fuck, Moka." Yunah climbs from her and collapses beside her, chest heaving, sweat coating her skin. "Are you alright?"

Moka doesn't respond at first. She lays there, taking a breath and then she's turning, moving and climbing onto Yunah. "More than alright."

Yunah smiles at her, a sleepy smile that makes Moka blush, and she reaches up to push her black hair from her eyes. Her pretty little eyes are half-lidded and glazed, and her cheeks are rosy and flushed. Lips wet, with Yunah's arousal, it might be the hottest thing she's ever seen. "You're so pretty."

Moka giggles, a bashful laugh as she looks away. "Stop it."

"No," Yunah whispers with a smirk that she knows Moka likes. "I won't."

She flips Moka over and the girl lands with a yelp, a surprised and adorable little sound. She takes her liberties, to kiss and to bite, to suck her skin. Yunah is marking her. Deep kisses on her neck, bites that make Moka's body flinch and writhe, and her little noises are like the prettiest melody in the world. "So pretty," she repeats. "All mine."

Yunah moves down her body, her kisses trailing and leaving little bruises. She sucks her nipples into her mouth, swirling her tongue, sucking and nibbling on the stiff peak and making Moka's body buck up. Her mouth goes to the underside of her breasts, to the flat expanse of her stomach. She sinks her teeth in and Moka is whining. Her back is arched, her head pushed back and she's gripping the sheets, and Yunah is getting closer and closer to her destination. "My pretty girl," she murmurs into the smooth skin.

"Yunah," Moka whines and Yunah looks up, finding her staring, biting her lip. Her eyes are wide and desperate, pleading.

She lifts Moka's leg and kisses the back of her thigh. The younger girl is so sensitive. Her skin shivers as Yunah's mouth moves closer to her core. "Once we're home, Moka, I want to fuck you. Like really fuck you, hard, fast. I've seen those videos. What you watch when you're on your own." Moka squeals and her face goes crimson. She covers her head with a pillow. Yunah can't help the smile as she continues, "I want to do those things with you. One of those strap-ons. You'll look so pretty taking it."

Yunah kisses the girl's clit and Moka's entire body flinches. A hand shoots to Yunah's hair and grabs tight, holding onto the locks. She smiles against her, teasing her pussy, her mouth kissing and sucking on the lips of her cunt. "You can do anything you want to me," Moka gasps. Yunah can't help the laugh that slips out, a laugh of amusement and happiness, and Moka is squirming.

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that." Yunah kisses the mess from her lips, and Moka lets out the cutest, most frustrated noise, her hips lifting and her back arching.

"You can use me."

Yunah stops for a second. She raises her head and finds Moka looking at her. There is a blush to her cheeks and she looks embarrassed, and maybe even a little shy, but that glint in her eye is undeniable.

Yunah lowers herself, pressing a soft kiss to Moka's inner thigh. She takes her time, making a show of it, and Moka's breathing is getting heavier, more impatient. "Yeah?" She kisses her again. "Let me bend you over?" Another kiss. "Hold your face down on the bed while I fuck you?"

"Please," Moka whines, "Yes, yes."

"What else?" Yunah's eyes flick up. Moka's chest is rising, falling, rising.

Moka whines again. She throws her head back. Her body trembles. Yunah kisses her cunt. It's a deep kiss. It has Moka's hips bucking against her lips. "You can be rough with me," she finally manages, her voice breathy.

"Rough?" Yunah's eyebrow arches. She dips her tongue past the wet entrance and laps at Moka's heat. The girl's body is writhing against her mouth and Yunah can't help the muffled giggle. She's so cute like this, so easy to tease. Moka is panting. Her face is contorted in a desperate need for more, for release.

"If you want to," she mumbles, and Yunah is so tempted to tease her further. But Yunah is just as eager. She is so desperate for more of her taste, her body, her scent.

"Maybe," she whispers against the wet lips, "maybe, I'd rather be soft with you." Yunah sinks two fingers into her tight, wet hole. Moka gasps, and then moans. Yunah's mouth latches to the little nub of her clit, sucking it and swirling her tongue. The fingers thrust into her and curl. The walls tighten and tremble. "Take my time, fuck you slowly."

Yunah starts a slow rhythm with her fingers. Moka is whimpering, moaning and trying to buck into the fingers. But Yunah is stronger. Her free hand grabs the younger girl's thigh and forces her down, keeping her still and making her accept the pace.

"Slowly," Yunah repeats, "So slow you'll think it's torture. And I won't let you cum, not for a long time, until you can't bear it anymore." She kisses the skin, kisses her pussy, and then looks at Moka who's staring. She's flushed, her eyes wide and needy, her lips parted, and her body is trembling. "Until your little body is begging for release." She pushes another finger into Moka. She can feel the tightness around her digits and the way she throbs.

"Oh fuck," Moka moans.

"Or maybe I'll fuck you hard and fast." Yunah pushes down hard on Moka's thigh, and the pace picks up, the fingers slamming in and out. The lewd, wet sounds that Moka makes are enough to drive her crazy, the sloppy, messy sounds that come with every thrust and the sight of Moka's pussy, spread wide, stretched and accepting everything she's given, it has Yunah's head spinning. She feels delirious, high off of the pleasure she can give this pretty girl. "Hard, fast. Pound your pussy and make your entire body ache. Make you scream, make you beg me to stop because you can't handle anymore."

Moka's throat strains, and her body tenses. "I can't," Moka moans and Yunah can feel her pussy twitching, clenching around the digits inside of her. So easily does she cum against Yunah's fingers, and she's crying out, loud, without restraint. She doesn't even try to hold it back, and she's so wet. Her cum is leaking out, soaking her fingers, and it's the hottest thing Yunah has ever seen. She can't take her eyes away. She can't look anywhere but the way that Moka is cumming against her fingers.

She curls her fingers a little more and moves a little faster. The flow of cum becomes stronger, and Yunah can't stop the groan that leaves her. "Fuck." Moka's body is thrashing, she's whining and whimpering, and then it sprays a little, her cum, squirting from her and soaking her hand, her arm, the sheets. It leaks and sprays, it's the hottest thing she's ever seen, and Moka's body is spasming. Her hips are bucking and the moans sound so pretty.

And then Moka goes limp, she collapses onto the mattress and pants. She's staring up at the ceiling and her body is still trembling and shaking. Cum still leaking out and staining the sheets. All she sees are stars; pretty, beautiful stars.

"I'll never get tired of seeing you do that," Yunah murmurs as she pulls her soaked hand away.

"Shut up." Moka giggles and pulls her hands to her face. She covers her blushing face. "It's so embarrassing," she mumbles into her palms.

Yunah laughs, climbing from between her legs and lying next to her. Moka turns, lying on her side. "It's not," she whispers, "it's hot." Yunah runs her hand up Moka's bare thigh. Her hand slides to her ass and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Really hot."

[striped-urchins]

NGL I do think the above posters are missing the point on this whole affair. I've seen the idea floating around among American users that this is an exceptional state of affairs, that trump and vance are uniquely evil and/or deep in Russia's pockets. There's this idea that if Americans can get rid of the baddies (trump, Vance, Putin - or whatever global South politician the media can convince you is the villain of the day, whether it's Xi, Maduro, Kim Jong-il, Gaddafi, you name it), then the world will go back to how it should be and we can maintain global law and order. Whether trump really is in Putin's pocket or not is largely irrelevant, because this betrayal isn't really about trump at all.

What I want Americans (and people of the global north in general) to understand is that this IS the normal state of affairs and the playbook that America has used for as long as it has been a dominant power. Yes, even for those presidents you like - Obama, Carter, and JFK. The only difference is that trump has less tact in enforcing it. The playbook looks like this:

1. Use military and financial aid to support a government in a civil war, external invasion, or other time of crisis.

2. Make that aid contingent on being able to control natural resources and their economy. (In this case, America recently made a demand that Ukraine cede 50% of their mineral rights to America)

3. This is an offer the government cannot refuse. Either they cede their economic and political sovereignty to America, or they are crushed by whatever force they are opposing (in this case Russia, or in other cases, opposing sides in a civil war often supported by other world powers, as in the innumerable proxy wars in Africa and Latin America)

5. If the government agrees to America's terms, they continue to receive military aid. But of course, America's demands do not stop there. They will continue to run your economy and foreign policy for the foreseeable future, and in order for that government to retain power, they will continuously need to buckle to America's demands (such as South Korea).

If, of course, the government refuses this deal, they will see themselves crushed. If by some stroke of luck this government manages to maintain power in whatever conflict they find themselves, they will find the tides of American opinion and foreign policy turning against them, as in the case of Gaddafi, and in all likelihood lose power in an American intervention and get bombed back into the stone age (or face economic blockades that do the same thing).

I think it should be common sense that America's foreign aid is NEVER out of the goodness of their heart. It always wants something in return. And in dealing with America, you can never win. Betrayal and exploitation IS the norm and always has been throughout the history of America's foreign policy.

There was no instance where Ukraine could have come out of this America-brewed conflict winning. If trump and Putin both thanos snapped out of existence tomorrow, the same economic and political forces would prevail and cause the same circumstances. We NEED to stop thinking about politics in terms of personalities, good guys, and bad guys. We need to start understanding global politics in terms of the material interests of governments, which will continue to cause predictable actions as long as those material interests prevail.

I say all this not to be combative (and please don't take it as such), but because I really don't think that this way of thinking about politics is productive. If we are committed to reducing global inequalities, promoting world peace, and all these other noble goals, we need to understand both history and current affairs in a meaningful and contextual way.

So this was a pre-planned (and likely paid for by the Kremlin) show: to invite Zelenskyy, scold him like a kindergartener in front of the press, present him with an unreasonable "deal" - an ultimatum - knowing full well he will refuse it (as anyone in this position would). And then tell the world: "Look, our mighty Orange King could've ended this horrible war in a day, but this poorly-dressed, warmongering, ungrateful twat just doesn't want peace! It's not our fault, we did what we could!"

The show is so cheap, so transparent, yet still effective for so many brainless people.

[spr1ngtweaks]

Hello hi! If it isn't too much to ask, may I propose some angst with Harley Sawyer?

In short, what if said partner/colleague had also died during the Hour of Joy?

Like, the idea of them stumbling their way to him after the fact out of sheer will (miraculously not attracting unwanted attention from the other toys), practically collapsing right in front of him as they try to cling onto whatever bit life they have left before finally passing on.

The Doctor would realistically feel some kind of disdain, but what do you think? Please take your time though! There's absolutely no rush :)

If his partner/colleague also perished during the Hour of Joy, it adds a cruel layer of futility—like no matter how hard you fought to survive, in the end, it was all for nothing. The image of you dragging yourself to his side, bloodied and broken, only to die mere inches away from him? That’s cinematic despair right there.

Now, as for the Doctor’s reaction—realistically, he’d likely feel contempt, maybe even a bitter kind of disappointment. He doesn’t seem like the type to romanticize tragic deaths; he’s too methodical, too driven by his own logic.

He might view your last desperate act as pathetic, or even as proof of your ultimate weakness.

And, I agree, the Doctor might feel disdain, perhaps even frustration. “What’s the point of this? You’re already dead.” A scientist like him values results, efficiency, progress. Sentiment is secondary.

But—there’s something undeniably haunting about.. you using your final moments to seek him out—whether out of familiarity, desperation, or misplaced hope.

There’s always the what if of something deeper. Maybe, just for a flicker of a moment, something in him stirs. Maybe it’s disgust, yes, but mixed with something unnameable, something that lingers.

Because, for all his coldness, he is obsessed with the human condition in his own way. And this? This is human suffering at its rawest.

Would he allow himself to feel anything beyond that? Probably not. But the image of your fallen figures, might just haunt him longer than he'd ever admit.

[astrolook]

The First Lord in Different Houses: Your Personal Astrology Adventure! 🌟

Grab your chart, get comfy, and let's dive into the First Lord and how it impacts your identity. Whether you're the life of the party or the secret genius, this is where the magic happens, and honestly, it's kind of hilarious too. 😜

First Lord in the 1st House

You walk into a room, and everyone knows you’re there—there’s no hiding.

Confidence is your middle name, and you never miss a chance to strut your stuff.

You are an introvert’s worst nightmare!

Independent? Yeah, you invented it.

People say, “Look at them go!”... and you say, “Yeah, I know, I’m fabulous.”

First Lord in the 2nd House

You might lowkey feel like a walking bank account sometimes (it’s okay, you’ve got the swagger).

Money, possessions, and fine dining—that’s your love language.

Your idea of a good time? Maybe buying a new shiny thing or investing in something ‘important’.

A strong connection to your self-worth... and your credit score.

You get really excited about sales. Like, really excited.

First Lord in the 3rd House

Conversations? Oh, you’re always ready for one. And you’re the one leading it.

Your brain is like a Google search engine: full of random knowledge and probably some memes.

You could talk a dog into believing it’s a cat, and they’d never know the difference.

Restless much? Thought so. You’re onto the next idea before the first one’s finished.

Social media’s best friend—wait, is that a notification?

First Lord in the 4th House

You’re basically the “mom friend”—making everyone’s home feel cozy and safe.

Family gatherings are your jam (but only because you secretly judge everyone’s cooking).

Your vibe? “My house, my rules, but I’ll let you have a snack.”

You might look for a place to hide from the chaos and recharge... hello, couch naps!

Your home feels like a warm hug—and you give really good hugs.

First Lord in the 5th House

Drama? You’re probably starring in it (or at least watching it from the front row).

Flirting is your second language—don’t even try to resist.

You’re the life of the party, even if it’s just your dog and a Netflix marathon.

Hobbies? Well, they’re more like passions that take up all your time.

You’ll probably try to make everything a competition. “Who can make the best TikTok?”—Spoiler alert: It’s you.

First Lord in the 6th House

You love a good routine, but only because it means you’re in control.

Your daily mantra: “I’m not stressed, I’m busy—there’s a difference.”

Healthy eating? Absolutely. Just as long as it’s also fun (kale smoothies and 12-step meal prepping, anyone?).

You might accidentally become a perfectionist because, well, why not?.

You can’t relax until everything’s in place. Spoiler: It’s never in place.

First Lord in the 7th House

Relationships are your thing—friendship, romance, business partnerships, you name it.

You need a partner in crime—someone to do life with.

You’ll be the diplomat in any situation: “Let’s just all get along, okay?”

It’s not “me,” it’s we. You’re practically the CEO of Teamwork.

You thrive on validation from others—but hey, who doesn’t love a little support now and then?

First Lord in the 8th House

You’re that one person who probably has a secret collection of ancient texts—or at least watches a lot of true crime documentaries.

Deep transformation is your thing—your emotional rollercoaster has no brakes.

You have a knack for digging into other people’s deepest fears... or maybe just for figuring them out.

You’ll never shy away from a good existential crisis. Isn’t life just a series of changes?

You live for the intense, the mysterious, and, of course, the taboo.

First Lord in the 9th House

Wanderlust is your middle name—you’ll plan a trip to the other side of the world just because.

Your mind is always soaring above the clouds—metaphorically, of course.

You’re a fan of philosophy, and you probably have a shelf full of “deep” books that you’ll talk about for hours.

You think big, dream big, and might just try to change the world (at least your corner of it).

If you haven’t been to at least three countries, are you even living?

First Lord in the 10th House

You’re here to make a mark, and the world is your stage (just don't forget your best performance).

Career is serious business for you—but you’ll look fabulous doing it, of course.

Your reputation? Oh, it’s everything. You’ll take great care of that.

People might ask you what you do, and you’ll casually drop your “BOSS” vibes.

You’re the leader, the boss, the go-getter. They just haven’t realized it yet.

First Lord in the 11th House

You’re always looking toward the future—Hey, have you seen that next big thing?

Your friendships are everything, but don’t expect small talk. It’s all about big dreams and world-changing ideas.

You’re the social butterfly, flitting between events and people... but deep down, you’re a visionary.

If you’re not organizing a group project, are you even living?

You can totally turn any group into a movement—don't underestimate your powers.

First Lord in the 12th House

Solitude is your best friend—you probably thrive on some alone time... okay, a lot of alone time.

You’ve got that “mysterious vibe” going—people aren’t sure if you’re an enigma or a guru.

Spiritual awakenings? You have all the answers, but you don’t always share them.

You might be a secret healer, helping others in ways no one will ever know.

Boundaries? You prefer to merge with the universe, thanks.

Feeling curious about how each House Lord affects your identity and life journey? 🌠

Message me for a complete astrology reading / synastry compatibility reading, and let’s unlock the hidden secrets of your chart together! 📩

Karmic Paths & Soul Purpose: A Complete Guide to the North Nodes & South Nodes in Astrology (13-page report) - $5

Get my full PDF guide for just $5! Payment via PayPal. Once payment is confirmed, I will send you the PDF. It covers North Node & South Node in signs & houses, who you were in your past life, your career, family, love and your relationships in detail. Message me to grab your copy! 🌟

[imakemywings]

Thinking today about Lavellan as the lone voice in support of reasoning with Solas and how that must feel. Even her own team, who had known Solas themselves, strongly disapproved almost to a man--with the exception of Cole--of the idea that his mind could be changed or that he could be "redeemed." As the climax of DATV approaches, she stands amid an army of people with no direct connection or loyalty to her or Solas discussing how they can kill or physically force or otherwise trick Solas into binding himself to the Veil, theoretically trapped forever into sustaining it with his life force. She alone suggests he can still be reasoned with, and this is met with slight derision from Morrigan ("Speaking from the heart, inquisitor?") and wariness or outright opposition from Rook, the leader of this army.

Rook knows about their relationship--and it is palpable that at least some of the people in this room think Lavellan is being overly swayed by her feelings for Solas and her desire to avoid doing him harm. She is walking on a tightrope here of trying to nudge Rook towards the idea that Solas can be talked down without violence without making Rook think she's wholly enthralled to her love for Solas and not seeing the situation clearly.

How scary it must be, to stand in a room full of people who have, she knows, very good reason to want to or feel they have no choice but to kill or imprison someone she desperately wants to save. I wonder if it makes her feel at all like those first days after the Conclave, when she was the one everyone wanted to kill, and no one was on her side.

It makes me think back to what she tells Solas in one of their earlier flirts, that she would protect him "however she had to" and it does make me wonder what she would have done if Rook refused to even try to reason with Solas. It has to be something she's thinking about herself, as she stands in what is effectively Rook's territory (her authority as inquisitor, whether or not the inquisition still exists, is really limited to southern Thedas, whereas Rook may be from Minrathous itself), surrounded by Rook's army, knowing her pleas for mercy and reconciliation may be the only shield Solas has.

[coffeeman777]

Please don't be offended, @topaz-and-turquoise, but I think this is a little bit off the mark.

The Scriptures do in fact teach that evidence of genuine salvation is repentance and good works. Salvation is complete in Christ Jesus, and we are saved completely by grace through faith. Our works don't at all contribute to salvation. But, as Paul points out in Romans, this doesn't mean that Christians can continue in sin without consequence. Paul, John, Peter, James, and Jude all contribute to the idea that individuals who are genuinely saved, who have God's Holy Spirit in them, will live differently from those who don't. The proof that a person's faith is real is in the change of behavior. The Holy Spirit never enters a person and permits them to continue living just as they did before they were saved.

Real Christians can and do sin. We all struggle with it, and will continue to struggle with it until Jesus returns or calls us home. The key word there is "struggle." We acknowledge that the sin is evil, and we take real, grace-enabled steps to put it out of our lives. Indeed, Paul writes that the power of sin is broken over us, and that it is not only possible to throw off sin and pursue genuine holiness, but that this is what God calls us to do. Genuine Christians who love the Lord will seek to worship Him with their lives by their obedience to His commands. John writes that loving God means obeying Him.

So, yes, it's true that we aren't saved at all by works, and it's true that Christians don't become sinlessly perfect on this side of eternity, but it's equally true that genuine Christians will love God and sincerely seek to obey Him out of that love and a desire to worship Him, and that this attitude of the heart proves salvation. As John writes,

"My little children, I am telling you this so that you will stay away from sin. But if you sin, there is someone to plead for you before the Father. His name is Jesus Christ, the one who is all that is good and who pleases God completely. 2 He is the one who took God’s wrath against our sins upon Himself and brought us into fellowship with God; and He is the forgiveness for our sins, and not only ours but all the world’s.

"3 And how can we be sure that we belong to Him? By looking within ourselves: are we really trying to do what He wants us to?

"4 Someone may say, “I am a Christian; I am on my way to heaven; I belong to Christ.” But if he doesn’t do what Christ tells him to, he is a liar. 5 But those who do what Christ tells them to will learn to love God more and more. That is the way to know whether or not you are a Christian. 6 Anyone who says he is a Christian should live as Christ did...

"See how very much our heavenly Father loves us, for He allows us to be called His children—think of it—and we really are! But since most people don’t know God, naturally they don’t understand that we are His children. 2 Yes, dear friends, we are already God’s children, right now, and we can’t even imagine what it is going to be like later on. But we do know this, that when He comes we will be like Him, as a result of seeing Him as He really is. 3 And everyone who really believes this will try to stay pure because Christ is pure.

"4 But those who keep on sinning are against God, for every sin is done against the will of God. 5 And you know that He became a man so that He could take away our sins, and that there is no sin in Him, no missing of God’s will at any time in any way. 6 So if we stay close to Him, obedient to Him, we won’t be sinning either; but as for those who keep on sinning, they should realize this: They sin because they have never really known Him or become His.

"7 Oh, dear children, don’t let anyone deceive you about this: if you are constantly doing what is good, it is because you are good, even as He is. 8 But if you keep on sinning, it shows that you belong to Satan, who since he first began to sin has kept steadily at it. But the Son of God came to destroy these works of the devil. 9 The person who has been born into God’s family does not make a practice of sinning because now God’s life is in him; so he can’t keep on sinning, for this new life has been born into him and controls him—he has been born again." (1 John 2:1-6, 3:1-9)

[sirowsky-stories]

Hello! Here I am, yet again posting a themed fic at the wrong time! I'm trying okay, but shit keeps getting in the way...

Description: The day before Valentine's, you and Pero are sent on a mission to repair a broken machine at the sister factory to the one you work at. And of course, the hotel reservation gets screwed up, and obviously you end up having to stay much longer than expected.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x Female Reader (no descriptions of reader beyond being female), both main character's pov, Valentine's Day theme, forced proximity, only one bed, coworkers to friends, friends to dating, vague references to a planned SA but no descriptions whatsoever, protective!Pero.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 11,572 Sirowsky's Masterlist All dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics

   “Is this a joke?” You’re too stunned to even be upset about it yet, because this is just too fucking rich.

   “I’m afraid not,” your supervisor Gary apologetically shakes his head. “Look, if there was anyone else we could send, we would, but…”

   “But what? There are two thousand people working here, so don’t tell me you don’t have anyone else to send,” you grumble, not really out of anger, that’s not part of your overall makeup, but more out of nervousness.

   “I meant in the sense that you’re probably the only one who can put up with him for that long.”

   “That doesn’t mean it would be easier on me. It just means I can tolerate feeling like shit better than most.”

   “I’m sorry, I know it’s a bad deal for you,” he sighs, and he does look like he feels genuinely bad about it, but he’s also not leaving any options open for you.

   “And you’re still not gonna budge, are you?”

   “We have to send someone…”

   He gives you the details for the hotel and the keys to a company car, and you’re given one hour to go home and pack for at least a two-day stay in the neighbouring town.    The factory where you work is relatively new, only about ten years old, but it’s been performing excellent from the start, which means a sister factory has been in construction for the past two years just a hundred-and-fifty miles to the east.    It was officially launched six months ago, and there have been very few hiccups since.

   But a couple of days ago, a complex overhead crane began to malfunction, and then completely broke down, and that’s the machine which you have quickly become a master at handling, despite only having been working here for a little over a year. And you’re happy to go and help the new factory back on its feet, that’s no problem at all, you’re only excited about the fact that the company is doing so well, since it means you’ll get to keep your job.    Your issue with all this is that the only person who really knows how to mechanically repair this particular machine, is Pero Tovar.

   He’s been working here since the mother factory was first built, and he was the one who hatched the idea to build the crane, and then both designed and built the damned thing, largely on his own.    He’s a genius, for lack of a better word, but he’s also the most unfriendly person you’ve ever met.    And now, you have to not only work with him on repairing the damaged one, but you also have to travel and live with him for as long as that takes.

   Gary told you that he’d made reservations for you at the nearest hotel to the sister factory, but that they only had one room available, since it’ll be over Valentine’s Day, so you’re quite certain that no matter what happens, this is gonna be a horrible week.

   It’s still only 7am when you arrive back at work with your small suitcase, locate the correct company car and throw your luggage in the trunk, but you don’t get in.    You have no intention of angering your travel mate, so you’re not gonna assume anything in terms of whether he wants to drive or not. You lean against the side of the car with your arms crossed and your cap pulled low over your eyebrows, trying not to think about just how much this is gonna suck.

   He arrives just a couple of minutes later, parking his own car and then walking over to you with brisk steps.    You’ve never seen him dawdle, but he never seems rushed either. More like he just has his own pace through life which he keeps to no matter how fast or slow the world around him is moving. Like he’s perpetually unaffected by absolutely everything, which he probably is.

   “You wanna drive, or should I?” you ask before he reaches the car, so you’ll have time to move out of his way if you need to.

   But he doesn’t answer. He just walks up to the boot and throws his bag into it, shuts it, then heads for the passenger side.    A bit surprised, you take the driver’s seat, but you’re sure as hell not gonna ask him why he doesn’t wanna drive. It just seems out of character, so far as you know him, because he’s always in control of everything around him.    He’s the one person in the entire factory who has every license required to operate every piece of machinery or vehicle available, and he never seems the least bit unsure of what to do or when.

   Still, he’s not a supervisor. He has the same rank as you, which seems ridiculous given the disparity of skills between you, but it does mean that technically he can’t order anyone to do anything. And you’ve never heard him try.    People very nervously come to him with their problems or questions and for the most part, he just sighs and takes care of it, usually without a word but with a fair bit of growling. And if it's something simple enough that the person asking should be able to do it themselves, he’ll begrudgingly instruct, or show them, no doubt hoping they’ll never bother him again.

   But for all his expertise, the only times he outright tells people what to do, is when they’re asking for help. Beyond that, even on the occasions when he overhears operators talking about a problem and he knows how to sort it out, he never says a word without being asked.    And you’ve never been able to work out if it’s out of a deep respect for rules and procedure, if he just doesn’t give a shit, or if he secretly enjoys hearing them struggle with stuff that’s simple to him.    He’s about as easy to read as a book with every page blacked out.

   Which is one of the many reasons why you’re glad it isn’t a longer drive, since you wouldn’t dream of trying to start up a conversation with him.    But even without asking, you know he doesn’t want to stop by the hotel and check in before going to the factory, so you head straight there.    They’re expecting you, evident in how the gates swing open before you’ve even come to a full stop in front of them, so you roll your window down and wave to the security camera as you drive through.

   Parking by the large Arrivals entry at the back, where all new materials are brought in, you step out and wait for someone to come and escort you inside. Since you’re not employed at this factory you can’t enter the factory floor without a yellow vest and a supervisor to take you to the area that you’ll be working in.    Safety procedures are so precise that not even Tovar, who’s done this several times before, is allowed to step foot inside without an escort.

   “Good morning,” a cheerful older woman greets you after just a minute. “I’m Hannah, supervisor of the assembly team.”

   You notice that she only introduces herself to you, so she’s clearly met Tovar before. She’s carrying two vests and hands them to each of you, waiting until you’ve put them on fully before she invites you inside.

   “How big of a failure are we talking about?” you ask as you follow her out of the morning sunlight and into the crisp white, fluorescent lighting, which seems so dark in comparison.

   “Complete. My estimate is that we’re looking at both mechanical and hydraulic malfunction, and there also seems to be a problem with the software.”

   “In that case we have to consider the possibility that the software is the root cause.”

   “I wasn’t aware the crane could sabotage itself,” she ponders, turning a corner around a plastic processing machine before you reach the assembly section, which sits two floors lower down to make room for the giant overhead crane in question.

   You still have to walk halfway through the rest of the factory to reach the control panel, but while you do, you get a good look at two sides of the machine. It has a scientific name, but all workers just call it MAP, short for the three processes it’s capable of performing simultaneously: moulding, assembling, and packaging.

   “If the software fails to accept new commands, especially if they’re related to the assembly arms rather than the material deposits and moulds, then it can end up over-reaching or colliding with itself, which isn’t necessarily visible on the outside, since the turning radius is shorter than it appears to be.” You rattle off the explanation without pause, and she turns her head to the side to look at you while you continue to walk.

   “You mean it can crash into itself without us noticing?”

   “Unfortunately, yes. And when it happens because of a software problem, there’s no guarantee the system will be able to identify the collision and inform you about it, so then the only option it has is to default to its primary security mode and completely shut itself down.    But we won’t know if that’s what’s happened until we’ve had a chance to look at the failure logs.”

   You’re highly aware that Tovar is walking right behind you, and it makes you feel self-conscious in terms of your knowledge about the potential problem.    He knows so much more than you, and yet here you are, talking about the machine that he developed as if you’re every bit as familiar with it as he is. You wouldn’t even blame him if he told you to shut up and leave it to him, because honestly, he’d be well within his rights to.    But he doesn’t say a word.

   Reaching the control panel, you find a whole group of operators waiting with tools of every kind, ready and possibly even eager to pitch in and start fixing stuff, but you merely nod at them and then the two of you set to work. They won’t be able to help with anything until you’ve identified what the actual problem is.    Still with his mouth firmly shut, Tovar begins to dismantle a cover which protects a kind of black box, designed to record and store all malfunction log entries of the operating system for the entire machine, while you start tapping keys to assess how big of a problem you might be dealing with.

   “Shit… The system’s completely crashed,” you relay your findings to your colleague. “We might be looking at a partial or even complete reconstruction.”

   As always, without being asked a direct question, the grumpy Spaniard doesn’t reply, but you’re expecting that. You’re just trying to keep him informed.    But when he manages to gain access to the box, what he finds is even worse than you’d imagined.    The box contains servers, about a hundred of them, and there’s a small screen on one end where he can access specific logs by searching for dates and times. But when he activates the screen, it’s already displaying thousands of entries, all flashing red to indicate problems.

   “We will need to look at the main servers,” he instructs, and the operators immediately spring into action to unscrew the access panel for the primary system.

   It only takes them seconds, and then the core of the computer is revealed.    There are about five hundred servers in there, each with its own little sequence of tiny lights on the front, to indicate where there might be problems. They can shine green, yellow, and red, but also flash in each colour and in a specific order to tell him what’s going on.    But more than half of them have gone dark. Not shining red or flashing, but completely dark. Dead. Which means those servers have suffered such a catastrophic failure that they’ve burned through their circuits.

   “That didn’t happen all at once, did it?” you guess, peering over Tovar’s shoulder after he kneels in front of the open panel to take a closer look.

   “No. This started months ago and slowly built into a cascade. The entire computer must be replaced and the operating system re-uploaded and installed.”

   You can’t quite hold back your heavy sigh of disapproval as you realize just how long this is gonna take.    It was bad enough to be stuck here and living with the unfriendliest person in the world when it was just gonna be for a couple of days, but now it’s looking more like it’s gonna be a couple of weeks.

   “Fuck…”

~~~    You don’t arrive at the hotel until almost 9.30 that evening, after trying to get as much of the dismantling as possible done, so you’ll be able to get started on the rebuild already tomorrow morning. And you’re so tired by the time you get to the room that you don’t even care about having to sleep in the same room as Tovar. All you want is just a shower and then as many hours of rest as you can possibly get.    However, when you walk into the room and see a large double bed, instead of two separate ones, sleep suddenly seems very far away indeed.

   “T-there were supposed to be two beds…” you nervously stutter, while racking your brain to try and remember exactly what Gary had said about the booking.

   Did he say that they only had one room available, with double beds, or with a double bed?    The more you think about it the more convinced you become that it was in fact the latter, and your pulse jumps to what seems like twice its normal pace.    But your colleague doesn’t respond, nor does he look the slightest bit concerned about it.

   “’I’m gonna go talk to the front desk clerk again,” you say while already heading for the door, grabbing a key card on your way out.

   Pero sighs deeply after hearing the door close behind you. Nobody likes him, for good reason, so he isn’t surprised that you don’t want to share a bed with him, but it also offends him somewhat.    It’s not like he’d ever do anything to you. He’s not a kind or sweet person, but he sure as shit isn’t an abuser either. He would never lay hands on a woman without permission, and he’d rather chew off his own arms than hit someone who couldn’t possibly defend themselves against him. There’s no victory to that kind of fight.

   But of course, you can’t know how he thinks since he never shares any of his thoughts with anyone.    Hence the sigh.    The likelihood of another room being available is very low, though. Gary wouldn’t have booked this if there was any better alternative available within the company’s budget, so while he waits for you to return, he takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth.

   You come back just as he leaves the bathroom, which is right next to the front door, so the two of you almost collide in the hallway. And if he isn’t mistaken, he catches a glimpse of you eyeing his naked upper body with what doesn’t appear to be disgust or disinterest. More like the opposite.    It’s only there for a millisecond before you’ve schooled your expression and turned your entire face away, but he could swear there was a sliver of desire within you just then, and he’s quite surprised at how much that pleases him.

   “Uh… wh-.. Hrm…” you try, but whatever you meant to say, it doesn’t seem to find its way out, so you simply pass him in the hall and head for your suitcase which is parked at the foot of the bed.

   Since he’s done with his evening toilet, Pero ends up following you there, rounding the bed behind you and pulling the covers back on the right-hand side of it.    He’s only wearing his boxer briefs and when he sits down, his back is to you, so he can’t see if you steal any more looks at him, but it does secretly bemuse him to imagine that you do.

   “There weren’t any other rooms available,” you finally manage, just after he lays down and pulls the covers over himself. “They apparently have a Valetine’s Day special here every year, offering all kinds of romantic couples spa treatments and even a speed-dating event, all of which seem to be very popular.”

   Your voice is small and nervous, as if you’re worried that he’ll scold you for speaking too loudly in his presence, which seems excessive. He’s never been cruel to you.    At least, not by any of his own definitions of cruelty.    He’s lying on his side with his back to you, so he can’t read your expression, but he wonders if you’re actually scared of him, because that’s what it sounds like.    It’s quiet for a minute then, and all he hears is the zipper on your suitcase being opened and you grabbing some things before heading for the bathroom, so he assumes everything’s okay, and with the day you’ve had, he falls asleep not long after.

   He wakes up to his alarm the following morning at 5:45am, and rolls out of bed on routine, heading for the bathroom. Rounding the foot of the bed, he notices that the covers on your side are already immaculately made up and when he looks up, he finds you sitting at the small table in the corner by the TV, dressed and ready, fiddling with your phone.    Momentarily confused, he glances at his wristwatch, wondering if he set the alarm the wrong time or something. Because why would you get up earlier than you need to when you got in so late last night?

   He would’ve slept another half-hour himself if not for the fact that you need to go to the hotel restaurant for breakfast since you didn’t have time yesterday to buy something you can eat in the room or on the way.    Your head is bowed as you’re looking at the screen, but he can still see how tired you are, so clearly, you didn’t sleep nearly as soundly as he did, which seems to match with your nervousness last night.

   And while he’s doing his morning toilet, he realizes that something about seeing you look so tortured really annoys him. Deep down, he knows why, but he doesn’t allow himself to go there.    Returning to his bag on his side of the bed, he steals glances at you, trying to quell the stronger feelings that your presence keeps stirring up, but he can’t seem to gain control of himself, which leaves him sour and cranky. So, when he finally has cause to speak to you, it comes out with much more of a sting than he’d intended.

   “Let’s get going.”

   It sounds harsh and almost accusatory, which comes as a surprise to Pero himself, because you’ve been ready to go since before he woke up, so he has no right to hurry you on.    Still, you don’t protest or challenge him, even though you absolutely should, and as he leads the way down the corridors to the elevator, he wonders if he truly has left such a horrid impression on you over this past year, that you genuinely do fear him.

   You’re a happy person. He’s not good at interacting with people, but he’s excellent at reading them, and he’s been working closely with you since you first started, so he’s had plenty of opportunities to study you. And what he’s seen is a lot of humour and a generally positive attitude, even when things are tough. You’re the one who keeps everyone’s spirits up in the breakroom, coming up with little games and puzzles to keep your coworkers entertained and let them forget about the problems out on the factory floor.

   But he hasn’t seen that side of you for even one minute since the two of you were sent on this repair mission, and the only reason he can see why that would be, is because you’re on your own with him.    It’s not like the two of you haven’t been on your own in your sector of the factory before, but it’s different when you’re in an unfamiliar environment surrounded by people you’ve never met, and can’t even go home to your own bed at the end of the day.

   Pero has never had more than temporary relationships with women, because he does know how unfriendly he is and why he behaves that way, which means that there’s a lot he doesn’t know or understand about the fairer sex. But what he does have extensive experience with, is seeing how the world treats you, and how powerless you often are to change your own circumstances or even keep yourselves safe.

   He’s lost count of how many brawls he’s gotten himself into, and walked away from largely unscathed, simply by intervening whenever he’s witnessed men behaving badly towards women. He doesn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart, he’s not even sure his heart is good at all, but simply because it irks him. And he doesn’t expect or accept any thanks for it because he only does it to keep from losing his fucking mind with the urge to vomit all over those kinds of guys.

   But now that he watches you hurriedly fill a plate from the breakfast buffet, ignoring all the things he knows you normally love to indulge in when you get the chance, like the Nutella croissants and raspberry yoghurt with fresh berries, he realizes that he’s the only one who’s being disrespectful towards you right now.    He should apologize for barking at you, maybe compliment your cute red nail-polish with little white hearts, or perhaps express some concern over how tired and stressed you look.

   Instead, he finishes filling his own plate and takes his seat opposite you, without a word spilling over his lips.

   Work is slow and tedious, each new hard drive being installed takes about twenty minutes because each one has to be independently connected to the core system, in the correct sequence, before you can move on to the next. And on top of that, the hydraulics in all eight of the machine’s mechanical arms needs to be replaced, which is where most of your focus lies, while Tovar primarily works on the computer.

   He’s better at it than you or anyone of the other operators, so it’s only logical, and you’re somewhat relieved to not be around him much today.    You hadn’t been able to bring yourself to lay down next to him last night, so you’d spent the night on the floor instead, thankfully waking up early enough that you’d had time to make your side of the bed before he noticed.    Not that you’re sure why he’d be bothered by that. He doesn’t give a shit about your comfort, so why would he care where you sleep?

   Unfortunately, this means you haven’t gotten much sleep at all since the floor was hard and cold and you kept having to change positions to keep various body parts from going numb.    But working on the mechanical arms means working with the sister factory operators, and they’re proving to be just as good fun as your regular coworkers, so while the day might have started out crabby, by lunchtime you’re feeling pretty good.    Until you hear that Tovar has left the factory over lunch, taking the car into town to eat, without asking if you might wanna tag along.

   You wouldn’t really have expected him to ask, that’s not his style, but he could’ve let you know that he was leaving to give you a chance to go with him and maybe buy some breakfast for tomorrow or just a damned Valentine’s gift for yourself.    Today is the 14th after all, and since it was supposed to be a day off for you, you had a whole day planned back home.

   Nothing fancy, just a nice solo dinner and dessert, a spa bath and some skin pampering, and then just relaxing on the sofa with the book you’re currently reading and some of your favourite music.    It would’ve been a perfect day. But instead, you’re literally covered in engine grease, the kind used for airplanes, no less, and there’s no point in washing more than your hands before digging into your microwave meal which you bought from a vending machine outside the management offices.

   Your colleague returns within the allotted half-hour break, which seems odd considering the time it usually takes to order a meal, receive it, and then eat it, plus the drive back and forth into town. But you’re sure as hell not gonna ask him about it. He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with you.    So, you get back to work, doing your best to ignore him for the rest of the day.

   However, it being a holiday, albeit a small one, the staff aren’t gonna stick around until 9pm like last night. They start packing it in before 6pm, and since you can’t be there without a chaperone, you’re both forced to leave early as well, which means you now have an entire evening to spend with the one person you’ve ever met who hates spending time with a single living thing.    On fucking Valentine’s Day.

   He drives this time, and you’re so tired and fed up with this whole situation that you never even ask if you can stop by a grocery store on the way. And once back in the hotel room, you’re all but ready to collapse and sleep for the rest of the evening, but then you remember that you’re not in any way interested in sleeping next to your travel companion, which just sours your mood even more.

   “Do you need the bathroom any time soon?” you ask after arriving back in the room, and he just shakes his head, so you grab your toiletry bag and some clean cozy clothes from your suitcase and then lock yourself in there for what’s gonna be a very long shower.

   For a long while, you just sit on the floor underneath the spray, and cry. Maybe because you feel particularly lonely today, or maybe just because you’re so tired, but whatever the reason might be, you don’t care enough to try and work it out.    But after what has to be an hour, possibly even more than that, you start to feel overheated, so you quickly clean your hair and scrub your skin before stepping out and getting started on some moisturization.

   You still don’t wanna go out into the other room, though, so you take your time blow-drying and styling your hair, even though you’re just going to bed. Then you clean and dry all your product bottles before putting them back into your toiletry bag.    And then you can’t find any more excuses to stay in there any longer, so with a deep sigh, you unlock the door and step out into the cool and dry air of the bedroom, heading straight for your suitcase without even looking to see where Tovar is.

   Until something catches your eye.    There’s a glimmer towards the head of your side of the bed, and when you look up, a little gift box is sitting on your pillow.    You turn around once, scanning the room, but he isn’t in there. What is in there, sitting on the small table in the corner, is a classic silver tray with a cover, and a single red rose resting in front of it.

   Confused, you look from the silvery little box with a perfect bow on top, to the silvery tray in the other end of the room, utterly unable to connect the dots and unsure of where to even start with this.    Finally, after at least a minute of perplexed deliberation, you decide to open the gift first.    It’s about the size of the palm of your hand, and it isn’t wrapped, so you can just lift the top half of it off, but once you do, you kinda forget how to be a human being for a split second.

   Because this must be from him. But how the fuck does he know? You’ve never had a genuine conversation with the man, and he’s never once expressed any interest in learning anything personal about you. So, how could he possibly know that you’ve wanted a d’amour gold diamond necklace from Cartier for years, and just never felt like it was an acceptable expense?    It’s not the priciest piece of jewellery, just shy of a thousand bucks, but that’s still way beyond what you feel is acceptable to spend on what’s essentially just an accessory.

   Yet, here it is. The exact piece you’ve been dreaming about one day feeling like you can gift yourself. It makes no sense.    Tearing your gaze off the sparkling jewellery to try and regain some clarity of thought, you then remember the tray, and slowly approach the little table, suddenly extremely curious but also kinda worried about what might be under that cover.

   The rose is also of the expensive type, as big as a coffee cup saucer and blood red, with a sweet and soft aroma. You know the kinds of florists who sell these and it’s about the last place you’d ever expect to see Pero Tovar. The mental image alone is enough to make you snort.    And then you lift the cover and once more lose your marbles, because the tray is absolutely filled with all your favourite treats.

   From strawberries to your favourite sour candies, to caramel brownies, peanut butter cookies, your favourite chocolate, grapes, and two bottles of the best sparkling water you know.    Even if your solo Valentine’s hadn’t been cancelled you never would’ve treated yourself to all this. And once again you’re left wondering how in the hell the unfriendliest man in the world has accomplished this.

   But he’s not here, and his phone is sitting on the bedside table on his side of the bed, so you can’t reach him. Which has to mean he did all this so that you’d have a night to yourself in the middle of all this work, and the thought damned near makes you cry again.    So instead, you take the necklace out of the box and put it on, then you grab the tray, move it onto the bed, turn on the tv and snuggle up while you search for something to watch.

   He comes back around midnight, to give you as much space as he can without making himself miserable with too little sleep before work tomorrow, and he tries to be quiet when he steps out of his shoes and sneaks into the bathroom.    Once he’s used the toilet and brushed his teeth, he stays in the bathroom while he undresses and then quietly makes his way to the bed. But once he sees you, he has to stop for a moment and just look at you.

   The bedside lamps illuminate you where you lay, curled up against the headboard with the covers bunched up as a third pillow for you to hug, still fully dressed and with the tray of sweets in the middle of the bed, most of it already eaten. You’re holding the rose so that the soft petals touch your cheek, and around your neck the thin chain and tiny diamond glimmers.    You’re far away, sleeping soundly with a slight smile in the corner of your mouth, and it makes him feel warm to see it.

   You always smile, even when you have no apparent reason to. It’s how he’s used to seeing you, and it’s an unexpected relief to have that smile back.    It takes him several minutes before he realizes that he’s been staring at you for far too long, and promptly reaches over to lift the tray out of the bed and take one of the spare blankets to cover you with, before he carefully crawls into bed beside you and falls asleep still watching you smile.

~~~    The alarm on his phone is automated, set to 6:15am for the entire week, and it goes off when it’s supposed to.    He turns around and reaches for his phone but then hits snooze instead of turning it off. He’s dead tired and not at all in the mood to get up, so he tries to go back to sleep, hoping the alarm will magically turn back time and give him another two hours.    But then that feeling hits him. That feeling which tells him something’s off and he needs to be alert, so he opens his eyes.

   He’s still lying on his left side, facing your direction, so when he looks up, he meets your eyes staring back at him.    You’ve sat up and you look tired and confused, but also… softer, maybe. Less tense than you have these past two days.

   “When did you get in? I didn’t hear you.” You seem truly surprised to not have noticed him coming back, but then, you have no idea how stealthy he’s had to be earlier in his life, and how those skills still serve him on occasion.

   “Midnight,” he sleepily slurs without lifting his head off the pillow.

   “Oh. I was trying to stay up… to thank you.”

   He doesn’t reply to that, because he really doesn’t know what to say, and he much prefers silence to outing himself as both stupid and incompetent where conversation is concerned.

   “I spent all night trying to figure out how you could possibly know how much I love all these things,” you quietly continue in your raspy morning voice, which he finds himself enjoying far too much, “but then I decided that it doesn’t really matter. Because I know you aren’t nearly interested enough in people to ever stalk anyone, so however you found these things out, I don’t think there’s anything bad about it.”

   You haven’t asked him anything, or indirectly posed an inquiry of any kind, so there’s nothing for him to answer, which is why he simply keeps looking at you. But in his mind, he recalls all the moments when he’s overheard you talking to your colleagues, freely sharing your interests, tastes, and dreams, as well as what things annoy, scare, or unsettle you. And he wonders if you’re even aware of how much you openly reveal about yourself without hesitation.

   He thinks you must fear a great many things to be so ready to be known. To have such a need to never be misunderstood or caught on a lie that you’ll tell complete strangers about your thoughts and feelings on almost any subject, just to ensure they’ll know in advance why you might react negatively to certain things. Because that way, no one can ever call you a liar or attack you for being dishonest or unapproachable.    He thinks you must be terribly scared of people in general, and that being completely open is your way of both protecting yourself and ensuring you won’t become closed off from the entire world.

   But for all your vigilance, like everyone else around him, you don’t seem to notice him when he works within earshot of you, or just passes by close enough to overhear a few words or sentences of whatever conversation you happen to be in.    He’s good at blending into the background when he chooses to, but he’s also aided by the fact that everyone overlooks him because they know he won’t interact with them even if they try, so it’s like their brains scrub him out of their senses to make sure they don’t waste any energy on him.

   “What I do need to know,” you continue, oblivious to his internal memory trip, “is why you would ever spend a thousand bucks on a gift for someone you don’t care the least bit about.”

   The alarm goes off again, and since he’s wide awake now, he sits up and switches it off, turning away from you as he throws his legs over the side of the bed.

   “We need to get going,” is all he replies, fully aware that he’s avoiding the issue and using the fact that you still haven’t asked him a direct question as an excuse not to answer.

   But he knows the answer. He knows it painfully well. And there’s a part of him who seriously hates that truth.    You’re always unsure around him, for good reason since he’s never made it possible for you to be comfortable and relaxed in his presence, but his dismissal this time is more than just rude. It’s cruel, because it leaves you completely unable to judge his behaviour.

   Did he do this for you because he’s trying to manipulate you? Or because he expects a favour in return? Is he trying to get into your pants?    He can tell even without looking at you that these questions now flood your mind, as the tension of fear makes the entire room electric from one moment to the next.

   Ordinarily, you don’t shy away from tough conversations. You hate it when things hang in the air like thunderclouds waiting to strike at you. But you’re also smart enough to pick your battles and you’ve understood from day one, that all discussions involving Pero are gonna be largely pointless, especially when he behaves this erratically.    But he wishes you would pick this fight.    He hates to see your fear. If only he had the guts to let you know that.

   The workday continues just like the previous ones, with the two of you on separate tasks, him working on the computer and you out on the main body of the machine, teaching the operators how to reset and mend the hydraulics.    You’re tremendously skilled at all functions of this complicated machine, especially considering how short a time you’ve spent learning it, so he’s never concerned about you working on it. The sister factory operators, on the other hand, he could outright strangle with their own incompetence.

   And it only gets worse today, after he overhears a conversation between a few of them while they’re making their way to the lunchroom.    As usual, they don’t notice him still working where they slowly pass while quietly speaking amongst themselves, and the first sentence he hears is enough to set his teeth on edge, so he abandons the work and sneaks after them.

   He’s in a seriously bad mood that evening, and you can’t help but think it has to do with you, for some reason. He doesn’t wanna look at you and every time he has to, his mood seems to sour even more, and since you have no idea what you could’ve done, it just scares you.    So, by the time you get back to the hotel, around 9pm, you’re not even thinking about laying down in the same bed as him.

   Using the same tactic as the first night, you offer him the bathroom first and then take your time in there once he’s done. Then you sneak out and quietly pull the covers and pillows down on the floor, where you make a bed for yourself.    You don’t hear anything from him, so you assume he’s already asleep, and after a little while, you manage to drift off as well. But the floor is hard, and you’re not used to that, so you wake up frequently as your body goes sore and occasionally numb from the pressure, forcing you to switch positions.

   All of which means you don’t really get a lot of sleep, and by the early hours of the morning you’re finally all but passed out from exhaustion. And of course, that’s when his alarm goes off.    You’re sleeping so heavily just then that you go back to sleep the moment the alarm is turned off, and it isn’t until you feel a hand on your shoulder that you finally wake up fully, with an instinctive, sharp jerk away from the unfamiliar touch.

   “What are you doing on the floor, Sonriente?” he asks, and he still sounds almost angry, which makes you shrink away from him.

   But you can’t find a single word to explain how he is the reason why you’ve put yourself in such an uncomfortable position, so you just turn away and start trying to wake your limbs up enough that you can stand and maybe begin to feel a little less vulnerable.    Surprisingly though, as soon as he sees what you’re doing, he immediately reaches out and helps you until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. Which only further confuses you because why would he help you when he’s angry with you?

   You’re trembling slightly when he lets go of you, and you’re not sure if it’s because your limbs are still in the process of waking up or if it’s adrenaline, but either way, he notices, and it seems to connect the dots for him.

   “You sleep on the floor because of me?” he quietly asks, while slowly backing away from you, and he looks either shocked or hurt. You can’t tell which.

   “I don’t know why you’re so angry… but whatever I’ve done-…”

   “No,” he cuts you off sharply, shaking his head and closing his eyes as if it’ll somehow make all of this go away. “It is not you.”

   There’s something very raw and open about him in that moment. As though his innermost being is exposed and trying to crawl back into the shadows of his heart, but hindered by whatever this thing is that’s making him so angry.

   “It is never you…” he barely whispers, and now he is the one who’s trembling.

   “But then… why? Why could you barely even look at me yesterday, and why did it seem like you only got angrier every time you did?” you question, feeling slightly bolder now that you’re starting to see how vulnerable he is in this situation.

   A ripple seems to go through him, and suddenly all the hairs on his arms stand up, and the trembling in his hands intensifies.

   “I can’t say it.” He’s gritting his teeth as he speaks, so the words come out in a slight growl, but you can sense now that this isn’t directed at you at all. “But I would never hurt you.”

   He sinks to one knee on the floor in front of you, still with his eyes closed and his head bowed, and his fists closed tightly against his thighs, but somehow you’re not the least bit scared of him anymore.    You slip off the bed and drop to your knees before him, carefully reaching a hand up to his shoulder to see how he reacts, and the moment you make contact, another ripple goes through him.

   But in the aftermath, he softens. His shoulders drop and something seems to unlock within him, so you decide to take both his hands in yours, fully expecting him not to accept the small act of comfort. But he does.    Piece by piece, he surrenders, first by letting his hands be held, and then by holding yours in return.    He’s breathing hard, and you can see the pounding of his heart in his neck and on his temples, but the longer you hold onto him, the calmer he becomes.

   “I’m sorry… for ever letting you think you had to protect yourself from me,” he eventually whispers, and his voice trembles with the anger that still simmers within him. “I promise you will never have to.”

   You feel like you’re seeing him for the first time all over again, or at least seeing sides of him you never would’ve thought even existed if this stupid trip had never happened. And it emboldens you in terms of how much you dare to stand up for yourself and demand a few explanations. Because you sure as shit have questions and it’s about time he answers them.

   “Why did you buy me the necklace, Pero?” You keep your tone soft, but you also let your voice remain strong to let him know you’re not gonna tolerate any excuses, and then you wait patiently while he gathers himself.

   “Because you were stuck here with me,” he eventually begins, and his voice is full of uncertainty now, which is something you never thought you’d hear from this man. “I know you had plans for Valentine’s and it all got ruined, but then you also had to put up with me and I just thought… maybe it would bring your smile back for a while.”

   “My smile?” Of all the reasons to give someone a gift, making them smile is certainly good enough. But this particular man wishing to make you smile is entirely unexpected.

   “You always do. Like there is a happy little film playing on the insides of your eyes all the time. Have you not noticed how everyone you meet smiles back at you?” he wonders, and you think back to all the people you’re regularly around, and then all the people you’ve met for the first time recently.

   And he’s right. Everyone always smiles at you, even the most sour office workers whenever they have to set foot in the factory where they’re no longer the experts on everything because their knowledge is all theoretical and they wouldn’t be able to operate much of anything out there on the floor.    Everyone smiles at you. Except Tovar.

   “You are sunshine,” he continues, “drawing people in with your light and warmth. It is impossible to resist.”

   “But you do. I’ve never seen you smile, not at me or anyone, for any reason, not even a smirk,” you counter, before you slip a hand out of his to reach up and gently lift his chin, because you need to see his eyes. “So, why are you suddenly acting like this matters to you?”

   It takes him a minute, in which he keeps trying not to look at you, but his eyes still return to meet yours every few seconds, as if he really can’t resist.

   “It always makes me happy to see you,” he finally admits, and he looks so small and unsure suddenly, which stuns you somewhat, because you would never even have imagined that Pero Tovar could look anything but tall, broad and competent. “I’m sorry that I am not better at showing you this.”

   It’s still so difficult to wrap your head around this, because in the entire year you’ve been around him, this man has never shown any level of care for another human being, whatsoever. As in, you’ve seen him sigh and continue working as if nothing happened, after a guy standing next to him accidentally crushed his own foot.

   “So… you’re saying you care about me?” you ask, needing the outright confirmation before you’ll even be able to begin accepting it.

   He pauses again. But this time, he meets your eyes the whole time.

   “Yes.”

   You’re a little late to work this morning, but he’s very relieved to have had the conversation you ended up having after waking up.    It had damned near broken his heart to find you on the floor, knowing it was all his fault for being such a fucked-up person that he can’t even tell you he wasn’t angry with you. And he’s absolutely certain that anyone else would’ve either gotten angry with him or just tried to avoid the conversation all together.

   But not you. You always take the hard road, because that’s how much honesty means to you, and you always manage to do it without losing your temper or getting rude about it. It’s one of a long line of things he admires about you.    And that’s precisely why he’s never dared to actually talk to you.    He doesn’t know how to do any of that. How to have honest and open conversations without losing his shit at some point. It’s destroyed every relationship he’s ever tried to have, and he’s been so scared of losing the calm and harmony you bring into his life by just existing in his presence, that he never would’ve attempted it.

   But this morning was different, because you didn’t get angry or defensive or even demanding. You just kept opening doors for him and for the first time in at least twenty years, he found the courage to step through them, one by one.    And now, when you park at the sister factory for your fourth day of working on MAP, he feels like maybe this won’t be as bad of a day as he had initially thought.

   As usual, Hannah comes out to escort you both, but there’s a grim look on her face today, and while Pero can guess the reason behind it, you still have no idea what happened here yesterday.

   “Good morning. I’m afraid we’re a bit short-staffed today so you’ll have to make due with just two extra pairs of hands on the hydraulics.”

   “Is there a flu going round, or something?” you ask, which is a valid question given that you worked closely with the three men who are out sick today and who could’ve infected you with a disease.

   “No, no. It seems there was an incident here yesterday, and a few of our workers were injured.”

   “Oh. Was it another malfunction?”

   “It appears to have been an altercation, actually,” Hannah explains, to which you raise a shocked brow. “None of the boys are talking about it, so we don’t know exactly what happened, but between them they have broken hands, arms, noses, ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a shattered knee. So, whatever went down, it was serious.”

   At this point, Pero notices a slight stutter in your steps, just before your head turns ever so slightly in his direction.    You know that he can fight, and you know he isn’t afraid to get in the middle of it when he wants to, so you’re probably guessing that he was involved in this altercation and that it explains his temper problem from yesterday. All of which is correct, and none of which he intends to confess to in front of the supervisor, which is why he’s relieved when you don’t say anything.

   Once by the control panel for MAP, however, where no other operators are working, since they’re already busy with the hydraulics, you only wait until Hannah’s moved out of earshot before you come at him.

   “What the hell, Tovar? Did you mess up those guys?” Your voice is low, but the tone is heavy with accusation and even a bit of disbelief, so you clearly never noticed the darker shades of these particular operators as they worked with you.

   “Yes,” he admits without shame or hesitation, to which your shock doubles.

   “Why would you do that?”

   He doesn’t want to answer this one, so he gets to work, hoping you’ll let it go as you usually do when he shuts you down. But of course, this is one of those times when you decide to take the fight, probably because of the progress with communication you had this morning.

   “None of them even worked with you, what reason could you possibly have to break their fucking bones?”

   Disgusting words spoken in entitled and arrogant voices suddenly flood his mind once more, and his anger re-emerges with full force. But he manages to stay in control of himself, so while he turns his head to meet your questioning gaze, none of that anger spills onto you, and it only takes you a second to realize why.    Your breath seems to die inside your lungs and for a moment he worries that you’re about to pass out. But then you suck in a shaky breath and tears form in your eyes as the understanding dawns on you.

   It’s a horrible thing to see, watching as you involuntarily envision what could’ve happened, the nausea and sudden weakness which seems to creep into your very bones even at the mere suggestion of the plans that Pero interrupted by taking them out.    If he’d needed any reassurance that his actions were just, your reaction is more than enough. But it only lasts for a few seconds, and then a different emotion begins to replace the fear and discomfort.    It takes him a minute to figure out what it is, and just as he does, you step towards him.

   The strength of your arms when they wrap around his waist is almost enough to bruise him, but he doesn’t mind.    He might not often feel deserving of someone’s gratitude, as the things he occasionally does to aid them are largely self-serving, but he does this time. Not because this threat was more real than any other, but simply because he knows and cares about you.    He’s tried not to. Tried every day not to let you creep further under his skin and infect him with your joy, but he never stood a chance.

   You don’t speak and you don’t need to. Your body tells him the truth of what you’re feeling in that moment, in the tiny shivers which keep making you tremble against him, and the strained breaths you struggle to take with your face buried against his chest. He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cry, how you bite it back with each inhale and then almost lose control of it every time your lungs empty.    But he also feels the relief within you when he wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his cheek against the side of your head.

   In this moment, he has become your safety. The place where you choose to be because it makes you feel better. And for all his accomplishments, his inventions and ideas, technical skills and comprehensive knowledge, this is the only time he can recall ever feeling truly proud of himself.    Because you’re choosing him. You. The strongest and most impressive person he’s ever met.

~~~    That night, you fall asleep lying next to him, and although he’s tired after a long and emotional day, he stays awake for a little while just to look at you. Just to make sure you’re still smiling in your sleep.    And in the following five days, which it takes to finally fix the machine, this becomes your routine every night.    So, when the day eventually comes when it’s time to return home, you’re both mildly disappointed by the prospect of going back to your empty beds.

   Still, it’s nice to come home. You see your cars still parked where you left them when you drive past the employee lot on your way to the company car slots. It’s past office hours so once you’ve collected your things, you drop the keys in a kind of mailbox designed specifically for that purpose, and then begin making your way back to your own vehicles.    Neither of you are in a hurry, and he decides to walk you to your car before he heads to his own, just to help you feel safe. He’s noticed that you’re still rattled about the incident he prevented, in how you’ve been jumpier than usual.

   “I never thought I’d say this,” you quietly muse once you reach your car, “but I’m gonna miss your presence tonight.”

   You say it with a smile, but there’s insecurity within the expression, making him think that what you’re really going to miss is the feeling of safety which his closeness over the past week has given you.

   “But it will be nice to sleep in your own bed, yes?”

   “Definitely.”

   “And we will meet for the debrief first thing in the morning,” he concludes, hoping to leave you with a brighter perspective. And perhaps also hoping that you’ll reassure him of your desire to see him again.

   “The debrief?” Your question is genuine, reminding him that this is your first time working away and that you’ve probably never been told about the follow-up procedures.

   “Yes. We must meet Gary in the morning and explain everything that’s happened and what we have done.”

   “But won’t he have gotten continuous updates from the management team over there?”

   “Of course. The debrief is to ensure that our recollection and experience of what has happened concurs with theirs, to eliminate the risk of either side trying to hide any problems or complications.    So, we will need to tell Gary about the user errors which led to the breakdown.”

   “Okay. But we’re not telling him about…” you trail off, unable to finish the sentence because the thought alone still makes you curl in on yourself.

   “It would not do much good. Those men will be dealt with by the sister factory’s human resources unit.”

   “How so? We never told them what really happened, so why would their HR get involved at all?”

   “Because I hacked their phones and took a look at their search histories and saved videos, and even the small percentage of things I anonymously sent to their HR representative will be enough to get them arrested eventually,” he confesses, and it somehow still surprises him just how warm it makes him feel inside when he sees the relief in your frame.

   “Careful, Pero. I might start spreading a rumour that you’re secretly the sweetest guy in the world,” you joke, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind the teasing tone.

   “Go ahead, Sonriente. No one would believe you.”

   He says it with a soft note to his voice, just to make sure you know he wouldn’t mind if you did decide to spread rumours about him, regardless of what they might concern, if it would in any way help you feel good.

   “That’s definitely true,” you agree, mirroring his softness, and a slight spark lights up somewhere in your eyes then. “But you know, I kinda like that I’m the only who’s seen this other side of you.”

   “You may take all the credit for this yourself, because no one else has a hope of drawing it out of me. But it seems, against you, I have no defences anymore.”

   The smile you give him in response to that is enough to make him wish he could always sleep beside you. But this is where you finally part ways for the night.    He waits until you’re safely locked inside your car before he heads over to his own, already missing your closeness when he takes a seat and buckles up, and already accepting the fact that he won’t get much sleep tonight.

   It almost feels stupid how relieved you are to see him again the next morning. And the way his eyes light up when you walk into Gary’s office, just a few seconds past the dotted time, makes you wanna sit down on his lap rather than the chair beside him.    But you notice how discreet his reaction is now that there’s an audience, compared to how directly he’s been allowing you to see his emotions while you’ve been couped up together in that hotel room.    So, even though he might like you, he’s not prepared for the world to know about it, which is why you greet him with just a polite nod while you take your seat.

   “Good morning,” Gary grumbles in his characteristically sour morning mood. “So, this took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but I see you got the MAP working again, well done.”

   “Yeah. It was shot to shit when we got there,” you chip in, immediately back to expecting Tovar not to speak unless he’s asked a question, since that is still his normal state of being.

   “I saw the pictures of the hard drives. Someone sure did a real number on that thing.”

   “I’m guessing more than one someone. But we’ve shown them how to operate it correctly now, so hopefully it won’t happen again.”

   He asks you to go over the repair process day by day, and he has a lot of questions along the way, and true to form, your colleague remains silent unless Gary addresses him, so it ends up being a lot of talking for you.    But as it begins to wind down, you start to wonder if Pero is being deliberately silent specifically because he wants you to talk through it.

   He’s always quiet at work, that’s not unusual. But this was his repair job, not yours. You were just the extra hands, which means that this debrief should be primarily directed at him, yet by keeping his mouth shut, he’s forcing the supervisor to focus on you. And in doing so, you’re getting a chance to unpack everything that’s happened, at least in your own head, even though you’re editing stuff out before you speak.    Gary knows better than to push his top employee for a comment when the man is clearly not in a talkative mood, so it works perfectly, if indeed that is what the Spaniard’s doing.

   “Alright, I think I’ve got everything I need, so unless either of you have anything you wanna add, we can wrap it up here.”

   “Nope, all good,” you cheerfully declare, feeling lighter than you have in the past few days.

   “No critique you wanna hurl at me? About the hotel or the car? No jackass operator giving you a hard time over there, or anything?”

   From the corner of your eye, you see Tovar shift ever so slightly in his seat, and you wonder if he’s thinking about the men he hurt, or the one bed hotel room you initially hadn’t wanted to share with him.    But he says nothing, so you just shake your head at your supervisor and then the two of you leave his office and head onto the factory floor to get started on your regular workday.

   It’s nice to be back at your own station with your regular crew. It feels safe and familiar. But you find yourself thinking about Pero almost every second of the day. Wondering what he’s up to whenever you can’t see him at his station and wondering if he’s thinking about you at all whenever you do see him.    He never looks at you while he’s working, at least not that you can tell, so by lunchtime you’re pleased when he falls in beside you while you walk towards the breakroom, although it is a bit disappointing when he still takes his usual spot at the far end of the room rather than choosing to sit with you.

   But you do understand. It’s not like he’s gonna become a different person just because the two of you have begun to build a friendship, and you wouldn’t want him to.    So, you take your usual seat and play along with the customary banter, answering everyone's questions about the sister factory and what you got up to over there, and it all feels comfortably normal.

   Until someone makes a remark about Pero, the kind of thing you would’ve previously just ignored, but which now that you feel closer to your taciturn colleague, you suddenly find offensive.

   “Bet this one charmed everyone’s socks off,” the operator smirks, throwing a thumb in Tovar’s general direction after you’ve just finished describing the difficulty of coming in as the experts and trying to find a good working dynamic with a different crew.

   And in that moment, the fact that the Spaniard never defends himself, despite seriously fucking people up for just talking about hurting you, just makes you feel like it’s your turn to have his back and teach this crew not to talk about him like he isn’t even there.

   “No, he didn’t. But he did manage to charm my pants off.”

   You say it frankly, leaving no question that it’s the truth, even though you’re twisting the narrative a bit to make it sound like the two of you hooked up, when you’re actually just referring to him making you feel safe enough to sleep beside him in nothing but your panties and a top.    Still, the effect it has on the entire room is worth the fib.

   They all know you’re not easy. It takes a lot just for someone to get a date with you, courtesy of trust issues because of previous experiences. Nothing traumatic, thankfully, but enough that you always have your guard up and actively look for red flags in every guy you meet. Also, you’re very clear on what you want and what you tolerate, as well as what you don’t, which is enough to deter a great many men.    So, for you to let a mystery like Pero anywhere near you, he has to have insanely good game, and not one of the people in that breakroom with you can picture a reality where that’s even possible.

   Which results in a highly amusing blend of shocked and disbelieving faces, some frozen while they’re clearly trying to visualize this alternate universe, while others are just staring at Tovar, still sitting there perfectly calmly in his usual spot, reading something on his phone.    And the best part is, none of them have the guts to ask him about it, because they’re all just as scared of him as you still were two weeks ago. Which means that all they can do is live with this incredibly shocking revelation, presumably forever.

   You continue to chuckle about it for the rest of the day, and when the next shift arrives to relieve you, from a distance, you can see how they too are informed of this latest piece of gossip. So, odds are, this is now gonna be the talk of the factory for the foreseeable future.

   “You know you will be the topic of discussion for a long time now,” Pero cautions as if he’s just read your mind, while he comes to help you clean up before you leave your station.

   “It’s harmless, I don’t mind. Besides, it is true.”

   “Technically. But I do not like them thinking of you as a conquest. Mine or anyone else’s.”

   “Okay. Then shut them down,” you smile, and he can tell there’s a hidden meaning behind those words, but he can’t quite make it out, so you decide to spell it out for him. “Let’s go on a date.”

   Your confidence ebbs out about halfway through the sentence, resulting in a sudden fade of both volume and potency, so the word date comes out all strangled and barely even audible. But you’ve said it now, so you might as well soldier on.

   “What I mean is, I would like to go on a date with you. You’re free to decline, of course,” you elaborate, feeling more insecure by the second, even turning your head down to look at your shoes because you suddenly remember how much rejection stings, which you somehow hadn’t thought about until just now.

   “Do you like empanadas?” he asks then, and his voice is soft, just like it always was when the two of you were alone together in the hotel room this last week.

   “I’ve never tried them,” you confess, still unsure of what he means by that, but then he gives you a little smile.

   “Then I will make them for you. My mother’s recipe is a bit spicy, but I think you can handle it.”

   Relief and joy wash over you as you realize he’s agreeing, and your responding smile feels like it blossoms out of you. Like there’s no connection between your brain and your heart in that moment, it just happens because the feeling is too big to control.

   “Okay. So… your place?”

   “You choose. If you wish to have the option to leave if you feel uncomfortable: my place. If you wish to eat by a table and not sitting in the sofa: your place.”

   “For the record, I know I’d feel safe at your place. But yeah, a table might be nice,” you chuckle, and he nods in agreement, so you decide to be bold. “How about tonight, maybe 6pm?”

   “Sure,” he quietly agrees, but you can tell he’s pleased that you didn’t suggest waiting until the weekend.

   “Great. And if you’re gonna cook then I’ll get dessert.” You say it while starting to walk towards the assembled crews, ridiculously happy to see them still flabbergasted at the realization that their grumpiest colleague apparently has more game than all of them.  

But when you turn your back to him, you miss how his expression changes as he follows you, turning from a controlled interest and mild happiness, to almost tearful with gratitude that you’d still choose to spend time with him even when you no longer need to.    He might not be ready to show it in front of the others, but the brightness you pour into his soul with just your smile and your willingness to give him a chance, would make him glow in the dark if it was visible.    You might not have figured it out yet, but Pero Tovar already belongs to you, so all you need to do to have your forever Valentine, is simply to keep choosing him.

   I’m not gonna write THE END on this one, because I feel like I’m gonna be returning to these two at some point, so please let me know if that’s something you’d like to see.    All my love, always.    /Jay

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[vampire-wizard-solidarity]

this is a public service announcement to all revali fans: i invite you to join my campaign for the belief that mipha and revali are like, besties. there is no textual evidence to support this however i would like to dedicate the rest of this post to basically form a manifesto for this dynamic.

first it's important to acknowledge that botw and all champion related materials are kind of underbaked and don't elaborate on possibly any idea related to the champions enough to create Analyzable Depth, so when talking about these characters there's always an element of identifying either potential/setup for these characters and kind of trying to extend this. engaging with these characters kind of inherently means doing, in at least some part, the job of the writer and low key Making Shit Up. i acknowledge this and also embrace it and i suggest you do too.

so, mipha and revali: they are low key parallels, or at least play parallel roles to each other. the champions could be 'divided' into whether they relate more to zelda or link, and coincidentally link gets the boys and zelda gets the girls. daruk and urbosa are the older figures who take on a low key parental role to link and zelda respectively. daruk hangs out with link and gets him to loosen up a bit (source: his dlc diary) and urbosa is the one who cares for zelda and understands her deal the most (source: every single time urbosa is on screen). revali and mipha are, then, the peer character meant to 'challenge' link and zelda respectively.

revali challenges link's status as 'the chosen one', whether he really deserves this title and status etc by being the only champion with no inherent authority who had to work his ass off for any status he does have. mipha challenges zelda's role as a princess, by being also a princess with special powers who's practically perfect at everything zelda sucks at (being good at her power, getting along with link, having a loving family, having her people have complete faith in her, being mourned extensively after her death etc). revali and mipha further foil each other: revali is the most Outraged by the entire situation, whereas mipha is the most complacent. revali bases a lot of his beliefs about the situation largely on misunderstanding and projection, whereas mipha possibly has the most understanding about everything (about her entire role in this, about how special princess powers work, about link and generally the people involved). having these two characters interact and like, talk about things is inherently an interesting concept because of this.

furthermore, i believe they could bring out sides in each other that are largely unseen in most contexts. mipha is generally quite passive and quiet, despite having the most understanding she doesn't proactively voice it nor tries to actively 'enlighten' anyone. the one time she does try the apocalypse happens and even then she isn't like 'ok we are on borrowed time zelda lets debrief u need to unlock ur powers stat' shes just kind of like oh ok. guess the Very Important Conversation That Could Solve Everything has to wait. revali, on the other hand, doesn't shut the fuck up, and never even considers that he's wrong or working off of wrong premises. despite this, both of them have sides to them that are not like this: revali acts like a pompous asshole, but from his dlc scene and journal we can infer he has a bunch of underlying insecurities and also does Genuinely Care. and mipha, again from her dlc scene, has some older sister snark that comes out when she interacts with sidon, she's actually willing to be proactive with him and not overly coddle him.

with mipha's whole thing as the understander i think she'd be able to catch onto revali's shit almost immediately and see through his facade. at the same time she's not the type of character to actively try and fix him, i actually think she'd express her understanding in a kind of cheeky, snarky way, 'match his energy' so to speak, because she knows that's something that would actually ruffle some feathers (heh) and get revali out of his comfort zone. for revali, on the other hand, i think it'd be a very disarming experience to be actually called on his bullshit by a peer who seems to actually get him and not buy his whole pompous asshole thing. i also think he'd kind of project his own feelings of being upstaged by Some Guy onto mipha, an actually competent princess who also has to step back just because she's from the wrong royal family. their kind of opposite personalities and perspectives are able to complement each other, coming together to a perfect equilibrium of 'yes there are things that are very unfair about this but there are reasons for the way things are and we kind of have to accept that'. it is kind of beneficial for both of them to hear about/engage with the others' perspective.

a quick aside bc i know a bunch of you are revalink fans: the dynamic of revali and link one sided rivalry meanwhile mipha is great friends with both of them is really funny, and also opens a door for revali to develop a better understanding of link and give him a chance. i don't go here i am a miphzel girlie however this is something to consider.

now: would they actually like each other? the answer for mipha is simple because like, i think she just kind of likes everyone. for revali it's a little more interesting and i think it's important to bring up the way he views zelda: he talks about it in his diary, but basically there is an element of him looking down on her there's also a distinct sense of pity ("It's not that I dislike the Princess. She tries her hardest. It's simply not good enough"). there are a few reasons for why there's a pity present where it is not for link, part of it is pretty much explicitly stated with how he views zelda as earnest meanwhile link as emotionless. i, being me, read botw as a very deliberately gendered story and will assert that in my reading, part of the reason why he has a distinct rivalry with link and does not with zelda is because link is also male.

part of it is because the roles of the hero and the princess are inherently gendered, and revali wants the role of the hero, the role he thinks is being taken away from him. he understands the role of the hero as the main fighter, which is what he wants to be, and he doesn't have the same interest in whatever role the princess plays in defeating ganon. part of it is the fact that revali is a teenage boy, and link is also a teenage boy. the way he provokes him and tries to enter an adversarial relationship with him reads to me as like, the kind of bickering you do with specifically a peer you view as a challenger, in this case the role they're both aiming for is the 'knight', in the case of link literally, and in the case of revali more symbolically, as the top archer and 'protector' of his village.

now this is where we veer off into the 'Making Shit Up' part of analyzing botw champions, namely there's a lot of interpretations one could come up with using the implications of this aspect of his character, to name a few: he potentially does still hold a kind of respect for the authority of royalty, namely princesses; he is a feminist; my personal favorite: he has some aspects of toxic masculinity making him pursue rivalry with other men, while not viewing women as rivals in the same way. either way, one think is clear: he doesn't react to princesses with the same antagonism he does to knights.

so, what we have here: he values 1. competence 2. sincerity 3. people who cannot rival him for his status or any status he wants. mipha checks all three.

furthermore, now that we have established that revali is a kind of 'knight', and mipha is a princess, and they both foil link and zelda respectively, they are, like link and zelda, a knight and princess pair, ergo their potential friendship is in itself a foil to link and zelda. with link and zelda, we have a very complacent, passive knight and a princess with a propensity for projection who is very vocally not happy with the situation. and with revali and mipha, we have a knight with a propensity for projection who is very vocally not happy with the situation and a very complacent, passive princess. the first pair's dynamic leads to conflict between the two of them, and who survive despite their incompetence. the second pair's dynamic, in my pitch, leads to closeness and friendship, and who die despite their competence. Are You Seeing This.

so yeah. i have mostly focused on their synergy and narrative foilage instead of the specifics of their potential dynamic, although i do have opinions on that too, however i have omitted those largely bc of what i have discussed in paragraph one. this is not a pitch for you to subscribe to my personal interpretations of these character's personalities, it is a pitch for you to make them interact. more.

TL;DR: the potential dynamic between revali and mipha is scrumptious because they're literally foils to each other and to link and zelda and we should all be exploring it more

[smartytarty]

DoL Cast Cunt Level Tierlist

okay girl strap in this is going to be a long one.

first thing's first, let's discuss the rankings.

M O T H E R - these are the uncontested people's picks. like. i'm sorry if you're overtaken by a dark and contrarian urge but that is a personal problem. get well soon.

cuntological phenomena - elevated but something is holding them back from the top spot.

cuntress - they are coming in with a DISTINCT vibe and visual identity. when i say BLANK the BLANK you KNOW who the fuck it is!!!

average. unremarkable - self explanatory. the oatmeal of girlies. some by choice others by happenstance.

complete and utter absence of cunt - also self explanatory. either a complete and utter lack of visual identity or NEGATIVE charisma or both

Okay so in M O T H E R we have:

Bailey - who steals every scene they're in? bailey. who's the whole reason we even HAVE a game or plot? bailey. find me someone on dolblr who feels whatever about bailey and i'll say oh. hm. guess you found the exception that proves the rule. whether it's a little mobster fit or a tracksuit you have an idea of what this person looks like.

Remy - if you do not know what a full equestrian fit complete with a riding crop looks like then i urge you to educate yourself. barring the moment you escape the farm remy is having an amazing time in every scene they're in and living their best life. and they prooooobably head the aurigan cult? so like. cunt as ordained by slut satan.

Briar - you know this bitch is wearing the thinnest, skimpiest little ankle length slip dress slit up the side with the lace applique even in the winter because mother does not get cold. we want her to want us so bad. and she won't. not like that. because she's too good for us.

Jordan - it does not matter if they are a nun; it does not matter if they are a priest; they are coming in with a look so heavenly it'd bring any person to their knees. all i'm saying is that. . . if you are a sinner? they could make you believe. and they're proficient with whips? amen.

And just below that we have cuntological phenomena:

Avery - the card? black. the heels? a restrained manolo blahnik black nappa pointed toe pump. thanks for asking. the suit? you couldn't afford it. the ONLY THING holding avery back from that top spot is that in a town full of bad bitches they chose to beef with robin. embarrassing.

Whitney - you know what a school bully is, you know what a school bully does, and you know what a school bully looks like. the varied flavors amidst the fandom just go to show that whit's a versatile icon. but they would be NOTHING without the approval of their peers and that does in fact set them back.

Wren - let's be real we all met wren and were instantly obsessed. could you imagine one of the best NPCs being gated behind farm content? saddening. maddening. they've a verve and a charisma that is unparalleled but like. i'm sorry. smuggler has nooo visual identity outside of space operas.

and in cuntress there is:

Sydney - you know what a church bitch looks like. and oooh, syd, is that lip stain? yes. stained with communion wine, babe! sydney the faithful has a strong visual and personal identity. sydney the fallen? hmmmmm. their identity is you. which means nothing, aesthetically speaking. sad. they could've been a cuntological phenomena.

Eden - if you do not have a strong opinion of eden it is because you have not met eden. you have not seen the bullet casings lying on the ground and seen the red text that says you are being hunted and felt your nipples harden with excitement as you envisioned some six foot four lumberjack type bitch with the biggest, hairiest, veiniest forearms encroaching upon you with a gun.

Alex - full cuntry realness. hello? old mcdonald? e-i-e-i-o? you have envisioned the wide brim hat and the denim and the t-shirt tan and the bit of straw betwixt the teeth. next.

Leighton - you can hate them but you were still brought to heel beneath the hand of a stern authoritarian. so. meditate on that.

Great Hawk - they're a big hawk. a harpy. who else is doing that? himbo/bimbo vibes off the charts. don't have a lot to say about them but what else needs be said?

Harper - we all have an image in our mind's eye of a what an evil doctor looks like and harper fits the bill. like. yes. they are possessed of a demurity that holds them back from being a full cuntological phenomena but if we consider what they do over what they say? cuntress, babe. full doctor fantasy.

and over here we are average. unremarkable.

Robin - normcore GFE/BFE. whatever. to be fair i do not think robin WANTS to be anything other than a standard issue person. so there's that. let them live.

Landry - now you may want to protest and come to landry's defense but consider that landry does not need defending. landry is unremarkable because landry WANTS to be unremarkable. they are keeping a low profile and i see that and i understand that and i give them their flowers for that.

Gwylan - gwywhat? gwywho? they're fine but like. whatever. thanks for the shop, babe.

Winter - love them for being the least harmful and most supportive dom in the game but unfortunately that makes them boring. their competition is too strong.

Sam - so normal. ugh. like soooooooooooooooooooo unfuckably normal.

Charlie, Darryl, Nikki, Mason - these are all the same person. fit twenty something who is nice to the PC. the only one who has any sort of edge factor is nikki.

Quinn - girl what does a mayor even look like? great presence but no visual identity. they cannot compete with the other girlies at poker night. sorry.

Sirris - are they a milf/dilf? yeah. probably. that's got nothing to do with cunt, though. next

Doren - english teacher. scottish. slightly feral. very cool but. idk. not very cunt. to me. <3

and last, complete and utter absence of cunt:

Morgan - stinky little sewer bitch. incestuous. not a mood or a moment. no charisma. yuck.

Black Wolf - wolf fandom don't even try to defend this. like yeah black wolf is a wolf. you have defined what black wolf is. but have you defined who black wolf is? literally nothing to differentiate them from the rest of the pack aside from being tall. next.

Kylar - if you've been on the blog you know this is a kylar lovers safe space but um. it is precisely because i am a kylar lover that i know in my heart they are possessed of no cuntiness. negative charisma. no style. but they make up for it in heart.

River - it's river. bye.

[deeninadream]

First Name Basis (My One Shot from Ao3)

Warnings: Bar setting, alcohol consumption, drunk reader, that’s about it I think, oh and this is my first fic!

Summary:

You go out with the team to wind down after a long week. You planed on only getting one drink...but ended up getting crazy drunk. In the end Hotch has a soft spot for you and you like using his full name. ---- This was going to be a part of my future series, "Necessary, Needed, & Wanted," but I though i just put it up first. Enjoy!

While you decided that a night out with the team, drinking, dancing, and gossiping would be a good way to forget the most recent case, you had certainly not expected to get this drunk.

Derek sat to your right; an arm slung behind you on the sticky booth. Pen sat, or really happy squirmed, to you left. At the beginning of the night, you suggested they sit together, and that you could sit with Spencer.

This was only really because you didn't want to get too crazy tonight, and you had recently read an article you would love to discuss with him. However, they insisted that they squish you in between them to protect you from any guys that came your way.

Dave sat across from you with Hotch on one side, and Spencer on the other. Emily had convinced JJ to go dancing a few minutes ago, but you're sure they'll be back soon.

Now, how did you go from getting a Shirley Temple to getting hysterically drunk? No fucking clue.

So here you are, jumping in between every conversation. Whether it's office gossip, a new scientific discovery, Jack's upcoming birthday party, or why you don’t have someone to go home to at night.

At least that's what it feels like to you, to everyone else though…they're having productive conversations, and you're randomly (and rather cutely) asking not so productive questions.

“Daaaave?!” you ask in a whisper yell. Dave looks over from his talk with Hotch to see you leaning over the table. You’re sure no one else can hear you, though your whisper yell is more at a raspy talking level.

Dave doesn’t even have to raise an eyebrow for you to continue.

“Okay, so obviously I know his middle name from the documents I look at all day loooong. But I can’t find it in me to remember his first name. What is his first name?!”

Now everyone is looking at you, not that you notice. They aren’t surprised you’ve asked such a weird question, but they are definitely intrigued.

Dave chuckled, glad that you’re finally letting loose, ”Who’s first name, darling?”

“Like I know his middle name, right, ‘cause I think it's funny that I’m the only one that can call him out on his shit like that. But it doesn’t work if I don’t know his first name,” you wine a little at the end. Like you’re five and he's not getting you ice cream.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at that, he had never seen you so delirious. He had been around you with barely any sleep for a week once, and you were more put together. Not that he’s complaining.

Now it's Derek's turn to chuckle, "Pretty girl, if you want us to answer you, you have to tell us who you’re talking about.”

You pay no mind to Derek; it's like you had a tunnel going from you to Dave. This just makes everyone laugh. Emily and JJ are coming back around, not that you have any idea.

At that Hotch puts his beer down and leans into your line of sight slightly. Your eyes immediately lock onto his. Everyone’s waiting, knowing that if anyone can get something out of you, it would be Hotch.

“Who are you talking about?” Hotch asked, surprisingly also wanting the answer.

You just stare into his eyes. If you weren't already unaware of your surroundings, you certainly aren't now.

Pen sees an opportunity to chime in, "Are you talking about that hot guy from budgeting?”

Your head snaps up, and directly to Pen’s,” OH MY GOD! Pen, please tell me I didn't say he is hot! I’m not supposed to say that!!” you wined, looking frantic and mortified.

Emily chuckled next to JJ at their chairs at the very end of the booth they now occupy, "Okay, are we talking about the mystery man, or the budgeting one?”

“I thought they were the same person?” JJ jumps in, though she's still looking at Emily. Spencer nodded his agreement with furrowed brows.

You now look towards the couple, seemingly forgetting about your momentary outburst after a sip of your drink.

“Mystery man," you say with a nod of finality, "Also ‘mystery man’? He’s your boss, Emily. How could you forget his name…? Oh wait, that's what I was asking. Dave, what's Hotch's first name?”

At that, everyone at the table excluding you and Hotch burst into a laughing fit. After a few moments of everyone trying to catch their breaths, and you looking around the table for some clue on what is so funny, Dave speaks first.

“Hotch’s first name is Aaron, you know this,” Dave helps you out, as if Hotch wasn’t sitting next to him.

“AARON BENJAMIN HOTCHNER!!” you take a small sip of your drink, "Thank you! I will be using that every chance I get!” Now your drink and pointer finger is aimed at Hotch.

Hotch looks at you with wide eyes and then smiles a smile that only seems to be for you. He then shakes his head, reaches across the table to pluck your glass from your hands.

You look up at him with a pout, ”Hey! I will use your middle name again!”

He just lightly chuckles and slides out of his side of the booth, "I don’t doubt you. Come on. Let's get you home.”

“But, but, but…” he just gives you one of his signature Hotch stares,” Oh, okay. Goodbye everyone! Mwah, mwah, mwah! I'll see y'all on Monday.”

Everyone says their respective goodbyes as Hotch helps you out of the booth. As you stand up, you trip a bit due to your heels, and your uncoordinated state. Hotch quickly catches you, putting an arm around your waist.

After standing fully up, you put your arms up in the air, and yell loud enough to be heard above the music, "AARON BENJAMIN HOTCHNER, EVERYONE!!”

Your group and most of the people around you laugh. Hotch shakes his head and starts to lead you out of the bar.

When you finally step out into the cold air, you look up into those coffee eyes. They tell you that while you may just be on a first name basis, there's a lot more than that for both of you.

Guess getting a little crazy doesn't have to be such a bad thing.

Notes:

Hope y'all liked this! I'm new to this and would love to know what you think!

[onyourj-uls]

˚｡⋆୨୧ i wish ⋆ sungchan, anton.

pairing: anton x fem!reader x sungchan

genre: angst, slight fluff, past romance, emotional tension

warnings: slightly suggestive themes, unspoken feelings, heartbreak, smut (just a little bit).

wc: 2.8k~

note: it had been a long time since i listened to "i wish" by 1D and yesterday it played by itself and omg, suddenly an idea came to me hahaha, i suffered a bit writing this because i'm so in love with all rii7e members😭😭 also, i have an intense love for sungchan since nct 2020, so i decided he would be perfect for this.

the first time sungchan saw you, he thought you were grumpy or difficult to approach because of your expression. you always walked alone through the school hallways, headphones in your ears, eyes steady, giving no impression that you wanted company. it wasn’t that you were rude, you just seemed to live in your own world, as if you didn’t need anyone else.

but everything changed when you were put on the same team for a project with shotaro. that’s when sungchan realized how wrong his first impressions had been. not only were you not grumpy, but you were also funny, passionate about what interested you, and had a sense of humor that made him laugh more than once.

from then on, you, shotaro, and sungchan became inseparable. if anyone saw you together, they knew you were up to something whether it was a prank or just a spontaneous hangout after class.

over time, there were days when shotaro couldn't go out, leaving just the two of you. at first, your outings were normal, just two friends spending time together. but little by little, you both started to notice it:

the accidental brushes of your hands when walking side by side.

the lingering eye contact that lasted longer than usual.

the hugs that became longer and warmer.

until one afternoon, on an ordinary day, you were lying on the grass, and he absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair while you slowly traced your fingers over his face, admiring his pretty features. no words were needed, the tension in the air spoke for you.

and then, it happened.

a kiss. one that shouldn't have happened, yet felt as natural as breathing. it wasn't planned, it wasn't premeditated, it just happened.

from that day on, things changed.

sometimes, you'd go out and hold hands in the darkness of the movie theater.

other times, you'd find yourselves alone, and your lips would seek each other out, like magnets drawn together.

but you never talked about what you were, because deep down, you both knew you couldn't be.

sungchan was older than you, and even though his heart wanted to try, he knew it wasn’t right, he was already an adult, and you weren’t. you understood, even though it hurt.

so, you made a pact: no one would know about this.

except Shotaro, who accidentally caught you kissing near the school lab one day and had to promise to keep it a secret.

Eecept for you and a trusted friend.

no one else.

until one night, after spending the whole day together as usual, sungchan was walking you home to make sure you arrived safely.

the difference that night was that you invited him in, and he agreed, something he never did. you sat on the couch, snuggled in his arms. you loved feeling his warmth, his scent, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat...

without thinking too much, you lifted your face, and he looked into your eyes. you knew what he wanted—you knew him well. he wanted to kiss you, so you leaned in, pressing your lips against his in a tender, innocent kiss that quickly grew in intensity.

you climbed onto his lap, as you often did.

sungchan’s hands moved up and down your waist, slowly pressing against your hips.

as he often did.

until you felt the urge to try something new, not because what you did before wasn't enough, but because your body was asking for more. for the first time, a sensation spread through you, making you want more and more. You needed more of sungchan at that moment.

you slid your hands under his shirt and kissed your way down his neck, making him release small sounds, sounds you had never heard before, but you loved them.

you kept going, and so did he. one of his hands slipped inside your shirt and under your bra, playing with your hardened nipple. a gasp of pure pleasure escaped your lips, it was the first time you had felt anything like this, and you couldn’t think about anything else.

not knowing what else to do, sungchan started moving you, guiding you to grind against his lap. he positioned you directly over his hardness. you were surprised to feel him like that, but without thinking too much, you did what he wanted.

without warning, sungchan’s hand slipped down to your heat, still covered by your pants, and he started rubbing your sensitive spot quickly. you were completely lost in the overwhelming and new sensations flooding your body.

until your hand moved down to his hard length, ready to pull it out from his boxers.

but before you could, he suddenly lifted you off his lap, covered his face with both hands, and whispered:

"i'm sorry, i got carried away… but i can't do this."

and he left, leaving you confused and drowning in a sea of emotions.

you thought that, in a few days, he’d come back to invite you for ice cream or a baseball game.

but he didn’t.

two weeks passed without hearing from him.

then, he reached out to talk. he said it was best to keep some distance for a while, and he was clear about it:

"if we’re meant to be, we’ll find our way back to each other someday."

you knew it was the right decision, but it still hurt.

that night, you called shotaro. he took you for a walk in the park, listening as you poured your heart out. he hugged you and comforted you, whispering:

"everything will be okay, just give it time."

months passed. time moved forward. and then, the others arrived.

shotaro and sungchan joined the music club, where they met riize. you weren’t in the club, but you visited them sometimes.

and it was on one of those days that anton saw you for the first time.

from that moment on, you were the only person he could think about.

the day anton first saw you in the music club, sungchan noticed his reaction immediately.

it was subtle, but sungchan knew him well enough, even after such a short time, to catch it:

the way anton looked at you a little longer than necessary.

the way he smiled just from hearing your voice.

the way he got nervous when you talked to him.

the way he found excuses to include you in the conversation, despite his shyness.

sungchan wasn’t the only one who noticed.

"he likes her," shotaro whispered to sungchan one afternoon, when anton was staring at you while you laughed with the others.

sungchan didn’t reply. he just watched anton, wondering if it was really true.

over time, his suspicions were confirmed.

anton always found an excuse to ask sungchan things about you.

he wanted to know what you liked, how you were when you weren’t around them.

he made sure you were invited to every plan.

until one day, it was sungchan who encouraged him to talk to you, since he was sure he no longer had any feelings for you and thought that by doing so, he could confirm that his chapter with you was completely closed.

"she's a good girl," he told him. "take your time to get to know her."

he was sincere. he truly believed anton was a good guy. and almost two years had passed since everything happened.

but now, seeing anton getting closer to you, there was something inside him that refused to accept that someone else would take his place.

the first few times you went out with anton, sungchan tried to convince himself that he didn’t care.

but he did. a lot.

especially when he saw you with him.

when he really saw how anton looked at you, how he cared for you, how you also started opening your heart to him… that was when he realized that what he felt for you had never fully died.

of course, he couldn’t say anything, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. he had let his moment pass; he had made the decision to walk away, to do the right thing.

but he couldn’t say anything.

so, he masked it with jokes, sarcastic comments, playful shoves, light punches, a passive-aggressive kind of affection.

"where are you going all dressed up?" he teased when you ignored him to talk to anton.

"do you not have time for us mere mortals anymore?"

and you answered just the same:

"oh, don’t be so dramatic, Sungchan."

to everyone else, it seemed like you two were always bickering. but in reality, only the two of you knew that those "fights" were just a way to disguise something that shouldn’t still exist, but had never really gone away.

only shotaro knew.

he saw what others didn’t.

he saw how sometimes, when you thought no one was watching, sungchan would stare at you in silence.

he saw how, when anton held your hand, sungchan looked away, as if it hurt.

until that party came.

it was anton’s birthday. everyone was having a good time, he was busy tending to the guests, and you and sungchan were in a corner, your little nostalgia-filled nook, with a few too many drinks.

both of you had a little alcohol in your system, but not enough to lose control, but enough for the barrier of "what ifs" to crack a little. His eyes shone with something more than just the dim lights of the place. A conversation that starts like any other, a sarcastic joke, laughter, until nostalgia sneaks in between.

under the table, almost without you noticing, his hand searches for yours, like in those days when you couldn’t hold hands in public. but this time, it’s different. it’s no longer a secret, it’s a goodbye disguised as a touch.

"you know… i don’t think u ever said it properly, but i really liked you." a small silence, his thumb brushes lightly over the back of your hand.

"but not your age." he lets out a short, somewhat bitter laugh, as if mocking himself.

"so, i did the right thing, even though…" he looks you straight in the eyes, a hint of sadness masked as maturity. "even though sometimes i wonder what it would’ve been like if…"

his voice fades, as if he doesn’t want to finish the sentence, because it no longer matters.

and there you are, feeling a whirlwind of emotions inside you. It’s not that you want to go back. it’s not that you doubt what you have with anton. but those words awaken something within you, a memory, an echo, a possibility that will never be.

before you can say anything, sungchan slowly releases your hand and lets out a sigh with a small smile.

"but i’m happy that you’re happy."

and with that, he lifts his glass, toasts to you in silence. both of you knew there was no point in saying anything more.

so, you just gave him a sad smile and let go of his hand.

and when anton returned to your side, sungchan just stared at his glass, trying to ignore the emptiness in his chest.

now, with anton in your life, that past with sungchan is a secret you prefer not to mention. not because it’s something bad, but because there’s no point in bringing it up. anton doesn’t suspect a thing, because sungchan and you never let it seem like anything more.

because that’s how it is, some stories end before they even begin, but they always leave a mark.

well hahah, as you can see, i have a lot of ideas all of a sudden! i was going to start writing it last night but i fell asleep (sorry) but here it is:) i have to bring out my masochistic and dramatic side as a good pisces 😼 i'll do part 2? idk, i love you guys 🩵

[hyukabean]

──── kim sunoo, best friend (to lovers?) headcanons

in which sunoo is your bsf (and possibly bf)?! ～ warning: suggestive(?), reference to weight, unedited

sunoo x fem!reader

best friend sunoo. a dream!! i don’t even know where to start because there’s so much to say!

you guys met through mutual friends. perhaps at a gathering that friend left the room temporarily, and you noticed him awkwardly sitting there and decide to introduce yourself. the two of you spend the rest of the night gossiping and playfully side-eyeing people acting rude, and the rest is history:)

you two do everything together!

sunoo is the king of supplements and treatments, so self care evenings are a must!

if you ever need any recommendations, this man has you covered. any issue, whether it be hyperpigmentation, dark circles, blackheads, he is your man! 

expect a lot of random, ‘hey, i bought this for you, let’s try it out together!’s.

meeting up at his dorm for a movie night (consisting of mostly scary horror flicks till you’re both scared shitless), snacks, and tons and tons of skincare!! “call me the moon because my pores are looking craters right now”, he’d sigh while applying a clay mask to his face, (the same mask he’d rub all over your shirt when he inevitably gets jumpscaresd and buries his face into your side).

when one of you eventually gets the bright idea to switch to something more light hearted, you end up throwing snacks into each others mouths while watching. a little later, you completely ignore the movie, scrolling through your phones to share funny videos and such, before falling asleep on each other.

the members would 100000% take pictures of you two and make fun of you later. sunoo definitely complains about it, “what the heck guys! why are you taking ugly pictures of me? seriously, why are you like this??”, before silently setting the one where you’re ontop of each other as his wallpaper.

speaking of wallpapers, it’s no secret sunoo is an amazing photographer. remember that one vlog he did with his sister? he’d coach you the same way he coached her! look down, up, adjust your mouth, lean to the side, he knows all your best angles. proudly posts you on his private sns and shows his members after. brags about you a ton during these moments as well, “y/n and i went there! but to be honest, the food wasn’t too great. we tried this one dish and y/n really liked it! it was something like…”. and whoever he’s talking to us like “?… that’s great… so what was the ticket price again?”.

you’re the only one who has the password to his phone! you guys meet up just to end up going through each other’s camera rolls. he’d pull up random screenshots or pictures of food and different views you’d taken and ask about them, taking every opportunity to learn more about you!

even when you hang out with the members, it’s clear your bond is slightly different. nevertheless, you absolutely tease the frick out of him with riki. the two of you gang up on him all the time and it’s hilarious. 

he says something to poke fun at you? “your face isn’t bloated, you just gained weight” (quote from that vlog with his sister lol), you both play embarrassing clips of him. “you’re so loud~”, he’d whine while you and riki play video games in the living room. okay, no problem. “riki, call me real quick”, and suddenly your phone’s buzzing and playing his aegyo on full blast. “did you seriously set your ringtone to me? wow, y/n, fan behavior”. 

still, he knows your *his* friend first and it’s all in good fun. hug him a bit and tell him he looks cute while pouting and he’s back to his bright and happy self. tldr: terrorizing him with riki is your favorite pastime, second only to actually spending time with him.

this man would switch to spotify just for you, so you could have shared playlists. would recommend you songs while he’s out and about, and make private ones dedicated to you (these you don’t get to see though huhuhu)

pinpointing when exactly you two started falling for each other is difficult. looking back, all of it seems kind of romantic, no? somewhere along the way, sunoo caught feelings and now he doesn’t know what to do. and sometimes, it can’t help but slip out.

“hmm? that’s not usually your style”, sunoo asks while sifting through the rack of clothing of some corner vintage store. "ah, it's not for me," you explain with a laugh. he cocks his head to the side a little. "i was thinking of riki, he likes this sort of stuff, don’t you think?".

"hey! why are you shopping for niki?" he says, his voice ringing through the small store. the workers glance up at you two and he quickly lowers his voice as to not draw attention to you both. "this is *our* time. we're supposed to be hanging out together. me and you. you and me. y/n and sunoo!"

"sunoo... i just happened to see it…”, you flash him an apologetic pout. "this just happened to be his style! do you want a gift, too? i can buy you something. or treat you to dinner?”.

"why are you thinking of him, anyway?!”, he mumbles accusingly, arms crossed, “are we even best friends?”. he shoves his hands in his coat pockets with a huff, “who even buys stuff when they go window shopping?… tch…”

the members though? they knew wayyyy before he did. and boy do they take advantage of it now that he’s realized~.

he’s introduced you to his members already, but if you guys somehow ended up hanging out more intensely and that one question would drop, his reaction would be embarrassingly telling. 

“so y/n, are you seeing anyone?”,  heesung asks, feigning nonchalance as he pours you both a glass of water. sunoo scoffs, “no. you think she’d be sitting here with you if she did?”.

jungwon, joining in on the fun, pulls up a picture. “y/n have you seen this drama yet? the actor is going viral for being super cute apparently”. you lean over and nod, “ah, i guess so, he’s pretty cute”.

sunoo scoffs, pulling a face. “*he’s* cute?…”, he side eyes, “i mean, i guess beauty is subjective”. you chuckle and tell him to “play nice”. the others laugh along and he gets all pouty. you poke at him until he relents, “i’m the cutest, right? right? say it. ‘sunoo is the cutest’!”.

you tackle him in a hug, “yeah, you’re the cutest, sunoo~”. you shake him, pecking his cheek teasingly, until he half giggles, half whines, “what are you doing~?!”.

but even that would change. sunoo likes being called cute, he *is* cute, but he’s more than that. and when you keep cooing at him, he can’t help but feel like you don’t take him seriously. sunoo strikes me as the type who genuinely enjoys being super bubbly most of the time, unlike riki, for example, he doesn’t feel the need to be seen as mysterious or aloof (re: “i’m a puma, not a duck!”). however, he’d also get tired of not being “taken seriously”. 

you lean back against the couch of his small office, yawning quietly as you wait for him to finish up his selfie session.

something catches your eye, then, a small notebook beside his keyboard, stuffed full of loose pages and sticky notes. picking it up, you start flipping through it casually, opening it to a random page. scribbled notes, that at first you thought were lyrics, fill the paper. it looked more like a diary, but before you can decipher his handwriting, the notebook’s snatched from your hand. 

“what are you doing right now?". the air is cold, sunoo stares at you, but not in the dramatic or playful way you’re used to. his palm rests firmly against the cover and you instinctively take a step back. "just… sorry, was it something personal?", your head it tilted to the side, hand rubbing your arm nervously. he sighs, sitting down and leaning back in his chair, “yeah, it is”.

in an attempt to soften him up, you wrap your arms around him from behind his chair, your chest pressing against his shoulder blades, “i’m sorry, hmm~? don’t be mad! you only look half as cute when you’re mad~”. 

sunoo doesn’t reply for a while, silently glancing up at you. “do i always have to be cute?”, he breaks the tense quiet. 

“hmm?”, you blink, surprised at his sudden tone. 

“i’m not just cute, you know. there’s more to me than aegyo. i’m still a man”, he mutters, eye contact unwavering.

you blink again, before a relived smile graces your lips. so that’s what this is about. “of course, you’re not just cute! and duh, i know you’re a man, but like, you’re my best friend! i can relax around you, you know? why even bring that up in the first place?”. 

he leans in closer to you, eyes narrow as he cups your cheek, “yeah? am i?”. the chuckle he lets out sends shivers down your spine, warm breath fanning your face. “just because we’re best friends doesn’t mean i don’t have urges and feelings like anyone else, and you’d do well to remember that before pressing yourself up against me in a locked room like this…”.

now that’s an indirect confession if i’ve ever heard one;) but worry not, he does properly admit his feelings to you eventually.

"i like you, y/n. i’m not sure when it started or how it happened… i just do. this won’t change anything between us if you don’t want it to, but feel like i owe you an explanation. i promise i won’t be awkward if you don’t feel the same way, just… please reciprocate my honesty. that's enough for me"

nana's notes : i'm surprised at how decisive the poll was! i thought for sure k would win lolol. to those who did vote for k, worry not! his will drop in a few days:) i tried something a lil different with the format, kind of a blend between an imagine and hcs, but idk if you guys vibe with it hahaha. also, i would like to clarify that, as long as you're healthy, you're beautiful at any weight in my eyes. the comment about gaining weight was quoted from sunoo's vlog with his sister. as always, if you guys have any feedback or suggestions, please let me know!

taglist : open!

© hyukabean all rights reserved. - do not translate my work, claim it as your own, and/or repost on any platform

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter eleven 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: while you're paying your respects, you and daryl have an awkward interaction... but quickly pull it together once randall escapes.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

Sitting down on top of Dale's grave, you placed an empty beer bottle at its head, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tucked a Cherokee Rose inside.

"S'crazy, right?" you chuckled, dryly, looking down at your lap. "All that talk of death 'n' killin'... an' the one guy that wanted no part in it ended up gettin' killed himself."

You scoffed, brows furrowing.

"How the hell does that make any sense?"

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you shook your head, swiping a hand over your mouth.

With it being around noon, it was almost time for the others to take the young man—Randall, you had finally learned—away from the camp.

In honor of Dale's memory, Rick decided that the boy shouldn't be killed, and settled on driving him far, far away. 

But you couldn't care less about that now.

All you could care about was Dale, and how horribly you'd talked to him before his death.

"Imma be honest... I don't know what the hell m'doin'," you started up again, solemnly. "I don't know where you are... I don't even know if you can hear me."

You sniffled, quickly swiping at your nose.

 "I never believed in that heaven so for all I know, I could be talkin' to a patch of dirt."

 Once again, you chuckled, heart hanging in your chest.

"But I... I really hope m'not... 'cause despite all this bullshit, you deserve to be happy... and whether I believe it or not, I hope you are."

Glancing down at your neck, you carefully picked up the cross resting atop your chest, gently twisting it between your fingertips.

These last few weeks had forced your to really reckon with the faith—or lack thereof—you thought you had.

You believed that the Catholic church was stupid, that it was full of hypocrites and liars and profiteers.

Yet, when it really mattered, you couldn't stop yourself from saying a Hail Mary, from clutching your cross with an iron grip.

Was it comfort?

How could you find comfort in something you didn't believe in?

Did you truly not believe it?

What would change if you did?

These questions hadn't stopped swirling around your head since last night, and you found that the more you asked, the less was answered.

"(y/n)," Daryl called, snapping you out of your stupor.

You nearly jumped out your skin, drawing your knife and whipping around with wide eyes only to find his familiar face standing before you, crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"Oh, shit," you exhaled, allowing your shoulders to sink as you quickly lowered your weapon. "Sorry... I didn't hear ya."

"S'all right," he assured, shifting his weight on his hips. "I, uh... I wanted to letchu know we're 'bout to take the lil' shit."

'Crap, Randall...'

"Shit, I completely forgot," you stood up, dusting your hands off on your pants. "You guys need any help?"

"Nah, T-Dog's grabbin' 'im. We just gotta toss 'im in the trunk 'n' go," he shook his head.

"Well... I'll still see you off," you assured.

Moving to his side, the both of you started back toward the cars, an awkward silence settling in the air as the two of your refused to look at each other.

Things between you both were already rocky given what happened at the stables and in the chicken coop, but to add last night's rather intimate display was just the icing on the cake.

Looking back on it, you had no idea what possessed you to cling to him like a goddamn koala, nor did he know why he held onto you so damn tight.

It was such unknown territory for you both, neither of you even knew where to begin.

But maybe an apology was a good place to start...

"Look, about last night—"

"You were grievin'," he quickly finished for you, glancing down at the ground. "I didn't take it t'heart."

At his response, you clammed up slightly, a heavy feeling sinking in your chest.

For some reason... that wasn't the answer you wanted.

Even still, you swallowed it back, squaring out your shoulders before turning to look ahead.

"Good."

But at your response, he fell, too, a momentary flicker of hope quickly snuffed out.

Because, in actuality, he had taken it to heart... he had taken it completely to heart.

The man had never been sought out for comfort for anything before, andto see that he was the first body you went for, the very first person you clung to, with Glenn and Lori right there.

It did something to him... made him realize a truly horrifying fact.

He loved it.

"Y'all!" T-Dog shouted, running over as you two approached the trucks. "He's missin'! He's not there!"

Eyes wide, both you and Daryl turned to each other, you drawing your knife and him taking his crossbow off his shoulder before you both broke into a sprint for the barn.

"Fuck you mean he's not there?!"

"What's wrong?"

"Randall's missing."

"Missing?! How?!"

"How long's he been gone?"

"What's goin' on?"

"It's hard to say."

"The cuffs are still hooked," Rick sighed as he exited the shed, joining the crowd outside. "He must've slipped 'em."

"Is that possible?" Carol asked.

"It is if you got nothing to lose," Andrea answered as she came out from behind him.

"The door was locked from the outside. Why the hell would he close up before escapin'?" you asked, brows furrowed as you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Cover his tracks?" Rick suggested.

You shook your head, "Boy didn't look smart enough for that."

"RICK!" 

Quickly, you all snapped your heads to the woods, only to find Shane emerging from the trees, nose dripping with blood.

'The hell?'

"What happened?!" Lori asked, worried.

"Rick, he's armed! He's got my gun!"

"Are you okay?!" Carl asked, scared.

"M'fine. Little bastard just snuck up on me. He clocked me in the face."

"All right, Hershel, T-Dog, Glenn, get everybody back in the house!" Rick barked, quickly. "(y/n), Daryl, come with us."

Without hesitation, Daryl loaded a bolt in the chamber, and you snatched up your bow and quiver from the side of the shed.

"T, m'gonna need that gun," Shane held out his hand.

"Just let him go," Carol shook her head. "That was the plan, wasn't it, to just let him go?"

"The plan was to cut him loose far away from here, not on our front step with a gun," Rick denied, sharply, before turning to start toward the woods, the rest of you following suit.

"Don't go out there. Y'all know what can happen!"

"Get everybody back in the house! Lock all the doors and stay put!"

Breaking into the trees, the four of you looked like a death squad bent on destruction, the cock of Rick's gun punctuating his orders to the others.

Your expressions were stony, the weepy girl paying her respects long gone as you sheathed your hunting knife in your thigh holster.

It was time to get down to business and do what should've been done from the start.

'Sorry, Dale...'

"I saw him head up through the trees that way before I blacked out," Shane stated as he led you all to the eastern side of the woods. "M'not sure how long."

"He couldn't have gotten far," Rick added. "He's hobbled, exhausted."

"Armed," you reminded.

"So are we."

Quickly, he turned to Daryl, moving to stand by his side.

"Can you track 'im?"

"I don't see nothin'."

"Hey, look, there ain't no use in trackin' 'im, okay?" Shane huffed, a little more pushy than necessary. "He went that way. We jus' need to pair up. We spread out, we jus' chase 'im down. Thas' it."

"Kid weighs a buck-twenty five soakin' wet," Daryl scoffed, turning to face him. "You tryna tell us he got the jump on ya?"

"I say a rock pretty much evens those odds, wouldn't you?"

"All right, knock it off," Rick shut down, before returning to Daryl. "You an' (y/n) start headin' up the right flank. Me an' Shane'll take the left. Remember... Randall's not the only threat out there. Keep an eye out for each other."

"Likewise," your brows furrowed, eyes sharply sizing up Shane as he stared at Rick with an odd look.

You could feel it in your gut that something was horribly wrong.

But even still, you pressed on, following Daryl in the opposite direction.

If only you knew how right you were...

"This is pointless," Daryl grumbled, holding out his hand. "You got a light?"

Nodding, you tugged your flashlight out your satchel, plopping it in his palm.

Originally, you both had tried using the moonlight to search for tracks, but with such limited visibility, it was just as bad as walking around in the dark.

"You don't find none of this suspicious?" you asked, genuinely, as you surveyed the trees. "Big manly-man Shane taken out by a scrawny kid wit' a bum leg?"

"'Course it's suspicious," he scoffed, keeping his eyes on the ground. "But Rick ain't stupid. If he got us out here, then he got us out for a reason."

"You really believe that?"

"I do."

"Well, then," you sighed, stepping over a large log. "Looks like we're just back t'square one."

"If you're gonna do a thing, ya might as well do it right," he shrugged, still pressing forward. "Now you gonna keep complainin', princess? Or you gonna help me track?"

"Fuck you," you fired back, fighting off the burn of your cheeks at the nickname.

 Picking up the pace, you moved in step next to him, continuing your surveillance of the flora.

"There's two sets of tracks here. Shane must've followed 'im a lot longer than he said," Daryl noticed, brows furrowing. "An' there's more. Looks like they were walkin' in tandem."

You nodded in agreement, carefully taking the flashlight out of his hand before pointing it at a nearby chunk of bark.

"There's fresh blood on this tree," you reported, squinting your eyes. "Wit' the amount, can't have been more than two or three hours ago."

"Yeah, there was a little dust up right here," Daryl agreed, walking a few more steps ahead as he examined the scuff marks in the dirt.

"Think somethin' went down?" you asked.

"Know somethin' went down," he nodded.

You shook your head, that ominous feeling returning as you looked around the dark landscape.

"Daryl, I don't like this... shit's gettin' weird."

"C'mon, don't start pissin' yerself now. All those damn huntin' trips you always talkin' about."

"Huntin' trips... Not mystery solvin'. M'not not Scooby-fuckin'-Doo."

"Looks like they had a lil' trouble," he continued, biting back a smile at your funny remark as he picked up Randall's blindfold.

Just then, something rustled not too far away and the two of you jolted, quickly ducking behind two nearby trees.

'Fuckin' Christ...'

Quieting your breathing, you peeked out from behind, taking notice of a walker shuffling around not too far away.

'Looks like jus' one... manageable...'

Daryl let out a soft whistle, and you turned to him, catching the flashlight as he tossed it to you, understanding the memo pretty quickly based off the look in his eyes.

Holding your positions, the two of you lied in wait, allowing the walker to draw closer before you struck.

Silently, you drew your knife, prepping yourself as its footsteps became louder and louder.

Until finally, it was close enough, and you flashed the light on it for Daryl to take the shot, grimacing at its loud snarl.

Just as he pulled the trigger, it shoved you to the ground, forcing the arrow to hit its arm rather than its head.

With a roar of anger, it moved to attack Daryl, grabbing at the crossbow before taking them both to the ground.

'Shit!'

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, running over and looping your arms under the walker's armpits, pulling him away enough for Daryl to kick him in the face.

The force knocked you both back, landing the walker on top of you, but you didn't miss a beat and flipped the both of you over before stabbing your knife right through its forehead.

Panting, you stood up, Daryl doing the same as he shined the light on its face, you both finally realizing that it was Randall.

"Oh, shit," you caught your breath, resting your hand on your hip.

"Nice," Daryl commended, a small smile rising to his lips as he gave you a pat on the shoulder.

Your brows flattened, and you leveled him with a deadpanned look before stepping on the walker's face, pinning it down as you ripped your knife out its head.

"Looks like he broke his neck," you remarked, rolling him over with your foot before crouching down, cutting up his shirt to get a look at his back.

"He's got no bites," Daryl noticed, lifting up his pant legs to see nothing.

"None you can see," you scoffed, leaning over to check his neck.

"Nah, m'tellin' ya. He died from this."

Meeting his gaze, you shook your head, unable to believe it.

"How's that possible?"

[femininenachos]

10 years of Clexa kisses (Yours for the (s)taking edition)

She wants nothing more than to put her hands on Clarke’s body. And the dark, heated look Clarke is giving her only fuels the very vivid ideas in Lexa’s head; about reversing their positions, grinding her hips against tensed muscle, bringing them both to a slow, sensual climax.

But she’s also all too aware that they don’t have the luxury of time right now.

To start something and have it curtailed would be a tragedy, particularly the thorough ravishment Lexa has in mind.

Also, bursting into flames during the act is guaranteed to kill the mood.

So it’s with regret that she says, “Could we possibly take a rain check?”

Clarke’s face cycles through a few emotions, frustration and disappointment being foremost, and Lexa tries not to preen.

“I want to. Believe me, I do,” she says. “It’s just, you have work and sunlight is sort of my Achilles' heel…”

Clarke casts a glance towards the alarm clock on the nightstand. Her eyes go wide and round.

“Oh, shit.” She scrambles up and off the bed to pull the blinds down and the curtains shut tight. Whirls back around, fraught and full of panicked energy. “What are you going to do? I mean, will you have enough time to—”

“There’s a safe house nearby. If I leave shortly, I can make it.”

Her relief is palpable.

Lexa swings her legs around. Stands and massages the crick out of her neck. She notices her coat still in a heap on the floor and picks it up.

“I’ll dispose of this. Do you have a spare trash bag?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen.”

She follows Clarke through the apartment into a galley kitchen. It’s so cramped and narrow that Lexa almost walks into Clarke when she stops to search through a drawer. They’re standing far too close when Clarke turns around, a roll of black plastic in hand. She tears off one bag and gives it to Lexa.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

An uneasy silence hangs in the air between them while they look at each other, neither sure what to say.

Clarke breaks the tension with a hollow chuckle. “You know, I figured you were the type to sneak off before sunrise. Admittedly, for totally different reasons.”

“I wish I could stay, Clarke.”

A nod. Clarke worries her lip as she scans Lexa’s face. What she’s searching for, Lexa can only hazard a guess but she keeps her expression open and sincere.

“I like the way you say my name.”

Apropos of nothing; not at all what Lexa expected to hear.

She’s even less prepared for what happens next: the confidence with which Clarke invades her space, crowding Lexa back against the stove until her rear bumps into the oven door handle.

Whatever qualms Clarke might be having are masked by the determined glint in her eyes as she closes in. Dropping the trash bags, she curls a hand around Lexa’s neck, the other going to Lexa’s hip.

And then Clarke is kissing her; soft, warm lips moving with gentle insistence.

Lexa is slow to react, mouth opening in blind reflex as Clarke leans up, angling in deeper. Lexa’s mind goes blank; fuzzy, white static ringing in her ears and drowning out the rapid thump of Clarke’s heartbeat as their lips cling together and a hot puff of breath hits her cheek.

It only lasts a moment, but Lexa feels a phantom flutter in her chest, a swoop in her stomach, a weakness in the knees. She tingles all over. It would be embarrassing if she wasn’t so inexplicably taken with this woman.

“You feel warm,” Clarke whispers, thumb stroking the side of Lexa’s neck and making her melt.

“The gift of your blood.” Lexa draws back an inch to look at Clarke, becoming solemn and serious. Voice going soft. “Clarke, what you did was—”

She’s cut off by Clarke kissing her again. With the kind of slow, soft hunger that has Lexa contemplating whether they could just barricade Clarke’s bedroom against the light. Potential death seems like an acceptable risk if it means she gets to continue doing this.

“I can think of a couple of ways you could thank me,” Clarke says, breathier. Her hand drops to Lexa’s sternum to push her away, retreating a half step. “But later.”

“Tonight?”

An eyebrow flexes. “My haemoglobin is that good, huh?”

“That’s not all I want to taste.”

Read on AO3