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supernotnatural2005 · 20 hours ago

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'Happy Accidents'

Pairing: Dean x Plus!sized Reader

Summary: You haven't seen the Winchester's in over a year, but the case you're working has you scratching your head, and who better to call than some old friends. However, insecurities arise as well as the reprise of a long time crush. Little do you know, it's reciprocated.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: Dry humping! (18+Only), fluff, mutual pinning, Plus!sized Reader, body insecurities, curvy girl appreciation, swearing.

AN: Okay so this is my first time writing for a more specific reader body type, but being a curvy-girl myself it was interesting to implement it into a story. And with Dean being the appreciator? Yes please! 😍 I know this might not cater to all of you, but I'm inclusive to all y'all ❤️ Also taking some inspo from @bejeweledinterludes post for this one and @zepskies Midnight Espresso series, which is honestly one of my favourite series and stories featuring a Plus!sized reader!! I do hope you guys like this one! 💕

Main Masterlist

You hadn’t seen the Winchesters in over a year.

Not since that hunt in Nebraska—the one that went sideways fast. The one that left you with a busted-up ankle and Dean with a fresh scar along his jawline. The one where, after all was said and done, you parted ways with an easy “See you around,” never expecting “around” to take this long to come back.

But when a case cropped up—one that twisted your gut with unease—you hadn’t hesitated. You picked up the phone and called the only people you trusted to have your back. If anyone could help, it was them.

And now, sitting in a dimly lit bar, waiting for them to arrive, your nerves were shot. Maybe it was the case. Or maybe it was the fact that you’d changed since they last saw you—since he last saw you.

That old, ridiculous crush on Dean Winchester hadn’t gone anywhere. That much had become painfully clear the moment he picked up the phone, his voice as deep, gravelly, and cocky as ever. But now, with time apart and the weight of your own insecurities pressing down, the idea of seeing him again made your stomach twist.

You had always been curvier, carrying stubborn weight around your thighs, ass, and middle. But in the last year, you’d softened even more. Life had been quieter, with less running and fewer adrenaline-fuelled hunts. You were still strong, still capable, but you felt different. And you knew the type of women Dean gravitated toward—tall, slim, easy.

You were none of those things, and you never would be. And that was okay. But it was a niggling fact that had always lingered in the back of your mind, that had stung each time the three of you got together and you watched him charm someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.

A warm, unexpected hand on your shoulder brings you out of your darker thoughts, with a slight gasp, startling you a little.

“Easy there, sweetheart.”

You turned, heart stuttering as Dean stood there, grinning down at you like no time had passed at all. And damn it all, he looked the same—scruffy and stupidly handsome in that effortless way of his, jeans snug on his hips, flannel worn open over a snug black tee. Sam stood just behind him, offering you a softer, more knowing smile.

“Hey, boys,” you manage, hoping the warmth creeping up your neck isn’t as obvious as it feels. You slip off the barstool, nerves buzzing, but force yourself to keep it together.

Dean’s eyes flick over you—quick, but thorough. For a split second, something unreadable flashes across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it.

“Missed us that bad, huh?” His smirk is pure Dean, cocky and teasing, slipping back into the easy rhythm of your old banter.

You roll your eyes, but are grateful for it. “Don’t flatter yourself, Winchester.”

But your voice is softer than you mean it to be, and when you turn to Sam, pulling him into a warm hug first, you feel Dean’s gaze linger.

Then you step up to him, hesitation curling in your chest—but before you can overthink it, his arms are around you, solid and warm, pulling you close like no time has passed at all.

That familiar scent—woody, spiced, edged with leather—wraps around you, grounding you, unraveling you. For a second longer than necessary, you let yourself sink into it, just this once.

The three of you settled into a booth once the bartender set down your drinks. Sam took the seat across from you, while Dean slid in next to you, his presence a little too warm, a little too distracting.

“So,” Sam started, taking a sip of his beer. “What are we looking at?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “A few people have gone missing over the last month—no bodies, no traces, just… gone. I’ve ruled out everything I know of. There’s no signs of a struggle, no sulphur, no EMF spikes. It’s like they just vanished into thin air.”

Dean frowned, brows knitting together. “And no patterns? No connection between them?”

“None that I could find.” You shook your head. “That’s why I called you guys. I was hoping fresh eyes might help.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, both equally puzzled but already slipping into hunter mode.

“Well, we’re here now,” Sam said, ever the problem solver. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, feeling some of the weight lift. “We’ll go over everything in more detail tomorrow. Tonight…” You glanced between them, the tension of the case momentarily fading. “It’s just good to see you both.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam agreed warmly, raising his bottle. “To old friends.”

You clinked beers with him, and Dean followed suit, but as your bottles met, his eyes locked onto yours. There was something there—something lingering, unreadable, sending a flicker of warmth through you. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, masked behind an easy sip of his beer. You swallowed, shaking it off as nothing more than a trick of your mind.

The more the beers flowed, the easier it got. You caught up, swapped stories, and fell into familiar rhythms.

Dean was as quick with his smart-ass remarks as ever, and the two of you naturally fell into your usual back-and-forth. Sam, as always, was the long-suffering audience to your antics.

At one point, you and Dean tag-teamed a particularly brutal roast of Sam—this time about the time he’d gotten sick on a case and tried to insist he was totally fine, only to end up passing out face-first into a hotel’s continental breakfast buffet.

“Oh, come on,” Sam groaned, shaking his head as you and Dean laughed. “That was years ago.”

“And yet,” you grinned, “I can still hear the sound of your face hitting that tray of scrambled eggs.”

Dean snorted, nudging his knee against yours under the table. “Dude, you took out the whole table. That poor old lady thought you died.”

Sam huffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed his beer away. “Yeah, and that’s my cue. I’ve had enough of you two for one night.”

You laughed, but before you could say anything, Sam stood, shaking his head. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” He pulled you into a quick, brotherly hug, and you squeezed back.

“Night, Sammy,” you murmured, watching as he strode toward the door, leaving you alone with Dean.

You half-expected him to call it a night too, but instead, Dean didn’t move. If anything, the second Sam walked out, he seemed to settle in more, arm stretching along the back of the booth, fingers barely grazing your shoulder. The casual touch sent a ripple of awareness through you, but you forced yourself to act normal, reaching for your drink instead of acknowledging the way your heart had picked up speed.

“I think I’ll stick around a little longer,” he said casually, surprising you.

Your heart kicked up a notch, but you welcomed the company. “Yeah?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. We got a lot of catching up to do.”

And so you did. The conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter slipping in between shared memories and stories of the road. Some cases were so bizarre they barely seemed real, and a few had you nearly crying with laughter. Time seemed to pass in a blink of an eye, the bar thinning out around you, and you barely noticed.

At some point, Dean just sat back and looked at you. Really looked at you. His expression softened, head tilting slightly as he took you in, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he shook his head and muttered, “Damn, it’s really good to see you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocked the breath from your lungs.

Your lips parted, a response on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out.

Dean huffed a small laugh, eyes still studying you like he was committing you to memory. “You look good, too.”

The words weren’t rushed, weren’t casual or offhanded. They were steady, like a thought he’d been holding onto for a while.

Heat crept up your neck, and you let out a small, nervous chuckle, dropping your gaze to your drink as you toyed with the condensation on the glass. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean shifted, leaning in just a little, enough that the space between you felt smaller, more intimate. “I mean it,” he said, quieter this time, voice dipping low.

All you could think was; what the hell is happening here?

Dean had never been like this with you before. Sure, he flirted—it was second nature to him—but not like this. At least that’s what you’d always believed. Had you just never noticed? Had you missed the way he looked at you before? Or had something changed?

Swallowing, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, only to find his eyes sweeping over you—slow, deliberate. No hesitation. No teasing. Just appreciation.

His gaze flickered to your lips.

The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken, something you weren’t sure you were ready for, but part of you wanted to reach for it anyway.

Then—

“Last call!”

The bartender’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

You exhaled sharply, the moment shattering as you snapped back to reality. A part of you wanted to stay frozen in it, let whatever this was between you and Dean unravel, but instead, you reached for the safest thing to say. "We should head back."

Dean nodded, standing with you, hands shoving into his jacket pockets. But even as you stepped out into the crisp night air, the tension didn’t fade. If anything, it followed you like a shadow.

The walk back to the motel was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the crunch of gravel under your boots. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat still thrumming under your skin. You kept sneaking glances at Dean, only to find him already looking at you, eyes dark, thoughtful, unreadable.

He was close—not touching, but his presence was all-consuming. The scent of leather and whiskey clung to him, mixing with the crisp night air, making your stomach twist with anticipation.

When you finally reached your door, you hesitated.

"Well… this is me," you said, voice coming out lighter than you intended, a small, nervous chuckle slipping past your lips.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile as he looked down at you. "Yeah."

But neither of you moved.

The air shifted again, crackling with something dangerous, something inevitable.

Dean’s gaze flickered lower—tracing the curve of your mouth, watching as you unconsciously pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched and something in his expression darkened.

"Fuck it."

The words barely left his lips before he was on you, crashing into you with a hunger that sent you stumbling back against the door. The force of it stole your breath, his mouth devouring yours, needy, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for years and finally gave in.

A muffled sound of surprise left you, swallowed instantly by his lips, but it only took a second before you melted into him, your fingers fisting the open lapels of his jacket, anchoring yourself against him.

It was hot and messy, all teeth and tongue, the kind of kiss that left you lightheaded and aching. His hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming—sliding over your hips, your back, fingers digging into your flesh like he never wanted to let go.

You fumbled for the door behind you, barely registering how you managed to get it open before tugging him inside.

Dean groaned against your mouth as the door clicked shut, his hands already working your jacket off your shoulders. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this," he murmured against your lips, voice rough, breathless.

Your stomach flipped, your heart fluttering at the implication—the confirmation that this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment lust. This was Dean. Wanting you. For who knew how long.

A moan slipped past your lips in response because forming actual words wasn’t an option—not with his hands gripping you tighter, not with the way he was kissing you like he was starving.

You barely noticed when you reached the little loveseat, your room provided, until the back of his knees hit it. Taking advantage of his momentary imbalance, you shoved him down onto it and climbed into his lap.

Dean groaned, head tipping back slightly as his hands found your hips, gripping tight. Touching you like he’d always wanted to. His fingers dug into the soft curve of your thighs, your ass, holding you like he couldn’t get enough.

You stiffened for half a second. The way his hands moulded to your body, the way he held you there so easily—so greedily—made your head spin.

You’d spent years second-guessing what guys thought when they touched you, wondering if they found you too much, too soft in places you’d been taught to shrink. The idea of straddling Dean, of all people, should’ve sent a jolt of insecurity through you. Should’ve had you hesitating.

But then Dean’s hands tightened—fingers pressing into your thighs, squeezing like he couldn’t stand not to have you closer. A deep, rough sound rumbled from his chest, his lips breaking from yours just long enough to groan, "Jesus—fuck."

The way he said it sent fire straight to your core.

He wanted you like this. Craved it. He wasn’t just tolerating the way your body pressed against him—he was obsessed with it.

As if to prove the point, his grip turned bruising, his hands dragging you even closer, pulling you down into him, despite the small part of you that feared you might be too much.

Dean grunted, his head dropping forward slightly, his forehead pressing to yours. "Goddamn, sweetheart."

A rush of confidence flooded through you, drowning out every lingering doubt.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips, testing, teasing—just enough to feel the hard, undeniable evidence of how much he wanted this. Wanted you.

The friction was incredible, sending a bolt of pleasure up your spine, making you bite back a moan.

Dean’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into your flesh, his entire body going rigid.

That only made you do it again. Slower this time, deeper.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, his hands twitching on your thighs like he was trying to keep himself together.

"Fuck—" His voice was raw, strangled, almost pained.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, every muscle coiled tight as you ground against him, feeling the delicious pressure between you, the way his cock strained beneath his jeans, thick and hot against you.

Suddenly, his hands snapped up to your waist, gripping hard, stilling you.

You barely had a second to register it before—

Dean shuddered. His whole body tensed beneath you, a choked grunt ripping from his throat as his fingers dug into your flesh, his head tipping back against the couch.

He went still, and it took you a second to realise.

Dean Winchester had just cum in his jeans.

A rush of heat flooded his face, his expression shifting from shock to pure horror. He blinked up at you, wide-eyed, mortified.

"Oh, fuck." His voice was barely above a whisper, his hands still gripping your hips, as if he was trying to process what the hell had just happened.

Your lips parted in surprise. Then—a slow, wicked grin spread across your face.

"Did you just—?"

Dean groaned, head dropping back against the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don’t. Just—don’t."

But you couldn’t help it. Because holy shit.

You’d just made Dean Winchester cum in his jeans.

If that wasn’t the biggest ego boost of your life, you didn’t know what was.

Leaning down, you pressed a lingering kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, revelling in the way his breath stuttered. "That," you murmured, lips brushing against his ear, "is the best compliment I’ve ever gotten."

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he melted under your touch, his hands hesitantly sliding up your sides, gripping your waist like he needed to anchor himself. When he finally looked up at you, the humiliation still lingered, but something warmer, something softer, began to take its place.

His green eyes flickered over your face like he was memorising you. His throat bobbed with a swallow. Then, suddenly, he let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.

"God, I’m sorry," he huffed, running a hand down his face, still half-stunned. "You’re just—" His eyes swept over you, dark and reverent as his hands followed, tracing over the curve of your hips, the swell of your full breasts, the thickness of your thighs. His fingers flexed, like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was real. "Fucking gorgeous."

Heat rushed to your face, your stomach flipping as you instinctively tried to shy away. But Dean was already there, his thumb pressing lightly under your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

"Hey," he murmured, his lips twitching into something wicked and sweet all at once. "Give me five minutes," his hands slid around the curve of your hips, then lower, grasping large handfuls of your ass, his fingers digging in like he couldn't help himself. He groaned, low and deep, pressing you closer, like he needed you to feel just how much he meant it. "And I’ll really show you how much I want you."

Your own lips curled, mirroring his. "Five minutes, huh?" You couldn’t help but hum as he kissed along the column of your throat, his lips soft and warm, his teeth grazing, sending a shiver down your spine.

His grip on you tightened, kneading the flesh beneath his hands, and another groan rumbled through his chest, when you shifted in his lap again and you felt the unmistakable twitch of him against you.

"Okay, make that two," he muttered, his voice rough with renewed hunger.

You laughed, and he grinned against your skin at the sound, before pulling you in and claiming your lips in a hot, deep kiss once more.

“Besides,” he mumbled between kisses, “I wanna sample the goods first, anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, about to retort, but then you squealed as he abruptly lifted you into his arms, carrying you over to the bed like you weighed nothing. With a playful smirk, he dropped you onto the mattress unceremoniously, making you bounce with a giggle.

Dean climbed in after you, hovering over you, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his expression turning unexpectedly tender. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he admitted, voice quieter now, raw and honest.

Your heart fluttered.

"Then show me," you whispered.

And as his lips met yours again, slow and deep, Dean swore he’d take his damn time proving just how much he did.

AN: So this just popped into my mind, I hadn't planned on posting, but had to get it out 😅. I know this doesn't cater to everyone it's a little more reader specific, but, it's just another reason to love Dean! 😍

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean x you #spn #spn fanfic #sam winchester #spnfamily #jensen ackles #abbalina writes

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emiixuu · 2 days ago

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puppet’s beloved

part one of ‘the cat puppet and bunny doll’ series

💌 pairing :: harbinger!scaramouche x doll!reader

🌌 content (+warning) :: fem-leaning reader, dacryphilia, a bit of sadism, suggestive themes, reader slightly written as ‘damsel in distress’, unhealthy & developing relationship and characters, jealous & possessive scara, petnames

📝 synopsis :: In which, you are Dottore’s creation and his thoughtful gift to Scaramouche

✒️ word count :: 2,074

🐰 author notes :: first time writing after a long time and first time posting on tumblr ! apologies for any mistakes (english isn’t my first language) also cross-posted on ao3

Marks adorning your perfect skin, turning your neck into tiny galaxies, just a little reminder from his divine lips. Where would you be without him? He was the one who took you in when no one else wanted you. Be grateful, he would say. Shouldn’t you see him as your personal God? No one else gets such kind treatment from him. The sixth was not one to be known for kindness. A cold empty vessel with no heart, or at least that is what everyone thought and he himself believed.

“Are you going to talk or still playing dumb?” he asks as he moves his head back from your neck, admiring your beauty. He scoffed at the sight of you below him, finding your expression amusing. Puffy eyes filled with tears, lips quivering, and that cute blush on your cheeks. His poor little angel.

“So fragile. I have to be more careful to not break my doll, hm?” he coos, sickeningly sweet. He kisses your dampened cheeks lightly, a salty liquid meeting his lips. He licks his lips, savouring the taste of your distress.

One of his hands wandered to your wrist, caressing it and carefully moving it up right next to your head. His touch; gentle, yet he was sharp as a knife.

“Kuni-“ you try to speak but he doesn’t give you any space. How hypocritical, didn’t he just tell you to talk? But you shouldn’t expect Kunikuzushi to be reasonable in this situation. In his mind, an alarm goes off everytime he is close to losing.

“Nevermind. I don’t want to hear anything coming from that traitorous mouth of yours.” he shushes you, clicking his tongue in disappointment. He did not want to listen to whatever pathetic excuse you would come up with. No amount of apologies could make your behaviour right in his eyes.

“Do I not give my pretty dolly enough attention that you have to resort to speaking to that insolent brat?” he asks, whatever calmness he had left was gone for that moment. A blend of anger and boredom painted on his face.

Insolent brat was no other than the eleventh. Pesky little bug circling like a shark around his precious darling. He did not like having others around what he deemed his belongings. Especially someone foolish like Ajax. Everyone in Fatui knew you were his, he made that painfully obvious. The possibility of him of all people stealing you was somewhat laughable to Kunikuzushi, but not impossible with the way you were so naive. There was no doubt about your stupidity, you were clinging to someone like Kunikuzushi after all. If you were smart you would have at least tried to leave him, not that he would let you. Harbingers weren’t the nicest and had their methods of making sure things went their way. He was no exception.

“I didn’t-“ second time you were interrupted, a spark of electricity coursing through the wrist he held with a gentle touch before, you winced. Not being able to explain yourself only served to frustrate you more, whining at your beloved, both from frustration and the pain. A dark chuckle escaped past his lips, his eyes sparkling. He found a twisted enjoyment in this.

“That idiot is only after one thing, and it’s only to use you for his own fun. I, on the other hand, care about you.“ he says, once again appearing calm as he starts to leave soft kisses on the wrist he just shocked, “I know you are not that stupid to get swayed by his ‘charisma’, right?“

Sarcasm laced in his tone as he mentioned Ajax’s supposed charisma.

“You need to understand how lucky you are to have me. No one else would care about a piece of fake flesh.“ His words slightly wounded your feelings.

Being a doll created with no purpose by Dottore, you were only a stepping tool to better understand artificial life for the doctor, to work on his other projects. Once useless, you were casted away by your creator. It shouldn’t, but it made Kunikuzushi feel something in his deepest core, which was frankly bothersome for him. He shouldn’t have cared, really. He stopped caring about anyone a long time ago. But your pitiful expression tugged at his heart strings that day and he took you as a ‘gift’ from the doctor. Perhaps he should have kept himself more in check.

“I see you as something much more, you know?“ he whispers to you, “Humans can’t be trusted.”

You knew of his hatred towards humans. He made his distaste quite obvious, always complaining about everyone around him. Did he even like anyone? You weren’t sure. But at least he liked you, right?

“I know-“ you try once more with him, your tone whiny but before you could say whatever was on your mind, he silences you again. This time with his lips on yours.

You pathetically melted against him. His kiss was almost impulsive, hungry, raw, like he hasn’t eaten in years. He doesn’t need to. He is above mortal needs. Despite how desperate his craving for you was and the fact he was the sixth, it was still too tender, as if he was afraid to break you.

Breathing not being one of his necessities made intimacy with him last until he had enough of your sweet taste. Sometimes, he never got satisfied enough. A few moments pass, your mind already fuzzy as your thoughts are filled with him. With the taste of his lips on yours, his soothing warmness, that was perhaps only soothing to your innocent adoring judgement you had towards him. At its purest form, his attachment to you was rotten with the sinful desire of a power, mixed with an unbecoming need of devotion, led by the fear of loss of something so precious. He wanted to climb into you, into the warmth you so happily give him, devour you fully, until there is nothing left to take. Until the last crumb of you is within him.

It did not matter, for as not everyone could understand, it was still pure.

Bitter yet sugary relish, his hands tightening around your wrists, squeezing at the same time as he deepens the kiss. A stinging subtle feeling of electricity sparking as he does so. It seems as if he was far away from letting you go. Afraid you’d disappear into thin air if he did. Betray him? He’d rather suffocate you. Hold you so tightly, you’d be left with claw marks all over if you dared to let him down. Luckily, you are the only one who can handle the heat.

When you least expect it, getting used to no oxygen but him, so lost, drowning in all the sharp saccharinity of his, he finally stops. Leaving your lips, still yearning. Only centimetres separating you now as he still hovers on top of you. He feels out of reach now.

“You don’t.” He replies simply with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, his words creating a greater distance than it already was between the two of you. Disappointed and disinterested in whatever you wanted to say. Did he deem you too unintelligent to be on the same wavelength as him?

He was hiding something from you, he always did. He made it seem as if you wouldn’t get it. He didn’t want you to understand. No, he’d rather shelter you from the pain he had to bear. Humans would just infect you with all kinds of misfortune. He saved you. Yet, you choose to be ungrateful.

You pry into things that are none of your business, you follow danger like a lost little lamb. All you are doing is rendering his effort to protect you useless.

Your saviour, your personal God, you should listen to him. Dottore would throw you out like garbage. Would Ajax be there to save you? Take you in? No. Ajax is only after treasure. Kunikuzushi made you that precious treasure. Without him? Another uninteresting project of Dottore’s. You were much more valuable to Kunikuzushi than you could be to anyone else.

Kunikuzushi sighs, he was done with this nonsense. He was getting riled up over trivial matters again. Ajax was no threat, you worshipped Kunikuzushi with your whole heart. But still..

He stands up, leaving you on the cold bed.

“I’m going to Sumeru for a few days,” He says matter-of-factly, “during that you should perhaps think about your behaviour, hm?”

You want to protest. You didn’t do anything wrong, it wasn’t fair. He expected you to behave accordingly but his rules were obscure. You believed his behaviour was what humans would call jealousy.

“Why? Ajax was the one who was talking to me. I was just polite.” You finally defend yourself. About time you’ve grown some backbone.

Polite? You could’ve at least stopped giggling so warmly at his dull-witted jokes.

He laughs as if you said something idiotic, “this isn’t about Ajax. He is nothing but a fool.”

He seems more level-headed than a moment ago when he was marking you up. Some sort of clarity has hit him. Fixing up his clothes now, he doesn’t spare you a second glance.

“Is it not? Then what is it about?” You ask, genuinely curious of what was up with him. You were still trying to understand him despite knowing him your whole life.

He was your everything, from the moment you first saw him when Dottore introduced you to him. His newest work, inspired by the Khaenri'ah’s technology through studying The Balladeer himself.

Your eyes shined brightly when you first laid them upon him. You couldn’t figure out the expression on his face during your first meeting, probably the lack of knowledge you exhibited at the time.

He wasn’t human either, but he knew much more than you did. To you, he was the most fascinating thing in this whole world. There was something about him that kept pulling you to him. You wanted to be around him so badly, during the short time you were with Dottore, you annoyed him with your persisting questions about the Sixth Harbinger. Surprisingly, with gleeful expression, Dottore indulged you and answered at least some simple questions about Kunikuzushi to satisfy your curiosity.

He was just like you, but different.

“You’ll stay here for the time being. It’s not like you need food, water, or anything else like that, right?” He spoke in a low tone, staring you down with an almost neutral, apathetic expression, “you don’t need any of that anyway. You just need to use that little mechanical brain of yours. And think.”

“If you are even capable of that.” He sneers, “after all, you are the creation of Dottore’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if that psycho ended up making a faulty product.”

How mean. He’s known you for long enough to know you were perfectly fine. He even complimented you himself so many times, spoiling you on most days. Getting you the finest food in all of Teyvat, gathering to your interests, mostly letting you walk around free.

The pleasant praises that escaped past his lips every time he showed you his affection for you were absolute delight to your ears. Each word, filled with fondness enough to keep you in your own world of smitten thoughts about him for hours afterwards. His words were godly to you, much to his liking.

He didn’t want you to suffer for no reason. He reveled in your devotion. It fed his ego well, too. However, sometimes certain missteps from you couldn’t be ignored no matter how lovely you are to him.

Once he was finished with making himself look presentable enough, he took a few steps closer, hovering over the bed you were on. He leans towards you and gently presses his lips against your forehead, leaving a tender kiss behind him without any more words.

The door closes behind him with a faint sound of a locking door. You sigh and bounce back on the bed, pondering about what just transpired, your gaze shifting to a stuffed animal next to you. A bunny, Kunikuzushi said he thought of you the moment he saw it and had to give it to you.

Taking it into your arms, you snuggle into it for comfort. The little bunny might have been in your resemblance in his belief, but the scent invading your senses was, unmistakably, his.

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respectissexy · 3 days ago

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Things I find myself telling my teen patients often, in no particular order.

(I am not your therapist and nothing in this post is a substitute for getting your own personal mental health treatment if you need it.)

Being a teenager sucks. Your brain is in a state of development where all your emotions are intensified, and those emotions are frequently bad because being a teenager sucks. You’re basically an adult when it’s convenient for the adults, and a kid when it’s convenient for the adults. This is crazymaking. It is my opinion that critics of “it gets better” messaging do not recall being a teenager very well. I’m not saying being an adult is a picnic. But generally speaking it beats the hell out of being the legal property of your parents while your brain is going brrrrr.

On that note, if you have any kind of mental illness, these may be your worst, most symptomatic years.

Your brain is also in a stage of development where new habits are more likely to stick. That means that if you and I (33) both started learning Russian tomorrow, you would be more likely to stick with it and get better at Russian faster than me; but if you and I started doing a new drug tomorrow, you would be more likely to get addicted.

It’s normal to hate living with your parents even if you love them. I’m not saying you have to love your parents, but if you do, that doesn’t obligate you to enjoy living under the same roof. MANY adults have loving relationships with parents they would never want to live with again. (It may also take a few years of living apart for you to determine whether you actually hate your parents or whether you just hate living with them. This too is normal.)

There’s nothing wrong with going through phases. If you believe that what you’ve got going on right now is going to be your permanent identity, well, you’d know better than anybody else; but it’s fine if it’s not. “I’m into this right now” is good enough and people should respect it.

How much time you spend on your phone is less predictive of mental health outcomes than what you are actually doing on your phone. Three hours of gaming with your friends beats one hour of watching thinspiration videos on TikTok or arguing with strangers on tumblr about who gets to call themselves a dyke. (Assuming your friends are nice to you.)

Sex is supposed to be fun. If you’re having sex and it isn’t fun, something is wrong – maybe you’re not ready to be having sex yet, maybe you’re having sex with the wrong people, maybe your partner needs to learn your body and preferences better, or maybe you’re having sex for the wrong reasons.

(Obligatory don’t do drugs BUT) if you’re going to do drugs, weed is safer than alcohol.

You may be tempted to assume that the people who treat you like you’re not cool enough to hang out with them are, in fact, the coolest people ever and ultimate arbiters of cool, and expend a lot of energy trying to win them over. I implore you to at least consider the possibility that your friends who actively want to hang out with you are exactly as cool as those people, and quite possibly cooler.

If you barely eat anything all day and then binge at night, the reason you’re binging at night is because you barely ate all day. If you teach your body that it will not be fed for long periods of time, it will do its best to ensure, whenever you do eat, that you eat as much as possible. This is a feature, not a bug.

Sleep hygiene is unfortunately not bullshit.

“People experience social penalties for not being thin” is extremely true, but “no one will ever love you unless you’re thin” is extremely false.

The world is full of happy, successful, financially solvent adults who did not get into their first choice colleges.

#mental health #teenagers #adolescent mental health #therapist posting

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sirowsky-stories · 23 hours ago

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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

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x female reader #pero x reader #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall modern au #the great wall au #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #au fic #valentine's day #happy valentine's day #valentines day fic #sirowsky stories

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stmarchmm · 2 days ago

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Stranger Things March Mating Madness posting season starts tomorrow!

Here are a couple last minute Q&A reminders for those planning to participate in a creative capacity:

Q: Is there a hashtag I can use for posting to socials, such as X, Bsky, or Tumblr?

A: Yes, please use #STMMM25 on all platforms!

Q: Is there anything else I should include when posting to socials?

A: Tagging the official event accounts is super helpful to the mods. Also, including the day/prompt on your post gives more context.

***DDDNE content requires additional CW/TWs to appropriately warn others.

Q: I’m planning on posting to AO3. What can I do to connect my work to the event?

A: Here is the link to the official STMMM25 AO3 collection where you can add your works. Don’t forget to use tags and tell others what day/prompt you’re posting for!

Q: I’m just hearing about this event and I want to join! Where can I find the rules and prompts list?

A: Welcome! Here are the links to everything you need to know! (Rules & Prompts)

Q: I’m not going to be able to post on the actual prompt day. What should I do?

A: Post it whenever! Prompt days are a loose guideline for those who enjoy deadlines, but we’d rather you post late/early than be discouraged from posting at all!

Q: I’m offended by something that someone else posted for the event.

A: Cool. Get a diary. This event is open to everyone 18+ and DD content is allowed (with appropriate tagging). Use your filters/mutes/blocks effectively and deal with it yourself. Don’t ruin the fun!

If you have other questions we haven’t answered yet, you are welcome to DM any of the official event accounts or comment below and we’ll do our best to get you a prompt response!

-happy mating season from your knotty mods!

#stranger things march mating madness #STMMM25 #stranger things #stranger things event #omegaverse #a/b/o #steddie #steddie omegaverse #harringrove #ronance #buckingham #mungrove #questions

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gloomygloworm · 1 day ago

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I open Dragon Age: The Veilguard

I play the game, and I think to myself ‘weird I thought this was a choices and politics game ft metaphors from real history like slavery’

My friends go “you’re right that’s what it’s supposed to be but this game is lacking those things”

I go “oh bummer that sucks, I like moral quandaries.”

I see a post that publicly wonders why people are upset that one of the main metaphors (slavery) is missing from the game.

I respond saying yeah its weird that people are complaining that a Big Metaphor is missing from the Big Metaphor Game

I get asked what part of the game matches the Main Metaphor, and I respond with “well, the elves are second class citizens.” I am doing research specifically on the elves. I read in the wiki, with sources, that yeah, no, I’m right, the Church said “if you kiss an elf that’s basically the same thing as kissing a dog.” Elves don’t have rights in most of the countries that the other games are in. One of these places in the North is the Big Metaphor Place where they looooove the Big Metaphor and using the Big Metaphor, but I get called weird for wondering why it’s mostly absent from the game.

I open my blinds and find out that National Holocaust Remembrance Day is no longer a federal holiday. I also find out that my government is trying to "deport" the native citizens of said country. I go back online and find a thread from 2009 where one of the writers explicitly states “Yeah the Dalish started as a metaphor for the Roma but evolved into more like the Native Americans, and the Andrastean Elves are like the Jewish during Nazi Occupied Germany.”

I say “oh okay so Tevinter is like Nazi Occupied Germany. Yeah it’s weird that they’ve kind of sanitized this place and I can’t find the evidence of this anywhere.”

Someone calls me weird again and tells me to read the Codex. Someone else mentions the very beginning of the game, where you see shackles on the ground and there is mention of an elf who is freeing slaves, none of which I witness. I wonder if the slaves are in the room with me.

Someone else mentions that this is the first time we see Tevinter without any biases, mentioning two characters, Dorian and Fenris.

My friends, horrified, tell me Fenris is an ex-slave (who can be given BACK to his slave owner) and Dorian’s family are Slave Owners. I think to myself huh that’s kind of a weird thing to say considering the biases are “I was a slave” and “Yeah my family owns slaves but that’s kinda bad huh” cause that’s the same exact concept.

I say “well elves don’t have rights, that sucks, but I wish we got to see more of their day to day. I hear about these alienages that in other games we’ve been able to see, it’s weird there isn’t one in the very poor part of the Capital of the Big Metaphor Place, where there would be a high number of these people.”

Someone says “why do you want to see them suffering? That’s weird.”

I say “yeah but there’s beauty in adversity and I didn’t write the game, I want to see this big tree the alienages supposedly have as a sort of last hope for the city elves to cling to their lost culture.”

Someone calls me weird.

I open my blinds and politicians and big public figures are giving Nazi salutes in public rallies.

I boot up Veilguard.

I boot up Origins and get called a slur within the first five minutes of the game.

I picked a circle elven mage, but I use youtube to look up the city elf origin and go “oh holy fuck wow they just put it right out there huh? That’s the world state, now I know.”

Someone tells me that I should play the game because I would enjoy being sexually assaulted and violated.

I literally don’t have a response to that in any comprehensive way because that is a wild thing to say to a stranger. It is, in fact, two subjects I have intimate knowledge of as a victim of both domestic abuse and sexual assault.

Someone tells me to just read the Codex.

Someone tells me to just read the Diary of Anne Frank.

I buy the art book for Veilguard and see that some of the major players they nixed were ex-slaves. I look at Reva and I say “oh hey cool concept”

Someone calls me an idiot online and I laugh while closing my blinds, because purity culture is once more making a comeback and if I licked a single rock in Arlathan all I’d taste was bleach.

#datv #datv critical

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scribesynnox · 2 days ago

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They finally See each other

Ohhhh my god, WAIT, I haven't even talked about the whole tsunami thing AND THE DISASTER RELIEF!!

@keferon and everyone else in here. Woe, more apocalyptic ponyo au ideas be upon ye.

(And if you’re seeing this twice, shhhhh, no you’re not)

- A whole island got WIPED OUT. Humans are a lot of things, but in a big scale natural disaster like this, you KNOW there are relief aids being sent out. So first off, that's an opportunity to bring more characters in here. If any of y'all are into Rescue Bots, you can absolutely include them here.

- OH MY GOD RATCHET COULD BE A RESCUER.

- But anyways, I'm mainly bringing up the disaster relief aid, because maybe for the first time, there will be humans there who are recording what's going on and maybe for the first time, there is video evidence out there of mer and humans working together, and mers showing sign of intelligence.

- Mers like Blurr and Shockwave helping out humans. And humans flying in and having to help out mers who got sick from the pollution. There's a reason why mers avoid human towns after tsunamis and storms and it's not just because of the higher human activity.

- Humans are poisonous/venomous (see: mers getting drugged and dragged into aquariums, see: mers getting sedated to help rescue them, and see: POLLUTION), and after getting their nest violently disturbed like that, the poison seeps out and the whole area is one big hazard zone. It is not recommended to go near a disturbed human nest.

- But there ARE merfolk here. There is Blurr who came back because he wanted to make sure Orange was okay. There is Shockwave who, I have no idea why he's here, but thank god he was because he's here to help the group of feral kids survive and adapt to the disaster area.

- There's also arguably Jazz, who likely went out to sea the first chance he could get and avoided humans when he could because he knows he's famous and if anyone knew where he swam off to, then they'd try to get him back. But I imagine that if there was someone who was drowning and there was no one else around, Jazz would probably go to help anyways.

- And maybe there's a bunch of different other isolated mer stories here and there, here for various reasons.

- Maybe some of them followed after Blurr and wounded up helping out humans since they were there.

- Maybe some of them got washed up along with the waves and are simply lost.

- Maybe some of them ignored the warnings and wanted to get a closer look at a human nest, now that more of it is accessible. Maybe some dumb kids daring each other to go explore, or maybe a reckless researcher wanted to poke and prod things (i’m looking at you First Aid), or something.

- Maybe some of them are wild animal rescue mers who go in with the GOAL to help some humans out, all decked out in anti-poison gear and rescue tools.

- Whatever the case, for the first time, there are a lot of merfolk here and now there's evidence, and lots of it, of merfolk and humans interacting with each other (maybe the Fucked up and Way Too Close Moon messed with previous video files and this is like a post apocalyptic world, or maybe humans and mers are just new to each other, i don't know why it's the first time so many have interacted with each other but let's say that's what's happening), and for the first time, FINALLY, there is undeniable proof that the other species is SENTIENT and SAPIENT.

- On the human's side, there is a small group of children who are very clearly talking in whistles and hums and clicks in a very nuanced and clear language structure.

- They are also very clearly cussing at each other. (There is just a very specific tone and vibe that is universal which makes it obvious that the children are delightedly cussing at each other).

- There is also a very specific tone when a parent barks out, “Language!!”, followed by gleeful chortles of absolutely unremorseful children who don’t show a hint of regret.

- (And everyone who sees the clips, sees the evidence, all slowly becoming horrified. Oh god, they were people this whole time? This whole time??)

- There is an engineer who is very clearly working with a mer and trying to get a generator working to get a door open. And the mer is showing evidence that he is analyzing and figuring out how to fix the generator along with the human. (I imagine blurr knows a thing or two about gadgets. Enough to help here.)

- Jazz who, in no uncertain words, says that humans have language and writing and song and dance and emotions and SCIENCE AND MATH. They are cruel and they are kind and they are clever. They are not pets, they are people.

- Ooooo and maybe like, months or years down the road, the island is fixed and rebuilt, but it’s not rebuilt to be like it was before, it’s rebuilt to accomdate both merfolk and humans. Water cannald and air tunnels and breathing masks and so on.

- Maybe the drowned island becomes the new base for the first human-mer embassy!

- Uuughh and like!! There’s just so many stories that could be told here.

- Reading all those “humans are space orcs” and “humans will packbond with everything” is rearing their head at me now, LOOK, THERE IS JUST SO MUCH YOU COULD WRITE FOR THIS. This has the perfect "human-alien meet up and rescue" set up! The language barrier, the uncertainty, the having to escape! Fuck, there’s a reason this is just tickling my brain isn’t there.

- BUT ANYWAYS!! I am digressing. I can play around more with the underwater suvivial platformer idea later, back to tf mer au.

- Just!! The story of two very different peoples coming to the same devastation with the goal of helping out. And in doing so discover that the other person is, well. A person.

- The tsunami that changed everything. You know?

- ough but hey, it wouldn't be complete without angst.

- it's all well and good that merfolk and humans are coming together and helping each other survive in this natural disaster, but it is still very much a natural disaster.

- how many floating bodies do the kids see while they were on their own? how many do they still see days after the first wave?

- how many animals and people drowned, trapped in tanks or in their homes?

- How many captive mers are still trapped in tanks that don't open or crumbling buildings with no exits, and are now stuck with no way to get food?

- How many people died from starvation or poisonings from pollution or down electric lines?

- And putting aside THAT whole horrific mess that comes with a natural disaster,

Where the FUCK did these mutated sharks come from???

- Are they science experiments gone wrong? Who brought them here? WHY are they here?

- Hey... Just how "natural" was this disaster exactly...?

- oooooo, what if the tsunami ISN'T natural, what if someone did it on purpose? Or maybe on accident?

- Or maybe it's weird Fucked Up Moon magic.

- who's to say :))

#my writings #my posts #reposting this again because i used the wrong tags earlier whoops. no wonder no one was reading this one #thanks elegantmantaray #apocalyptic ponyo #transformers stuff #transformers #uhhhhhh #natural disaster tw #just to be safe

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scary-grace · 2 days ago

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Opposites Attract (Chapter 6) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your quirk lets you capture almost anyone with ease, and you can't believe you let Shigaraki Tomura escape. Shigaraki can't believe it, either, and according to the League, there's only one possible explanation -- you let him go because you've fallen in love with him. He decides to find out if it's true. You decide you won't fail to capture him again. You both get a lot more than you bargained for. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

Chapter 6

The doctor marks your height, and you watch the number pop up on the computer screen. “Why do you always take my height?” you ask as you put your boots back on. “It never changes.”

“We’re measuring change over time. Now your weight.” The doctor watches you make your way to the scale. “Boots off.”

You take your boots off again, then step up. There’s a ping, and the doctor scoffs. “I know you didn’t gain three hundred pounds in six months, Skynet. Stop altering the readings.”

“It’s unnecessary to weigh me,” you say. You’ve talked to other participants in the study, and you know getting weighed and having their weight commented on makes them feel gross. “It’s got nothing to do with my quirk. Or anybody’s quirk.”

“We’re measuring change over time,” the doctor says again. “The point of the weigh-ins isn’t to embarrass you or anyone else. It’s to measure the effect of sixth-generation emitter-type quirks on the human body. We don’t know what changes may result from quirks like yours.”

“I get it,” you say. “You still don’t need my weight.”

“If you’re insecure, I can tell you that it doesn’t look as if you –”

“I’ll break this scale,” you say. The doctor looks shocked, then offended. “Either record my weight with the extra three hundred pounds or don’t record it at all.”

The doctor sighs and gestures for you to step off the scale. You start putting your boots back on for the second time, trying to suppress the weird surge of triumph you get from breaking a stupid rule and getting away with it. That’s not something you had before. You know where it came from.

The doctor continues on with the questionnaire. “Are you on birth control?”

“No.”

“Are you sexually active?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” The doctor gives you a look, which you return. Then she taps the side of her neck, and you cringe.

You aren’t sexually active. Making out doesn’t count as sexually active. Having a whole hickey on your neck, one which you thought you’d covered successfully, doesn’t even come close to counting. The doctor marks a yes anyway. “How many partners do you have?”

You could argue about it. “One.”

“Was that so hard?” The doctor clicks through to the next screen, or tries to. You tap your finger against the table and scramble her hard drive ever so slightly. She turns to look at you, already exasperated. “Was this you?”

“No,” you say, innocent as can be. She can’t prove it was you, and besides, it was her fault. If she hadn’t been so insistent on the sexual activity thing, you wouldn’t have had to crash her computer.

You aren’t sexually active, but that’s not for lack of opportunity. The Shigaraki thing has officially gotten out of control. You were going to end it, whatever it was, but then you kissed him, and now he thinks you’re his girlfriend. Ever since the confrontation where you stole the quirk-canceling bullets but let him escape, he’s been at your apartment more nights than not, and it’s – weird. Weird because he’s a villain. Weird because in spite of being a villain, and in spite of the fact that he’s not your boyfriend, Shigaraki is still somehow the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. He tells you how he feels about things – if he doesn’t like something, you hear about it, but you hear about it when he likes things, too. And he likes you, a lot. Usually guys play hard to get, trying to keep you on your toes, seeking their approval, but Shigaraki doesn’t. He shows up often. He doesn’t want to leave once he does. He’d come by more often if he could get away with it. There are only three problems. First, that he’s a villain. Second, that he wants you to be a villain, too. And third, he’s just really, insatiably horny.

Part of the reason you’re not sexually active is the same reason he’s been staying so much later than he used to. When he’s with you, Shigaraki has a time-management problem. He wants to eat dinner. He wants to talk. He wants to watch something. And he also wants to make out, whenever one of the other three things isn’t happening. Getting him the gloves was a mistake, because Shigaraki’s now the handsiest person alive in more ways than one. Even when you’re both doing something else, he’s always touching you – your hand, your shoulder, your back, your foot, whatever’s in reach. And more often than not, it turns into making out at some point.

The handsiness is a big distraction for you. So much so that you didn’t notice he’d marked up your neck until after he left. Shigaraki is going to hear about that from you the next time he comes over. Or maybe you’ll just pay him back in kind and let the League of Villains do it for you. Failing that, you could move your relationship into sexually-active territory, then tell him it’s off the table if he chews up your neck again. The doctor is one thing, but you have friends, too, and none of them need to know anything about what’s happening in your apartment four or five nights a week.

The doctor finally reboots her computer and moves into the next part of the questionnaire. You’ve been doing these twice a year since you moved to Japan to attend UA – it’s one of the conditions of your presence here – and the interview’s never anything but uncomfortable. You know why they do it. They want to see if the presence of a sixth-generation quirk affects the way you think about your quirk, which means that they hook you up to an EEG and ask you to talk about the day your quirk awakened. You’d be perfectly happy never to talk about that day again.

You can’t read an EEG, but your results must be consistent at least, because they don’t try to stick you in an MRI. They do have follow-up questions, though. An unfair amount of them. “We’ve followed your professional activities since your last evaluation, and we’ve noticed a shift in your use of your quirk,” the psychologist says. “What’s the origin of that?”

“Uh –” You should have guessed that they’d ask this. You should have had a response ready. “I guess I always thought it was too dangerous to use on a broad scale. That’s what everyone always told me.”

The psychologist nods. “And recently?”

“I realized I needed to use it more. I tried to think of ways to make it safe, and I have,” you say. “My property damage figures have been reasonable.”

“They’ve been subthreshold,” the psychologist says. You blink. “In fact, the truck you flipped during the latest League of Villains incident required no repairs other than a windshield replacement. The damage caused when you stopped the Tohoku Shinkansen from derailing was similarly small. In your past evaluations, you’ve seemed almost afraid of your quirk – not unusual, for a sixth-generation wielder. It doesn’t seem like you’re afraid anymore.”

You don’t answer. “Why is that?” the psychologist prompts. “I’ve been evaluating you since you were fourteen, and it’s a significant shift in viewpoint. Did something happen?”

Yeah, something happened. Shigaraki happened. You might be justifiably wary of his quirk, but he’s never been scared of yours – he’s always commented on how strong it is and how well you use it, usually in an appreciative tone, although there have been a few times where he was visibly surprised. Nobody else has had that kind of confidence in your ability to handle your quirk, and it’s kind of rubbed off on you. If Shigaraki, who knows all about destructive quirks, thinks you can handle yours, maybe it’s true.

It goes further back, too – to your failure at Kamino, which led directly to your decision two weeks later to say screw the property damage and stop the Shinkansen anyway. Shigaraki might be trying to turn you into a villain, but he’s made you a stronger hero in the bargain.

“Well?” the psychologist prompts again.

“I don’t really know,” you say. “I was scared of it as a kid. Maybe I just grew up.”

That wasn’t the answer they wanted, but it gets you through the rest of the evaluation, and you really couldn’t ask for more than that. It’s late when you leave the building – you grabbed the last possible slot, coming here straight from patrol – and it’ll be even later when you get home. Shigaraki won’t stop by tonight, you don’t think. That’ll be a good thing. You always feel weird after the evaluations. Even though the research is theoretically going to enhance understanding of quirks and help sixth- and soon to be seventh-generation wielders cope with their abilities, it still makes you feel like there’s something wrong with you.

Because there is something wrong with you, just like there’s something wrong with a lot of sixth-generation wielders, apparently – your use of your quirks is too instinctual, too unconscious, and therefore too dangerous. Your metal sense, your awareness of the magnetic fields you manipulate, is something you have to consciously ignore if you don’t want it to distract you. It’s always there. You tap into it as you walk to the train station, scanning everything around you. The parked cars, the quiet streets, the infrastructure always humming just below the surface. And there’s something else, too – a human-shaped concentration of iron, barreling towards you at high speed.

You grab for it, latching onto the magnetic field, but your attacker’s too close. Momentum does the rest, and his fist strikes the side of your head with blinding force.

You feel like your head’s exploded. Everything whites out, then comes back spitting sparks, like an old-time desktop computer with an ax through the screen, as the person who struck you drags you into the alley and out of sight. “Got you,” he hisses, his voice low and rattling. He’s big. Big isn’t a problem for you, usually. You claw for your quirk, grasping his magnetic field again, only for him to backhand you across the face, scattering your concentration for good this time. “Nuh-uh. Try to freeze me again, you bitch. I’ll make this hurt even worse.”

You don’t freeze him. You drive your knee into his groin, and he slams you back against the wall with a snarl. Your head strikes with a hollow crack, and your vision goes white for longer this time, your head splitting with pain. The criminal drops you to the ground, aims a kick directly into your ribs. The air leaves your body in a harsh, painful gasp, and you slump sideways. Your quirk is straining to break free of every control mechanism you’ve placed on it, ready to pull the city down to save you, to bury this man under tons of rubble and steel and let you crawl away alive. You could do it.

But you can’t. You can’t risk killing other people, so the choice is brutally clear, obvious even to you with your aching head and bruised ribs. Someone is going to die tonight. If you don’t let go of your quirk, let it protect you, it’ll be you.

A blurry shadow appears at the head of the alleyway, blocking the light. A familiar voice rings out, jagged like you’ve never heard it before. “She’s mine.”

“Come and get her, then, runt.” The man turns away from you, towards the intruder, and you force yourself into motion, grabbing his foot and trying to yank him off balance. He kicks back in response and you throw yourself sideways, narrowly avoiding getting your face smashed in. “I told you, you fucking bitch. If you try to –”

His voice cuts off in an abrupt gurgle, and you look up to find him already crumbling, falling to pieces from the spot on his shoulder where Shigaraki grabbed him. Shigaraki throws him aside while he’s still disintegrating and gets right down on the ground next to you. “What happened?” he demands. “Are you –”

You shove him away, hard, and even so, you barely avoid throwing up on him. Your ears are ringing and your head hurts so badly that you almost wish someone would come along and kill you. Maybe Shigaraki will do the honors, since you almost puked all over him. The retching makes everything worse, but you can’t stop. Even getting dragged behind a train didn’t feel like this.

“Hey. Come on.” Shigaraki is pulling you backwards, away from the puddle of vomit and the pile of dust that used to be a human being. “Sit up. Let me see. How many times did you get hit?”

Three times. But it wasn’t until he threw you against the wall that you went down for the count. You hold up four fingers, you think, and Shigaraki’s voice sharpens. “You could have killed him,” he says. You shake your head. Big mistake. You find yourself retching again, and Shigaraki holds you upright, still snapping at you. “Bullshit. I know you could have. You can do anything with your quirk. Why didn’t you do it?”

“Hero,” you mumble. “Heroes don’t –”

“I don’t care what heroes do! If I hadn’t been here – fuck!”

What was he doing here? He’s mad at you – probably the exposure, because you’re in a populated area, and he’s Japan’s most wanted criminal, and right now he’s dealing with you. A stupid, injured hero. “You have a concussion,” he says. “You need a doctor. Where’s the nearest clinic?”

“My phone –” You fumble in your pocket, and Shigaraki lifts it out of your hand. Unlocks it, too. When did he learn your passcode? “You need to get out of here. If you get caught –”

“Shut up,” Shigaraki snaps. He consults the screen of your phone. “Three blocks that way. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t ask if you can walk, so you don’t have to lie and say that you can. If he lets go of you, you’re not sure you can stay upright. Shigaraki wraps one of your arms over his shoulder and one of his around your waist, and starts dragging you down the street. You mumble something about getting caught, and he ignores you. He has the hood of his coat up and his head ducked, and although you can see his face when you look up, you can’t read his expression even a little bit.

Finally you’re across the street from the urgent care, just outside the glow of the streetlight. “I can’t go in there. Can you get across the street?” Shigaraki asks. You give a thumbs-up. It’s safer than nodding. “Good. Go.”

He says that, but then he doesn’t let go. Your vision is still a little blurry, but you blink up at him, trying to clear it. He’s mad at you, you think. Sorry, you say, or mean to say. Something else comes out: “You saved me.”

“Shut up.” Shigaraki apparently doesn’t trust you to do that, because then he kisses you – even though you threw up ten minutes ago and haven’t done much more than spit a few times to clear things out. “I – just go.”

You get your feet under you and push away from him, getting upright under your own power. Then you turn away, step into the circle of light cast by the streetlamp, and start staggering across the street. You make it all the way to the clinic before the dizziness overwhelms you.

The nurses are really nice to you. You’re in costume, and you clearly got beat to shit, and when you tell them it was a criminal who attacked you, they get even more sympathetic. They do ask how you got away, though. You’re so out of it that you tell them someone saved you.

“Who?” the nurses ask, and you shake your head, even though it nearly blacks you out. Even if you told them, they wouldn’t believe you.

Your cheekbone is fractured, your ribs are bruised, and you have a concussion. But because you didn’t pass out, it’s not considered severe, and as a result, they release you to your own devices with some painkillers, prescription anti-nausea medication so you can keep food down, and instructions not to overwork your head. The nurse who goes over the discharge instructions with you hints strongly that you should call someone to sit with you. You tell her you’ll call somebody if you get worried, but you don’t need to be worried. You’re fine.

You’re fine, but the walk to the train station wears you out. You’re fine, but you get dizzy climbing the stairs to the platform. You’re fine, but you have to set an alarm on your phone to remind you of your stop, in case you fall asleep. You’re not supposed to fall asleep for long periods of time right now. You’re not supposed to read or look at your phone or listen to loud music or anything. Your injuries are bad enough that when the nurse logged them into the hero network, you were automatically removed from active status for a week. But you’re fine.

You’re telling yourself that – fine, fine, everything’s fine – when someone sits down right next to you on the train. There are dozens of empty seats, but they chose the one next to you, and people who do that rarely have good things in mind. You really hope they keep their hands to themselves. If your limbic system activates, it’ll take your quirk with it, and right now, your ability to control your quirk is at a low ebb.

A hand slides from within the sleeve of a black coat, clad in a black artist’s glove. It settles on your leg, palm turned upwards. You look over and up and find yourself looking into Shigaraki’s red eyes. His face is shrouded by the hood of his jacket. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, but you lace your fingers with his and lean against him, your head falling onto his shoulder and staying there for the rest of the ride home.

No one speaks until you’re actually inside your apartment building, and Shigaraki’s the one to break the silence. “This place looks even worse from the inside. Which one is yours?”

“You don’t know?” Of course he wouldn’t – he only ever comes in through the window. “It’s 4B.”

“Right.” It’s quiet again as you climb the stairs. “Keys?”

You don’t need keys – at least not when your quirk’s under control. Right now you’re going to have to try hard not to blow up your doorknob. You move the tumblers with agonizing slowness until the latch clicks, and Shigaraki pushes it open, looking impressed. “You can pick locks now?”

“I just know how this one works.” You only thought as far ahead as getting to your apartment and getting inside. You’re out of ideas past this point. “Um, Shigaraki –”

“Quit acting surprised. I said I couldn’t go in with you. I never said I was going to leave.” Shigaraki is going through your fridge. He stops and looks up. “What is that?”

“Huh?” You’re holding a piece of paper. You don’t remember being handed one, but it’s easy to imagine it happening. “I think it’s discharge instructions.”

“Let me see.” Shigaraki snatches them out of your hand, scans them. “I’ll read them. You’re not supposed to read right now anyway. Go – do something.”

Do something. What do you usually do when you get home, right away? Get out of your costume. You make your way down the hall to your room, shedding costume pieces as you go. It occurs to you that it’s not nearly as safe as it usually is for you to have Shigaraki in your apartment – not just for you, but for him. You don’t have an insurance policy on him right now, and worse, your quirk is all the way out of your control. If he startles you, you could hurt him. It’s happened before. Maybe you should warn him, but what would you even say? You finish changing clothes and sit down on your bed to think about it.

You must think about it for longer than expected, because the next thing you know, you’re propped awkwardly on your pillows with an ice pack balanced on your face. Shigaraki’s never come back to your room before – whatever the two of you have been doing, you kept it on the couch – but he’s here now, stretched out on the bed next to you and playing a game on a phone. Your phone. “Um –”

“I don’t have one right now. And mine didn’t have any games,” Shigaraki says. You try to sit up for a look and he pushes you back down. “You’re not supposed to look at screens.”

“What are you playing?”

“The one where you make a disease and try to kill the world. Weird game for a hero to have on her phone.” Shigaraki’s wearing his gloves. “This virus one is tough.”

“Yeah, if you’re playing on Mega-Brutal,” you say. You glance at Shigaraki from under the ice pack and see him scowling. “You don’t have to do everything on hard mode, you know.”

“Neither do you,” Shigaraki says. He pauses the game and sets your phone down, and you can tell he’s not happy. “I’ll kill creeps for you. I don’t care about that. But I need to know. Is it that you can’t, or you won’t?”

“I don’t want to kill people,” you say. Shigaraki makes a skeptical face, and you realize that you’re lying – that you’re lying, and that he can tell. “I didn’t want to kill the people who would have died if I’d tried to kill that guy right then.”

“Collateral damage? Don’t lie. I watched you rip the guts out of one of Twice’s copies without hurting anybody else who was there,” Shigaraki says. “Level with me. Which is it?”

You don’t know how to explain. “I didn’t have control. I still don’t. I’d have just been protecting myself, not fighting back, and I couldn’t –”

“Why do you think that would kill somebody?” Shigaraki demands. He’s mad at you, like you thought – but not for the reason you thought, and as you watch, his expression shifts, contorts. “You’ve done it before. When?”

You don’t want to tell him. It’ll just make him try harder to turn you. But you don’t want to fight about this, and given how much exposure he risked helping you, you feel like you owe it to him. “When my quirk awakened,” you say. You already had to talk about it once today. What’s one more time? “Someone was shooting at me. I sent the bullets back at him, but I wasn’t thinking. I was just scared. And he wasn’t the only one I hit.”

Your quirk awakening definitively killed two people – the man who decided to shoot up your primary school, and a police officer who’d arrived too late to stop him – and one of the shots you returned was the final blow to an already critically-injured victim. You also damaged the building, pulled up every water pipe and buried fiber-optic cable on the school grounds, and distorted every radio broadcast going in and out of the police perimeter. Your quirk awoke in response to fear, and in protecting yourself, there’s no such thing as a proportional response. If you’d used your quirk tonight, facing a criminal who’d beaten you half to unconsciousness, he wouldn’t have been anything close to the only casualty. And you decided a long time ago that it was better to be hurt than to hurt others. Or it was decided for you. It was such a long time ago that you don’t remember which.

Shigaraki is staring at you. The silence is a heavy weight on your chest, so heavy that it forces words out of your mouth. “Say something. Please.”

“You were – a kid.” Shigaraki’s mouth distorts around the words. “Nobody came to save you, so you had to do it yourself.”

People were coming. They just weren’t coming fast enough. Shigaraki’s still talking. “When you were talking about the law the first time I came over – the intention thing – and premeditation – this is why. Right?”

You almost nod, then remember how badly nodding hurts. “Right.”

“So it wasn’t on you,” Shigaraki starts, then stops. Something’s happening to him. All the blood’s draining from his face, and his hands are trembling in his lap. “If it matters, what was happening before – then –”

“Hey.” Even through the pain in your head, you can see that Shigaraki’s in trouble. You sit up slowly, keeping the ice pack in place one-handed, and edge closer to him. It’s not just his hands shaking now. His whole body is shaking, too. “Shigaraki, hey. Hold it together, okay? Everything’s okay.”

“Not if you’re right.” He’s speaking through clenched teeth. “If you’re right about this, then that means he’s –”

“Who?” you ask. Shigaraki shakes his head. You’ve never seen him like this before, and if he wasn’t wearing his gloves, you’d be getting as far from him as possible. You know what it looks like when someone’s about to lose control. “Okay. Let’s not talk about this anymore. Um, should we –”

Your eyes fall on your phone. You pick it up and find that Shigaraki’s paused it midway through getting his ass kicked. When you look at the symptom clusters he’s evolved and the transmissions he’s selected, it’s not hard to see why he’s losing. “I’m just going to fix this,” you say. “Want to keep me company?”

For a moment you think he’s too far gone to respond. Then one shaky hand comes up and takes the phone from you. “You’re not supposed to look at screens.”

“Okay, so you can look,” you compromise. You’re glad he’s got it. The blue light from the screen was making your skull ache. “I’ll tell you what to do. You have to devolve some stuff.”

“I’ll lose DNA points.”

“Yeah, you will.” You roll so you’re lying on your side, raise your head slightly so it’s against Shigaraki’s shoulder. “But you have to get rid of Total Organ Failure right now, or it’s going to kill off everybody before they can transmit the disease.”

“Fine.” Shigaraki taps the screen with his thumb. He’s trying to free his arm from his side, and once it’s free, he wraps it around you. Then he curses. “Now it says I need higher-level symptoms again.”

“Evolve Necrosis,” you say. “It still kills people, but their bodies become transmission vectors after they’re dead. That should help.”

Shigaraki taps the screen again. “I didn’t know you liked games.”

“Only some games,” you say. He’s calming down. You can tell, even before you set one hand on his chest, just over his heart, and feel the movement of the iron concentration in his veins slowing down. “Did you pick any transmission or mutation genes when you were setting up your virus at the start of the game?”

“Don’t remember.” Shigaraki lifts one shoulder, then lets it fall. “How’s your head?”

“It hurts,” you say. “How are you?”

“I’m getting my ass kicked by a mobile game on my girlfriend’s phone. How do you think I feel?” Shigaraki’s voice sounds like his again, but his arm wraps more tightly around you, molding your body against his. “Next time, if I’m not there – kill whoever you have to, however you have to. You’re more important than they are.”

“It’s not going to happen again, Shigaraki,” you say. It won’t – not so long as you limit the number of headshots you take. “My life isn’t more important than anyone else’s.”

“It is. To me.” Shigaraki’s chest rises and falls beneath your hand in a deep, slow breath. “And you shouldn’t call me that anymore.”

“What?”

“Shigaraki,” he says. He’s looking away, tapping impatiently at the screen, and the words come out quieter than usual. “You should call me Tomura.”

A jolt runs through you – half excitement, half apprehension. Somehow it feels like a mistake, saying yes to this. More of a mistake than losing focus at Kamino, than letting him in that first night, than kissing him and letting yourself forget for longer and longer periods of time what he’s done and what he’s planning to do. Knowing it hasn’t stopped you yet, and it doesn’t stop you now. “Tomura,” you say, and you feel him relax completely at last. “Okay.”

tag list: @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @cryptidfuckerofficial @lvtuss @f3r4lfr0gg3r @minniessskiii @issaortiz @evilcookie5

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #enemies to lovers au

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munsonsmixtapes · 4 hours ago

Text

I Know You Want My Touch For Life

rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

You and Eddie meet at an awards show and realize that you have much more in common that you initially thought.

This is based on the song "Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) breeding kink

The lights begin to dim as you sit down at your designated table. You have a drink in hand as you try your best to act like you’re sober. You don’t know how many drinks you’ve had but you’ve been downing them like they’re water, feeling all giggly because of all the effects.

The show is starting and you make small talk with the other people at your table, all of you yapping away as the host comes out on stage. It’s an actress who you can’t remember the name of because to be honest, something, or someone else has captured your attention.

Eddie Munson is across the room, sipping on something before laughing half-heartedly at a joke the host has made. Everyone but you is in on the joke but you’re not paying attention. Eddie has captured all of it. He looks so good in his suit and you honestly can’t believe that he’s real, that he’s in the same room as you, because for a while, you were convinced that your brain has just made him up.

You don’t know what you’re doing. The alcohol has definitely taken control of your brain because before you can stop yourself, you’re pulling your phone out of your clutch and pulling up his instagram account, curious to see if he’s following you back and to your surprise, he is.

He knows who you are. You’ve been crushing on him for so long and you know he likes you too. Well, he did. You vividly remember him saying that you were his celebrity crush a few years back but you’re not sure if that’s still true.

Because of your drunken state, you end up liking basically every photo on his profile, commenting nonsensical emojis on every one you’re liking which is something you’d absolutely never do if you were sober.

Once you’ve looked at his profile for long enough, you go to DM him, trying to think of something to say but just come up with the word “hot” in all caps which is all you seem to be thinking as you go back to his profile, continuing to like and comment on his posts.

Eddie sees you out of the corner of his eye and now he can’t seem to stop looking at you. His very obvious crush on your is getting even bigger and as he watches you from across the room, he wishes that he could be the one sitting next to you and not that guy who you’re giggling with.

He doesn’t handle his jealousy well, always acting impulsively, usually doing something he shouldn’t. He’s actually sober tonight for once which actually makes him feel calmer than normal. He’d definitely do something he’d regret if he had a few drinks in him which he squally would have by now.

“You should ask her out,” Grant whispers to Eddie as he follows his line of sight. Eddie just scoffs then turns back to the stage, suddenly remembering that there’s a show going on before him.

“Right,” is all he says as he claps for the girl heading towards the stage to get her award. Holy shit, it’s you. And you’re stumbling as you try to get up the steps while still somehow looking so graceful.

Before Eddie can stop himself, he’s rushing towards the stage, reaching out to help you up since clearly no one else is going to do it. You’re putting your hand in his and suddenly it feels like electricity is moving through his body. He’s quick to gather the train of your dress which is the reason why you’ve been tripping and he follows you up the steps, watching your every move to make sure that you’re okay.

He’s following you to where the presenters are standing, admiring how you take the award so gracefully. You grab hold of his hand and pull him close to you as you stand in front of the mic.

Your mind is nothing but hazy, foggy from the alcohol and you’re trying your best to think about your speech that you had written up, leaning into Eddie, making it impossible for him to resist your touch, how good you smell. It’s intoxicating.

“Oh my gosh,” you gush, smiling wide as you look down at the award in awe. You can’t think anymore, all of the words evaporating from your brain as you look out into the audience then over to Eddie who’s smiling down at you like you’ve hung the moon.

“I can’t believe I won,” you slur, much more drunk than Eddie realized and he doesn’t want you to make a fool out of yourself, suddenly feeling protective over you. You haven’t been in this industry for as long as he has and he would hate for you to make the same mistakes as he’s done.

“C’mon, honey,” he says, leading you back towards the stairs and you feel your cheeks getting hot at his nickname. To anyone who doesn’t know the two of you, it almost looks like you’re a couple. You’re eating that up, wishing that you were a couple like you have been for years. Maybe this will be the night you finally make a move.

Eddie leads you back to your table where there’s conveniently an empty chair next to yours. You invite him to sit and he does, wanting to look out for you, to make sure you’re okay, especially after having so much alcohol in your system.

He makes you drink some water to help sober you up and you actually kind of like him bossing you around. You don’t usually like being told what to do, but with Eddie? Oh, you’ll do anything he says as long as he’s looking at you with those pretty brown eyes. They’ve quickly become your weakness.

Once the water is drained from your cup, he seems satisfied so he stands from the table only for you to reach out and grab hold of his hand to stop him. You’re giving him pleading eyes, close to batting them to get him to stay.

“You can’t go,” you tell him. “We’re having fun.” Eddie feels bad for leaving, but he’s gotta get back to his table, feeling guilty for abandoning his band mates for a girl.

“Tell you what,” he says, sitting back down only for a second. “There’s an after party at that hotel down the street. Meet me there and we can have some fun.” You feel yourself getting wet just thinking about it as he pulls away, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before heading back to his table.

Eddie finally gets the chance to check his phone that had been vibrating constantly throughout the show. When he does, he’s in shock seeing your name so many times in his notifications. There have to be at least fifty just from you amongst the thousands he gets every single day from fans. But this is different. It’s you. And you were spamming him.

It’s strings of nonsensical emojis but he gets the gist. You’re clearly thirsting over him and he’s eating it up. He could tell you were into him when he was sitting with you, but now he’s got proof. He’s really hoping that it wasn’t just how you were feeling when you were drunk and that you’ll actually take him up on his offer. God, what he would give to have his way with you.

He desperately wants to see that pretty dress of yours on the floor of some random hotel room, his own clothes strewn across the room as he’s got you pinned to the dresser, pounding into you from behind as he forces you to look into the mirror that’s on top of it.

And when he finally opens the DM from you, well, fuck, now he’s got to have you. It’s not an option anymore.

So does your name Eddie “the freak” Munson mean that you’re actually willing to get freaky or am I reading it wrong?

He’s honestly impressed you were able to write that out without any errors and now he’s gotten even more hard as he wonders what kind of stuff you’re into, what he’ll let him do to you. What you’ll do to him.

He’s scanning the place for you, keeping an eye out for that beautiful dress of yours. He spots you over by door talking to Gareth. And even though he loves the guy, he’s now an opponent. Jealousy is coursing through him, something he’s never been able to handle well and now he’s not sure how he’s going to get his band mate to go away by speaking to him nicely.

“Hi,” you beam when Eddie approaches and he has to compose himself when he sees your hand on Gareth’s shoulder.

“Hi,” he replies, mimicking your smile, hoping he looks as cute as you do but knows he doesn’t.

He’s so hot that it’s unfair. Even after sobering up, you still want him so bad, still wanting an answer to your question. You’ve seen him so many times at events like this and now more than ever, you do desperately want to pin him to the wall and take him right there, not even caring who’s watching.

Your attraction to him that’s been building over the years is so strong that it’s almost tangible. You’re so wet that it’s almost uncomfortable, your need for him growing by the second. You hope you didn’t weird him out with your emojis and DM and that he’s still willing to give you a chance.

“Hey, Gareth, I think that blonde you were talking about earlier is checking you out,” you subtly point to the woman who’s closer to the stage and Gareth whips his head in her direction just in time to see her wave him over. He’s quick to flee, finally leaving you and Eddie alone.

He steps closer, his eyes darkening as he does so. He’s biting down on his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slowly rake over your body before pulling it flush to his. His hands rest on your waist as your arms wrap around his neck.

The want is there but neither of you are making a move, just staring each other down with lust filled eyes. It’s like you’re waiting to see who’s going to make a move but neither of you wants to be the first to do so.

“So jealousy is what motivates you to make a move,” you observe and Eddie just leans forward, his lips right by your ear.

“No, it’s actually dirty DMs, but seeing you with Gareth did make me act faster.” He pulls away just in time to see your gaze moving to his lips and he purposely wets them to make them look more inviting, his tongue swiping across them slowly as if to tease you and it seems to work because you’re pulling him in before he can even finish.

It’s desperate with roaming hands and breathy moans, definitely not suited for a public space but neither of you seem to care, too caught up in each other to notice the dirty looks that are shot your way. Eddie’s backing you out of the room and towards the elevators before it can get too inappropriate for anyone to see and you’re pushed into an elevator as soon as it opens.

Eddie’s got you pinned to the wall, his tongue flicking into your mouth as you let out a moan as he grinds against you. Your hands are tangling in his hair as he scoots to the side to press the button that will lead to the floor he’s staying on. You’re then back against the wall in a flash and he grabs hold of your legs, wrapping them around his waist, mumbling something against your lips that you can’t hear as he carries you out of the elevator.

You’re still wrapped around his waist as he uses his key card to unlock the door to his room. As he’s occupied with that, you’re sucking on his best, trying your best to leave a mark so people know exactly what he’s gotten up to tonight. Another trophy for the night.

Once the door is unlocked, he heads inside and lets it slam behind him as he sets you down on the bed. He drops to his knees to help you take off your heels and you smile at him, admiring how he can be such a gentleman. Once he pulls them off of your feet, he sees the imprint that they’ve left behind and begins to massage them, his cock somehow hardening even more when he hears you moan at how good it feels.

You lie back on the bed and Eddie kisses up each leg, giving them some love before spreading them, pushing up your dress to see the wet patch that’s formed in your panties. The white fabric is now almost see-through because of how wet you are and he decides that he’s got to have you right now or he’s going to explode.

He pulls down your panties and tosses them to the side to find that you really are wet beyond belief and that only makes him want you more, especially when you’re looking up at him like you want to devour him. And he thinks he just might let you.

Eddie pats his pocket for what you assume is a condom and even though you feel crazy for suggesting what you’re about to, you do it anyway. It’s spontaneous, but hasn’t the whole night been that way. Certainly neither of you planned to be here like this tonight, but you supposed that it’s just fate.

“I don’t want to use a condom,” you tell him and he’s now intrigued. “I know it sounds crazy, but I-I kind of like the idea of having a baby with you. I know we just met, but-“

“You don’t have to convince me,” he shakes his head, cutting you off. He’s down on his knees again, placing himself between your legs as he pulls you to sit up. “Whatever you want,” he presses his forehead to yours. “I’ll give it to you. So if you want a baby, let’s have a baby.”

“You’re serious?” You honestly didn’t think he’d agree and especially not so quickly. You’re strangers, after all and you’ve never even thought about having kids, especially not with your career, but having a baby at the height of it all with the man you’ve been crushing on for years just feels right.

“Yes,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours as he helps you lie back. His clothes are off in a flash and he’s helping you take off your dress in the blink of an eye, taking a moment to take in just how beautiful you are. Oh, he’s going to love this.

He lies on top of you slowly as he pushes inside of you, his hands finding yours as he begins to thrust, slowly at first, but once you get into a rhythm, you’re moving fast and hard, trying to keep up with each other as the only sounds that can be heard are your filthy moans and skin slapping against skin.

Eddie is not shy about letting you know how hot he thinks this all is, that he’s actually obsessed with you potentially getting pregnant, how much he wants to fill you and it only makes you want his baby even more as the filthy words fall from his lips.

“I like the way you fit,” you tell him as you run your hand over where you’re connected and his eyes darken as he watches you, pushing his cock even farther inside of you until he’s bottoming out.

“Me too,” he rasps as he somehow moves even faster, even harder. “Fuck, I’m going to love filling you.” He leans down so that his lips are right by your ear, his breath making the hair on your arms raise. “Fuck, you’re gonna look so hot, sweetheart. I’m so honored that you asked me to do this, but how did you know I had a breeding kink?” He bites down on your earlobe before pulling away, so close to coming just by looking at your fucked out face. He’s already made a mess of you and he’s barely done anything.

“Swear you’re going to be the death of me. When you showed up in that dress tonight, I swore I was done for. I mean, jesus, you have no idea what you do to me. When you dmed me tonight, swore I was going to explode in my pants. And by the way,” he leans down and presses another kiss to your lips. “The answer to your question is yes.”

“What?” You ask through a breath.

“You asked if my nickname “the freak” means that I’m willing to get freaky and the answer is yes.” He kisses you again and you feel even more dizzy and this time, it’s not from the alcohol. “But we can explore that some other time because right now, this is all about getting you knocked up.”

“You gonna make me Juno?” You asks as you buck your hips against his and you just know that he’s close. You can feel it. You can see it on his face as his eyes are practically rolling into the back of his head.

“Fuck yes,” he whines as he begins to unload, still pounding into you as he orgasms, pumping in and out until he collapses on top of you, both of you absolutely spent, just lying there until he eventually pulls out and cleans the two of you up before climbing back into the bed, pulling you to his chest with a contented sigh.

You lie discussing the possible future and there’s just something about being there that just feels right, almost as if it’s fate that brought the two of you together. Baby names are thrown back and forth as you both begin to feel tired.

“Hey,” Eddie speaks up as you pull him closer to you, lying your head on his chest.

“Hm?” You ask, eyes fluttering shut.

“Juno would be a really cool song name,” he suggests and you laugh it off but you begin to think that maybe he’s onto something.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 days ago

Note

all aboard the angst train! ominis finds out from sebastian that he and mc are courting and goes to mc like what the hell i know you love me what are you courting sebastian? and mc just says I want a family I want children you will never give that to me. it's best for us to stop now before we really hurt each other. choo choo the angst train is leaving the station!!

What We’ll Never Have | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

this was just... so much pAIN. my HEART.

Words: ~2,200

Tags: Post Hogwarts, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort

Sebastian had been fidgeting all evening, a nervous habit he’d never quite shaken. Ominis had learned long ago to recognize the tells—shifting weight between his feet, the repeated cracking of his knuckles, the way he rapped his fingers against any available surface.

He knew Sebastian had something to say long before the words left his mouth, but nothing could have prepared him for what he finally said.

"I just thought you should hear it from me first," Sebastian had muttered. "She and I are courting."

Ominis had stood so still in that moment, his fingers curled around the rim of his tankard, that he might have been mistaken for a statue.

"You're what?" he’d asked, though he had heard perfectly well.

"Courting," Sebastian repeated, as if the word wasn't a knife twisting into Ominis’s ribs. "It's nothing dramatic. We just… figured it makes sense."

Ominis didn't even remember leaving the bar, his mind roaring with thoughts he couldn’t quiet. And now, here he was, standing outside your flat, barely aware that his knuckles had rapped against the wood until he heard the latch slide free and the door swing open.

A pause.

He knew you were looking at him. He knew, in that way he always knew you, that you understood why he was here, that you were already bracing yourself for the confrontation neither of you had ever been brave enough to have.

"Ominis," you greeted, your voice careful, neutral.

That only infuriated him more.

He shoved past you. The scent of parchment and tea clung to the air, but there was something else beneath it—something distant and wrong. It was the awareness that this was no longer his place to be, no longer a space where unspoken words could linger between you two, waiting to be plucked from the air like ripened fruit.

When the door clicked shut behind you, he turned sharply, his voice low but unrelenting. "What the hell are you doing?"

You sighed. "I take it you saw Sebastian.”

“Oh yes, I saw him,” Ominis snapped. “Had a very illuminating conversation, in fact. Imagine my surprise when my best friend tells me he and you—” His voice caught, and he hated that it did. He swallowed hard. “You are courting.”

Silence.

You didn’t deny it.

Instead, you said, “We’re happy, Ominis.”

He laughed, sharp and humorless. “You think you’ll be happy. But you and I both know that’s not the same thing as actually being happy.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t say ‘you’re wrong’. And that silence spoke louder than anything else.

"I don’t understand," Ominis said, turning toward where he knew you stood. "Why are you doing this?!"

"It’s what makes sense, Ominis," you said, so softly, so gently, like you knew this would wound him and yet were trying to dull the blade.

Makes sense.

Such a simple phrase. So small and neat, as if it could explain away everything that had come before it—the glances you and Ominis shared across dimly lit rooms, the conversations that had stretched past midnight, the way your hands always lingered a second too long when they brushed his. The way Ominis had felt you, like a gravitational pull just beneath his skin, and known he would love you until the day he died.

He had spent years—years—telling himself there would always be more time. That whatever simmered between the two of you, whatever hung in the spaces of your conversations, whatever made you linger a little too long, press a little too close, would still be there when the timing was right.

Except now, he realized, the moment had passed without him ever knowing it.

His breath was ragged as he took a step forward, his hands twitching at his sides. “Sense?” he repeated, incredulous. “You’re choosing him because it makes sense?

“I had to make a choice, Ominis.”

He shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” you countered, stepping closer. “And I—” You hesitated, just for a moment, before forcing yourself to say it again. “And I chose Sebastian.”

Ominis let out a quiet, humorless laugh, "You just woke up one day and decided to be with Sebastian?”

You flinched, but your voice remained steady. “It wasn’t like that. It's not like I decided on a whim. You act like Sebastian and I didn't talk this through first."

Ominis stilled. This was planned. Considered. You and Sebasrian had discussed it, picked apart the logistics of it together, laid out the path forward.

Of course, you wouldn’t have rushed into something blindly. You had always been measured, deliberate. You thought through your choices, weighed them carefully before committing. And you had done the same with this.

Ominis felt his stomach turn but he forced himself to breathe through the pressure mounting in his chest. "How long?" His voice was sharp, brittle. "How long have you been considering it?"

You hesitated.

Ominis felt something cold settle in his ribs. "How long?"

"...A while."

Ominis let out a slow breath, his hands curled into fists at his sides. "But why him? You could have picked anyone else. Anyone. Some Ministry official, a bloody Healer. Of all people, why my best bloody friend?!"

You exhaled sharply. "Because he’s my best friend too, Ominis."

"You don't love him though!"

The words were out before Ominis could stop them, raw and sharp, edged with something dangerously close to desperation.

You exhaled, slow and measured. “Yes, I do."

“No, you don’t.”

"Maybe not in the way you mean, but we will learn—”

"Is that honestly what you think?” Ominis interrupted, his voice low and fraying at the edges. “You think you can just learn to love him like that?”

“Yes.”

Ominis shook his head, laughing bitterly, though nothing about this was funny. “You can’t force love.”

“I’m not forcing anything,” you countered. “It might not ne romantic love but that doesn’t mean it’s less.”

“It’s not real,” Ominis bit out.

“It is,” you said, voice thick with something unreadable. “It’s real in the ways that matter. It’s trust, it’s choosing someone because they’ll be there at the end of the day. It’s knowing that we’ll make each other happy, even if it isn’t some grand, burning thing.”

Ominis shook his head again. “You’re settling.”

You flinched, and for a fleeting moment, Ominis felt something like satisfaction. But then you exhaled sharply, something flashing in your eyes. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“You could have waited.” Ominis argued, throwing his hands on the air.

“For what?” you snapped. "You say what Sebastian and I have isn’t real but at least we acknowledge it."

Ominis stiffened.

"At least it’s something named, something that isn’t hiding in the dark," you continued, stepping closer, your frustration mounting. "At least we’re honest with each other."

Ominis felt like he had been struck.

"You think you get to stand here and tell me what is or isn’t real?" You shook your head. "I waited, Ominis. I waited for you."

His stomach twisted, but he stayed silent.

"For years," you emphasized, your voice trembling now, edged with something like grief. "Years, Ominis. Hoping that one day you’d—" You exhaled shakily. "That you’d just say it. That you’d choose me."

His throat tightened.

"But you never did."

The words hung between you, the weight of them pressing against his ribs, curling around his lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

"You never said it," you whispered. "Not once."

Ominis swallowed, his hands shaking now. "I—"

"You let me wait. You let me sit in that silence, let me hope while you stood there, doing nothing." Your voice broke, just slightly. “and after all that time, after years of waiting, you have the audacity to come here and tell me this isn’t real?" You scoffed, shaking your head. "What Sebastian and I have might not be what you think it should be, but at least it's something."

Ominis swallowed hard. He had spent his entire life being careful. Measured. Controlled. He had learned restraint before he had learned kindness, had learned to bite his tongue before he had ever learned how to wield it. He had spent years—a decade—walking this impossible, agonizing line with you, balancing on the edge of something neither of you had dared to name.

But standing here, knowing you were choosing someone else—choosing Sebastian—when he knew you loved him, when he knew, down to his very bones, that this wasn’t just some unrequited fantasy, that you had spent just as many years aching in silence as he had…

It broke something in him.

His breath shuddered as he stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth of your skin, the uneven rise and fall of your chest.

"Fine." His voice was sharp, ragged at the edges, but he didn’t care. “You want me to say it? Fine." He let out a sharp breath, his voice rough with something raw and unrelenting. "I love you."

The words hung between you, vast and consuming, but Ominis wasn’t finished.

"I love you," he said again, the confession pouring from him like a wound finally splitting open, ten years of restraint breaking apart in an instant. "How many times do you want to hear it?"

You sucked in a breath, your lips parting slightly, but he didn’t let you speak.

"How many times will it take to change your mind?"

Your hands trembled at your sides, your whole body going still, but he knew—he knew—that this wasn’t news to you.

He took step forward, his voice hoarse now. "I know you love me too."

You shook your head once, a small, broken movement. "Ominis—"

"Don’t lie to me." His voice cracked on the last word. "Don’t.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, your jaw tightening, but you didn’t deny it.

Before he could think better of it, Ominis's hand lifted, fingers brushing along the line of your jaw before he cupped your cheek.

Your breath hitched beneath his palm.

Ominis exhaled slowly, his voice quieter now, softer, but no less desperate. "Tell me I’m wrong."

You swallowed hard.

"Tell me you don’t love me." His thumb ghosted over your cheek. "Tell me, and I will leave. I will let you go. I will walk away, and you will never hear another word of this from me again."

Silence. A silence so heavy, so vast, it felt like it might crush him. Because you couldn’t say it. Because you did love him and you always had.

Ominis’s breath left him in a slow, aching exhale. "Then why are you doing this?" His forehead almost rested against yours now as tears burned behind his sightless eyes. "Why are you choosing him?"

You swallowed. Your hand lifted slowly, curling over his wrist, as if you meant to pull him away, except you held him there instead.

“I want a family, Ominis,” you admitted, voice barely more than a breath.

Ominis's grip on your cheek slackened, the certainty that had carried him through this breaking apart all at once.

Ominis had never wanted children.

In all the late-night conversations between you that had stretched toward dawn, in all the quiet moments when the world had felt like it existed only for the two of you, he had admitted it freely. He had sworn, sworn, that he would never be a father. That he would never bring another Gaunt into this world, never risk continuing a bloodline so poisoned, so irreversibly rotted with cruelty, that he feared any child of his would inherit it, that they would open their eyes and see the world the way his father had seen it.

He had vowed it.

Because the truth was, Ominis didn’t know what fatherly love was even supposed to look like. He didn’t know how to be a father. Didn’t know what it meant to be the kind of person who could raise a child properly.

But now—now, standing here, the truth of it lodged itself deep into his chest: you wanted a family, and from the very start, Ominis had always refused to give you one.

"I don’t want to wait forever for something that will never happen," you murmured, your voice heavy with something close to grief. "I don’t want to wake up years from now and realize I let the chance slip away because I was waiting for you to change your mind."

Ominis exhaled sharply, his breath coming out ragged. "You think I wouldn’t have tried?" His voice cracked, something desperate clawing at his throat.

You pressed your lips together, and when you spoke again,your voice wavered. "That’s the problem, Ominis. I don’t want you to try. I want you to want it."

Ominis stepped back suddenly, his hand falling away from your cheek like the finality of it had just settled in his bones.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "And Sebastian does?"

You swallowed hard. "He—" You hesitated, just for a second, but that second was enough. "Yes, he... wants a family. A life that I want, too."

Ominis let out a bitter, shaking breath. "A life you wanted with me." His throat ached with the weight of it, with the unbearable truth of knowing that you had imagined this future—children, a home, a life filled with warmth—and once upon a time, you had pictured him by your side.

But not anymore.

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