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covenofagatha · 7 hours ago

Text

The psychology of love (Part 4)

A rainy day leads to an unexpected encounter

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: masturbation

You think your heart might have stopped beating.

Agatha put her phone number in her email signature. Something small that might be unnoticeable to anyone else and could’ve been there all along—plausible deniability at its finest—but you see it. You know she just added it.

Is it for you? Does she want you to text her? Is this her way of putting the metaphorical ball in your court?

A million thoughts go through your head, ranging from text her right now, you idiot, what are you waiting for? to what if the university just made a new policy about putting all the ways to contact a professor in the sign off? It might not even be her personal number, it could be her office number. Maybe she put the number there for someone else.

What should you do? Can you get in trouble for texting a teacher? What if it’s about the course material?

You rack your brain for anything you could ask about, but there’s not a good enough question that would warrant this.

Fuck.

You could text her about the presentation, tell her again how excited you are for it. Seems too desperate, though, too transparent.

Maybe it’s just a game. She knows about your little crush on her apparently—the comment about transference making that clear—and this could be her way of catching you in the act.

The door to your room opens and you jump with a yelp before immediately dropping your phone on your chest like you might get caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.

It’s Wanda. She gives you a bemused look as she strolls to her bed before dropping her bag on the floor. “What are you doing?” she asks suspiciously.

“Nothing,” you say hastily.

She smirks. “If you’re watching porn or something, I’m more than happy to give you a few minutes alone.”

“You just startled me, that’s all,” you mutter, picking your phone up and turning it back on. It comes back to life zoomed in on Agatha’s phone number and your cheeks heat up.

Chewing on your lip, you tilt your head to Wanda and then back to your screen. You think about asking her for advice but there’s a voice in the back of your mind nagging that Agatha could get in trouble.

If she did give you her number, she took a risk. And although she could play it off and there’s no actual way to tie it to you, you don’t want to take that chance.

So you make a new contact for Agatha, choosing not to add a last name just in case. You open a new message and the space bar blinks at you, making your heart beating fast and heavy.

Even just the thought of sending something makes your stomach twist.

Letter by letter, you type out an introduction text and your finger hovers over the send button. It feels like time is slowing down, like your head is spinning. Should you do it?

You think you might throw up from the ball of nerves growing inside you.

“How’s Morgan?” Wanda asks casually while scrolling on her phone in her bed. You swallow hard and glance over.

“She’s good I think,” you rasp and then clear your throat. “We haven’t talked since our date yesterday.”

Wanda glances over at you. “You didn’t text her or anything?” The judgement is clear and you vaguely remember seeing a message from Morgan earlier that you forget to respond to.

Whoops.

Even when you’re trying to be invested in Morgan, your thoughts still find a way back to Agatha.

“I will in a bit,” you mutter and Wanda snorts because you both know it’s a lie. You turn your attention back to your phone where your text to your professor is still waiting to be sent or deleted.

The butterflies in your stomach come back with a vengeance and you feel like you’ve been torn in half. What the fuck should you do?

There’s not a good enough reason to text her. But you want to. What would you even say? Come up with a question about the presentation. What if she thinks you’re acting too desperate? What if you’re completely off-base with how you’re perceiving this?

The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth and you realize you’ve broken through the skin on your lip with how hard you’ve been biting it. You start to chew on your nails instead, still staring at your phone.

The screen starts to go dark and you tap it, a burst of panic flashing through you when you realize that your finger almost landed on the send button. Eventually, your heart rate returns to normal but it feels like your typed out message is mocking you.

You can’t do it. It’s too much of a risk and you don’t want to look like a fool when it turns out that Agatha doesn’t actually like you like that.

Deleting the text, you turn your phone off, slightly disgusted and disappointed with yourself. If only you were someone who didn’t have to overthink every single possible thing that could go wrong if you decided to take a chance.

Your phone buzzes and you have a momentary lapse in judgement in which you think Agatha somehow texted you first. You grab it quickly, breathing quickening, and scan it.

It’s just Morgan.

Hey. Just wanted to check in again. Maybe we could do something this weekend if you’re free?

Rolling over onto your side to face the wall, you quietly groan and turn your phone off, ignoring her.

—

On Sunday afternoon, you decide to go for a run. The August air in New Jersey is nice and cool and you really need to clear your head.

You spent all yesterday in your room pondering what to do about Agatha. You had come to the conclusion that you weren’t going to text her—not unless there was a good enough reason to. And you weren’t exactly sure what that would look like, but you were now hoping more than anything that you’d get one.

Wanda barely looks up when you change into a white tank top and athletic shorts and leave the dorm room. She was with Nat all of Saturday and you remember her saying that they’re going out for dinner tonight as well.

She had invited you and Morgan to come as a double date, but you still hadn’t responded to Morgan and you felt like you couldn’t just ask her if she wanted to go out again. You’d have to say you were really sick or something.

Once outside, you stretch your legs, wincing at the burn. Working out is never something you really enjoy doing, but every now and then, you get in the mood for it. You think a nice run, maybe a mile or two, will do you some good.

You put your airpods in your ears, click a song at random to start your playlist, and take a deep breath.

The moment you start running, you regret it but the burn in your legs is doing wonders to get you from thinking about Agatha so you push through the pain and keep going. The thump of your shoes against the pavement becomes a rhythm and before you know it, you’ve gotten off campus and you’re now running down the side of the road.

Sweat stings your eyes and your lungs ache so you welcome the darkening of the clouds above you and the light drizzle that starts to come down.

Until the drizzle turns into a downpour and puddles are drenching your shoes and socks and you can hardly see two feet in front of you and you have to stop. You’re almost a mile away from your dorm and there is no way you’re going to be able to get back in the rain like this, but luckily, there’s a grocery store a few hundred yards away.

The cold air hits you the second the doors slide open and your teeth begin chattering. Your clothes cling to your body, water droplets running down your arms and legs, and you make a beeline to find a jacket or anything that will warm you up.

Heat from the deli counter radiates and seeps into your bones so you go stand next to it, pretending to check out the fried chicken while you’re actually getting feeling back into your limbs.

“Late lunch?” someone says next to you and you inwardly roll your eyes before turning to look at them, about to make some polite but passive aggressive comment but instead your mouth falls open.

It’s Professor Harkness.

She’s staring at you amusedly, eyes wandering over your soaked body. Her stare pauses and you glance down and notice, in dismay, that your white shirt is almost completely see-through and your green bra is very noticeable.

Along with your hardened nipples from the cold.

“Following me around?” you joke and don’t miss the way her eyes darken.

Agatha takes a step closer and her perfume overwhelms your senses. She’s wearing a blue shirt tucked neatly into jeans with Keds and her hair down and a little frizzy from the rain and humidity. It feels like you’re sucking air through a small straw.

“I thought I’d test out the mere exposure effect on my favorite student,” she says, a teasing smile playing on her lips. Your heart skips a beat.

Her favorite student?

You hum, pretending to be nonchalant, trying to maintain eye contact. “Is that the one where you like things the more familiar you are with them?”

“Exactly. Is it working?”

It’s hard to tell whether or not she’s being serious. “I mean, you are my favorite professor so…I guess?”

Agatha snorts, but looks silently pleased. “I’m kidding, hon. As Freud may have said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. I just came to get some groceries,” she nods at the basket in her hand that’s full of fruit, lunch meat, and chips, “and I saw you standing here. Thought you looked a bit wet.”

Your cunt actually clenches around nothing and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Just got caught in the rain on a run,” you say finally, your thumbnail finding its way between your teeth. She tracks the movement with a knowing smirk and you feel your cheeks heat up. “The one time I actually go work out. The universe is out to get me, I guess.”

Agatha nods conspiratorially while you shift your weight between legs, both from the cold and from the awkwardness settling. Should you ask about the phone number? Is she upset that you didn’t text?

“How much do you know about the idea about the locus of control?” she asks suddenly.

You eye her a bit wearily, the gleam on her face signaling nothing but trouble. “I mean, I’ve heard a bit about it. An internal locus of control means you think you have authority over your life and external doesn’t?”

Agatha nods and your stomach twists pleasantly. “Internal versus external locus of control. How much control do you think you have over your life? Do you wait for things to just happen—or do you make them happen?”

With the way she’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world, you think for a second that she could be talking about you pursuing her.

Which would be insane.

She sees your confusion and gives you a coy smile. “I don’t think the universe is out to get you, hon. I think you’re perfectly capable of getting everything you want all by yourself.”

“So, you’re saying I should get back out there and run back to my dorm in the rain?” you ask, swallowing roughly at the dark glint in her eye.

Does she know that she’s everything you want?

Agatha glances toward the front of the store where you both can see the downpour through the sliding glass doors. “No. I can’t have you getting sick. I’ll drive you back.”

Before you can say anything, she motions for you to follow her and you do—you trail after her like a lost puppy, like one of Pavlov’s dogs that salivates at just the sight of its owner. You stand obediently by her side while she pays for her groceries after asking if you need anything and then you jog after her to her black Range Rover parked close to the front of the lot.

Once you slam the door shut, Agatha turns on the car and reaches over to turn on your heated seat.

Is she even allowed to do this?

Will anyone know?

She gives you her phone with the maps app pulled up for you to put your address in. You type in the name of your dorm and hand it back to her.

“Are you from here?” she asks, effortlessly backing out of the spot and you’re distracted by the way her hands move.

Agatha glances at you and you realize that you’ve been staring at her. You clear your throat. “Um, no, I’m from out-of-state. I knew I wanted to go somewhere up north, though, for the cold and to get a little distance from home. I just fell in love with Westview when I was touring places. It’s a really cute town and I really like the school. And I read good reviews about the psychology department so it just seemed like the perfect place.”

She nods like she’s in agreement. “It is really nice here.”

“What about you? Have you been in Westview your whole life?”

Agatha tilts her head from side to side like the answer is complicated. “Most of it. I understand wanting to get some distance from home.”

You study her face, running your eyes over the lines on her forehead and the slight wrinkles by the corner of her blue eyes and her pointed nose. She seems unguarded right now, unlike the way she is in class.

This might be the first time you and her have had a conversation outside of impromptu ambiguous psychology lessons and school. This might be your favorite version of her.

“You’re graduating in the spring, right?” she breaks the silence and you’re once again startled to find out that she knows that about you. First your name and now what year you are in college?

You looked her up, but what are the chances she looked you up?

She’s probably just being a good professor. She probably knows all her students’ names and years. You push the nagging voice out of your head.

“Yep! Kind of crazy. I still don’t know what I’m going to do after this.”

Agatha pats your leg, her palm on your bare skin, and you freeze. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re very bright, hon.”

“Thank you,” you stammer, cheeks burning with a ferocious fire. She takes her hand back but you can still feel the ghost of her touch.

She tosses you a wink. “And if you don’t find something, I could always use a research assistant. The pay isn’t great but you do get a stipend and if you wanted to go to graduate school here, it would help with that.”

“What kind of research?”

“Oh, this and that,” she hums and turns onto the street that your dorm is on. The rain has slowed down. “I want to do practical, real-life work based on theories from psychologists like B.F. Skinner and Mary Ainsworth and such. I’m always looking for students to recruit and I think you could be a great fit. If you’d be interested. Obviously I don’t want to rob you of something that you’re actually interested in.”

You shake your head adamantly. “No, that seems like something I would want to do.” As long as it keeps you close to Agatha, you think you might do anything, even without knowing what it is. And the idea of getting something lined up for after graduation is also very enticing.

Agatha grins and pulls up right in front of your building, shifting the car into park. “I’ll be sure to keep you in mind then, hon. Have a great rest of the weekend and I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

You give her a smile and her gaze drops down to your lips and the tension becomes palpable. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing and heartbeat and then she leans over the center console.

Biting your lip, you’re stuck frozen in your seat as her perfume wafts into your nostrils and she reaches around you, her dark blue eyes meeting yours.

There’s a click as the car door unlocks from behind you—all Agatha’s doing—and she pulls back to settle into her seat, a smug smile on her face. You’re disappointed but also strangely relieved—if she was going to kiss you, you’d want it to not be in her car while you’re still wet and freezing from the rain.

“See you tomorrow,” you rasp before wrenching open the door and trying to walk as calmly as possible to the door. When you turn around, you see her still parked out front, watching and waiting for you to go inside. Your heart warms at the gesture and she doesn’t drive away until you’ve safely gotten in the building and pressed the button for the elevator.

You strip off your still-drenched clothes the second you get back to your dorm and grab some new ones before going to take a shower. While the water warms, you stand there shivering, not thinking of anything else but Agatha.

Internal versus external locus of control. How much control do you think you have over your life? Do you wait for things to just happen—or do you make them happen?

Is it about the phone number? You can almost convince yourself that she wants you to text her, that she wants you.

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Are things really just what they seem? Is Agatha really what she seems? It’s like she’s telling you something, spelling it out for you, but you’re missing the final piece to make sense of it all. The phone number could be the cigar. The way she looks at you and makes ambiguous comments could be the cigar. Is there a chance she’s being so obvious, so real, and you’re just not able to accept the fact that your professor might like you?

You think you might be losing your mind with this obsession.

The shower burns your skin but does little to clean off the growing feeling inside you that threatens to swallow you whole. Even through your confusion, there’s still the fire in your stomach, the embers of your conversation with Agatha fresh and making you reel.

When you accidentally brush your legs together, the slight pressure on your clit makes you jump and you realize just how wet you are. Your upper thighs are slick and you run a hand through your folds and pull your fingers away dripping.

“Fuck,” you breathe. You put a leg up on the tub and begin to lazily rub at your clit, hips bucking, and you almost slip. Holding onto the wall with your other hand for balance, you’re able to get more leverage without the risk of hurting yourself and you feel your walls clench around nothing when you resume your motions.

It doesn’t take long for you to get close and you’re about to slide a finger into yourself when there’s a banging on the bathroom door.

“Can you hurry up please?” someone shouts and you jump. You and Wanda share a conjoined bathroom with another dorm and sometimes they have the worst timing.

“Yeah, sorry, just a second!” you call back over the rush of the shower but the knocking continues. You grumble and step out, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

You swing the door open to find your suitemate Chelsea standing there, a panicked look on her face.

Before you can ask if she’s okay, she rushes past you into the bathroom and closes the door. “I really need to pee,” she tells you and you clench your jaw in frustration, both at her and not being able to cum.

Quickly throwing on your clothes, you climb into bed and bend your legs up. You’ll just have to finish what you started.

The first brush against your clit has you lightly moaning, still worked up from the shower. You try to think of Morgan at first, the way she fucked you at the party a week ago. Her fingers had twisted skillfully and her thumb had rubbed against your clit in a way that made you keen. And god—her smell. The vanilla and coffee and something else, something dangerous. You can see her in your mind, the slight smile on her lips as she watched you while she fucked you. Your hips move in an attempt to feel more but it doesn’t work.

But then her face morphs into someone else—someone else with dark hair and blue eyes and the same addictive scent.

Agatha.

A gasp escapes you as you involuntarily jerk, a flash of pleasure bolting up your spine.

“Oh, god,” you murmur. The picture of your professor with her fingers inside you makes your walls violently clench and electricity cackles under your skin.

Your mind wanders and you swear you can see Agatha in front of you, clear as day, smirking while she condescendingly coos psychology facts at you and fucks you.

Her fingers would fill you so nicely, her tongue on your clit would feel so nice, and your head tosses on the pillow as your back arches off the bed.

“Fuck,” you whine as you slide a finger into yourself and curl it up, your palm bumping against your clit. Your eyes roll back—it should be her touching you right now, claiming you.

Your hips move faster, taking your finger as deep as you can and you add another one into your wet cunt. Squelching sounds fill the air along with your pants and your wetness trickles out of your pussy and down onto the bed. Your other hand pinches your nipple the way you imagine she would.

The Agatha in your mind scrapes her teeth against your breast and then swirls her tongue around your nipple while she chuckles at how breathless you sound. She makes her way down, biting and sucking on the expanse of your stomach so you know exactly who you belong to.

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss as you twist your fingers and stroke your clit with your thumb. You’re fucking yourself fast and hard, giving up all pretenses of trying to take your time. You need this too bad.

You need Agatha.

Pleasure tingles in your veins and your chest heaves as you now think about what she would taste like, what it would be like to make her feel good. You can see her writhing under you, thighs tensing up as you tease her clit with your mouth. Is she loud? Would she moan your name when she cums?

Imagining it’s her guiding you, teaching you, you yank on your hair and the sting makes the euphoria more acute. You gasp loudly, hips bucking, walls clenching around your fingers. You know you look like an absolute mess right now, completely and utterly ruined for your professor, but you don’t care.

For a fraction of a second, you wonder what she would do if you took a picture of yourself and sent it to her.

Would she instantly block you?

Or would she fuck herself to the sight?

A guttural moan tears itself out of your throat at the thought. You can visualize her confusedly clicking on a text from an unknown number, only to find her student masturbating, and then sliding a hand into her pants to relieve the tension.

The same tension that’s building in your lower stomach.

You turn your head and pant open-mouthed against your shoulder and your hips keep moving furiously to match your thrusts.

Agatha’s hair would be sprawled beneath her, the veins in her hand prominent and outlined as she fingered herself. As much as you want to touch her and taste her and make her feel good, you also want to watch. You want to watch her be in control of her own pleasure the same way she commands your class.

You press against your special spot and rub and keep doing that but something is missing. It feels so fucking good but you’re right on the edge and you need more.

Your subconscious knows it before you do and you pull your fingers out of you and roll to face your nightstand. Yanking open the drawer, you begin to rummage through, knowing that you threw it in here somewhere.

Finally, through the pulsing of your clit, you manage to find the box and you rip it open. The small, dark vial of Black Opium lays in your palm and your breathing becomes laborious.

It’s like you’re in a trance as you twist the applicator out and spray it. Instantly, the sensual smell of coffee, vanilla, and spice fills the air and you inhale deeply. The scent lingers as you close your eyes and your cunt aches to be filled.

Now, it’s even easier to imagine Agatha when you slide your fingers back into your waiting pussy and the sensations are heightened tenfold because of the perfume.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” you cry, the muscles in your stomach tightening and your hips rolling. Everything is so much clearer now, like the pleasure you were feeling before was muted. You can hear Agatha’s voice showering you with praises like she always does and it’s like she’s right there—you’re right there and with one more thrust, you fall over the edge, the dam of tension exploding and rushing through your body.

You keep rubbing your clit and fucking your fingers fast to prolong the feeling and you can’t help the name that falls from your lips.

“Agatha.”

The aftershocks of your orgasm make you twitch until you finally come down from your high and you lie limply on your bed, completely spent. You know you should feel guilty and maybe a little bit shameful for that, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not after you just came harder than you ever have in your whole life.

There’s no denying that you are absolutely and irrevocably fucked for your professor.

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand and you crane your neck to look at the lit-up screen.

It’s Morgan, again. You still haven’t responded to her.

Chewing on your lip, you grab your phone and do possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your life. You open a new chat and your heart pounds in sync with each letter you type.

Hey, Professor. Thanks for the ride today.

You re-read your message until the words don’t even make sense before hitting send and then you immediately throw it back onto the nightstand, praying that you didn’t just fuck everything up.

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luigilore · 1 day ago

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Hiii i’m having an awful flair up because i’m on my period, and reading anyyyyything lu + pain related would be so great. either he takes care of us or we take care of him or visceversa. esp if it’s like vulnerable and tender. thank you so much mwah <3 also no pressure if this isn’t something you wanna write today :D

luigi x reader with chronic pain, taking care of you (a/n: i am sorry this took so long also i hope you're feeling better!! i kept it vague re the exact pain but i really hope you like it <33)

luigi enters your shared bedroom quietly, just in case you’re sleeping. you're not– your pain instead spreads throughout your body and invades your mind like a parasite.

“i got the heating pad,” luigi murmurs, holding it up with a soft smile and what you can tell are analytical eyes, silently assessing your state.

"thank you," you mutter halfway into your pillow.

“a hallmark of a strong relationship is a shared heating pad,” he jokes, bending down to plug it in. when he stands up, a hand comes almost instinctively to intertwine with your own.

“i grabbed some epsom salts when i picked up your medicine- if you want a bath later," he adds.

sometimes you feel like luigi is so unfairly good that maybe you don't deserve him; deserve his tender patience or the energy he's put into researching remedies. but he always rejects those worries flat out, he knows how you feel, because he feels like that too sometimes. luigi always makes a pointed effort to how strong you are and how much he loves you whenever you have bad flare ups.

right now, you just want to pull him closer and let him hold you and forget everything else, an enticing offer, but your pain makes your mind focus on other more consuming things.

“what if it doesn’t go away,” you whisper, avoiding his eyes as he sits down on the edge of the bed next to you.

“then we’ll deal with it. if that happens,” he says carefully. you sometimes go back and forth with each other like this, trading reassurances. it just sounds so much better coming from luigi than it ever could from the voice in your head. it's always 'we' and you're glad that it is. he gently turns your chin to look directly into your eyes, hazel flecks from the sunlight streaming in through the windows, “right?”

"yeah," you say eventually, a bit distantly, "sorry."

luigi scoffs indignantly, "what could you possibly be sorry for?"

"i dunno. moping, making you cancel your plans." luigi had plans this afternoon to go to a yoga class with his friend but your flare up made him cancel- even though you still encouraged him to go.

luigi frowns and raises his brows. "first of all, you're not moping. second, shockingly, you're a bit more important to me than a yoga class, even with the cancellation fee."

"just a bit," you echo.

"yeah," he laughs, warm thumb rubbing across your palm, hands still interlocked. “you know i love vinyasa.”

you smile up at him and the silence between you is comfortable, like it always is.

“i just-" you start and struggle to find the right words, luigi doesn’t interrupt you and waits patiently, “feel like a bit of a burden.”

you cringe slightly at how vulnerable your voice sounds, something only luigi would get to hear. he smiles sadly, “i get it,” he starts slowly.

you look up at him with an equally sad look, taking an opportunity to fill a second of silence, “i wish you didn’t.”

luigi hums, like what can you truly do. “but, you're not a burden. not to me. or anyone. plus i like feeling useful and taking care of you," he says, which you know is true. your wide smile at him makes his cheeks burn red- even after years together.

“did you eat while i was gone?” he asks after a few beats of silence, looking at you expectantly with raised brows, knowing the probable answer. you look at him sheepishly and that’s enough of an answer for him.

"you still have to eat even when you’re hurting," luigi says disapprovingly with knitted brows. he stands up and you frown as your hands break apart. "i can go get us something," he checks the time on his watch and laughs lightly, “we can have an early dinner.”

"i just want you to stay here," you say honestly, maybe a bit desperately, voice hoarse.

“let me make you something then,” he says easily, “we need a grocery trip but i’ll get creative.”

you smile and he does to; sometimes the amount of love he looks at you with overwhelms you in a really nice and tender and precious way. a feeling you want to hold onto for a long time. "thank you," you whisper.

“you do the same for me,” luigi says. like it's simple- and maybe it is.

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fluff #luigi mangione imagine

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priceoftheduchess · 11 hours ago

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ghost!reader x honorably discharged!simon

Simon thought he was mental. Coming back to his flat after the most excruciating (and literally career-ending) mission of his life, just to start hearing noises? And for things to randomly go flying off shelves? Simon was sure his head was done in. He’d hit it a little too hard and now he’s reaping what he sowed.

But no! Unbeknownst to Simon, it was you! You’d passed away in 1813 due to a bad, bad case of consumption just before marriage. (Modern-day TB). Floating around in a baby blue day-gown, silk gloves and your hair eternally tied into a curled updo. You weren’t harmful, no, quite the contrary. You were just trying to navigate the new space where your castle had once been.

Blank white walls, tall windows and minimal design was sacrilege. Where is the stained glass?! Why is there no photo of the King at every corner? This space was weird. Knocking glasses into the floor and stepping where the creaks were had to be a part of the acclimation process.

Now, problem is, Simon hadn’t seen you. You saw Simon. ‘Oh, he has to be the head of this house. He must have some answers,’ you thought.

Except, you freaked him the fuck out. All he felt were cold, subtle grazes on his arm and the hairs on his neck standing up. But eventually, the more he started to understand? The more he saw you.

A glimpse of a woman’s perfume bottle in the corner of his eye, only for him to blink and it disappear. The feeling of silks against his back leg in bed when his sheets are nothing of the sort.

And then eventually, one night after the pub, it was you. In the flesh. Well, not really. He was drunk, stumbling into his flat by the skin of his teeth. It started with your voice, a soft giggle in empty air.

“Too much gin, my Lord?” You observed him, a soft silhouette of you on the couch. Proof of your existence in the couch cushion, a shape forming under your weight. A book was open in your hands. Some book on a war you didn’t even live to see.

“The fuck?” Simon sobers quickly, like he’s just been shot. You look appalled, either because of the word he used — or the fact that you haven’t learned that word yet.

“My Lord,” you scold him, hand clutched on your ghastly pearls. “Wretched speak in our castle? Hm,” a disapproving hum slips from your lips, and Simon is … disappointed in himself. And then he realizes he is talking to a ghost.

Ghost talking with a ghost. Very funny, universe.

“Who are you?” He orders, slipping off his shoes. Despite his voice’s aggressive tone, he is cautious in approaching you. Like you will vanish at the sight of barred teeth.

“Perhaps I am your wife. I haven’t got an idea our relations.” You shrugged, setting the book aside. “What a fantastical story,” you laugh softly. It has a soft echo to it, as if you’re in a cave. “Despite it being fictitious, it is very enthralling.” You tap the book, getting up and floating past him.

Floating through him. Shivers scale up and down his body and he feels as though he’s just… well, he feels as though he’s floating in post-pleasure bliss. He gawks at you, because how dare you walk through him?!

“What, my Lord?” You ask, trying your best to open the fridge. You haven’t quite grasped the concept yet. Simon just waves a hand, mumbles something vaguely vulgar and walks to his room. This is tomorrow’s problem.

Tomorrow comes with you — translucent and yet so fucking beautiful — sat on the side of his bed with tea and a wet rag. “My Lord, you are burning like a thousand suns. Your face is the color of a ripe tomato,” you tsk again, pressing the rag to his head and the rim of the teacup to his lips, urging him to drink.

It goes on like this for a while, you materializing when Simon gets home and floating around the house helping him with things. He finally gets to hold you one night, when you are taking some strange kind of ghost-nap, and you have your guard down. Shifting you into his arms, he is mesmerized by the way you feel. Your entire skin is bliss, silky texture and a cooling sensation.

You awake with a gloved hand on his chest, embarrassed with yourself because this man is the head of this house! Surely his wife will come and find you two.

“No,” he assures you, playing with the fabric of your paranormal gown, “I have found my wife.”

No one will ever believe him, but that’s okay.

#any tag involving cod to be honest #blueberrybabbles #call of duty fic #cod au #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley drabble #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #fem reader #cod fic #ghost reader

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kaiyunsim · 2 days ago

Text

skit —

pairing : idol!riwoo x non-idol!reader

summary : riwoo decides to practice his choreo but you decide to interrupt which totally throws off his flow. some banter and talk happens before you get a private dance lesson from the one and only

warnings : fluff, comfort, angst if you REALLY look for it but not really,

a/n : i love riwoo, can you tell.

[19.99 masterlist]

— wc : 6.9k — not proof read ! —

you don’t really have a reason to be here.

that’s what you think as you push open the slightly heavy practice room door, peeking inside cautiously. the room is dimly lit except for the bright, overhead lights reflecting off the mirrored walls. the soft squeak of sneakers against the smooth floor fills the space, along with the sound of a song you vaguely recognize playing from the speakers.

and in the middle of it all is riwoo.

he doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on the music and his own movement. his body moves in perfect rhythm, each step sharp but fluid, like he isn’t even thinking about it, just feeling it. you’ve always known riwoo was a great dancer, but seeing him like this, completely lost in his own world, is something else.

you hesitate in the doorway, feeling like you’ve just stepped into a place you’re not supposed to be. maybe you should leave before he—

“you just gonna stand there?”

his voice startles you, cutting through the music as he suddenly turns to face you. his expression is unreadable at first, but then the corners of his lips twitch, and you can tell he’s holding back a grin.

busted.

“i—” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the way heat rushes to your face. “i didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“you didn’t,” he says, walking over to the speaker to pause the music. the silence that follows makes you even more aware of how awkward you probably look standing there. “just didn’t expect to see you here.”

“yeah, uh…” you shift on your feet, realizing you don’t actually have a good excuse for being here. “i was… around?”

riwoo raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “oh? just happened to wander into my practice room by accident?”

“something like that.”

he laughs, finally letting his amusement show. “wow, i didn’t know i was so lucky to have you randomly stumble into my life like this.”

you roll your eyes, but the playful tint in his voice makes it hard to be annoyed. riwoo has always had a way of making you feel at ease, even when he’s teasing you.

he tilts his head toward the empty space next to him. “since you’re already here, you might as well stay.”

you hesitate for a moment, but then nod, stepping fully into the room and letting the door close behind you. as you do, riwoo watches you with a curious expression, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“seriously, though,” he says, stretching his arms over his head before shaking out his limbs. “what made you come?”

you shrug, looking anywhere but at him. “just wanted to see you dance.”

there’s a brief pause, and when you finally glance at him, you find him smirking.

“oh? you wanted to see me?”

“i didn’t say it like that.”

“no, no, you totally did.” he crosses his arms, looking way too pleased with himself. “should i be flattered?”

“i take it back. i didn’t want to see you.”

riwoo places a hand over his chest, pretending to be hurt. “wow. cold.”

you shake your head, sighing. “i can leave if you want—”

“nah,” he interrupts, grinning. “you’re already here. might as well make yourself comfortable.”

you exhale, finally allowing yourself to relax a little. moving to the side of the room, you lean against the wall, watching as riwoo walks back to the center of the floor. he picks up a water bottle from the ground, taking a quick sip before stretching again.

“so?” he says, glancing at you. “ready to be amazed?”

“you really think highly of yourself, huh?”

“i mean, you did come all the way here just to watch me, so…”

you groan, covering your face with your hands. “please just dance.”

he laughs but doesn’t tease you any further, turning back toward the mirror as he restarts the music. and just like that, he’s in his element again.

you watch as he moves effortlessly, each step calculated yet natural. the way his body flows with the beat is mesmerizing, like he was born to do this. you’ve always admired his passion, the way he lights up when he’s doing something he loves. seeing it up close like this makes you understand even more why dance means so much to him.

when the song ends, riwoo turns back to you, slightly out of breath. “so?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. “impressed?”

you pretend to think about it for a second, just to mess with him. “hmm. i’ve seen better.”

his jaw drops. “excuse me?”

you laugh, and he narrows his eyes at you. “oh, you’re lucky i’m tired, or i’d make you prove you can do better.”

“bold of you to assume i’d even try.”

“exactly.” he smirks. “you’d lose.”

you shake your head, unable to hide your smile. the playful back-and-forth is so natural, so easy, and you feel yourself fully relaxing in his presence.

riwoo takes another sip of water before plopping down on the floor, patting the space next to him. “sit.”

you raise an eyebrow. “demanding much?”

“just sit.”

rolling your eyes, you drop down beside him, stretching your legs out in front of you. for a moment, neither of you say anything. the room is quiet except for the soft hum of the speaker and the distant sound of people passing by in the hallway.

“you really weren’t expecting me to come, huh?” you say after a beat.

riwoo shakes his head. “nope.”

“were you… happy to see me?”

he turns his head slightly, eyes meeting yours. there’s something softer in his expression now, something unreadable. for a second, you think he might actually say something sincere.

but then—

“hmm,” he hums, pretending to think. “i mean, it was a little annoying.”

you nudge him with your shoulder. “you suck.”

he laughs, nudging you back. “yeah, yeah. but you still came to see me.”

you don’t reply, just rolling your eyes again as he grins. and maybe he’s right. maybe you did come just to see him.

but you’re not going to admit that out loud. not yet, anyway.

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor with riwoo, but neither of you seem in a rush to move.

he’s still slightly out of breath from dancing, but he doesn’t seem tired, just relaxed. you watch as he leans back on his palms, stretching his legs out in front of him. his hoodie is slightly damp from sweat, hair a little messy, but he looks completely at ease.

"so," he starts, turning his head toward you, "you really just came all the way here with no plan?"

you hum, pretending to think. "pretty much."

he shakes his head, amused. "you’re lucky i’m nice, otherwise i’d kick you out for interrupting my practice."

"nice? you?" you snort. "that’s funny."

riwoo gasps dramatically, hand over his chest. "wow. first, you insult my dancing skills, and now you’re attacking my character? unbelievable."

"i never insulted your dancing. i just said i’ve seen better."

"that’s the same thing."

"nope. but if you feel insecure about it, i won’t judge."

he glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it. instead of responding, he suddenly leans forward, grabbing his bag from the side of the room and unzipping it. you watch as he pulls out a small plastic bag filled with snacks, shaking it slightly.

"i was gonna eat these alone," he says, opening the bag. "but since you’re here, i guess i can share."

"wow, how generous of you," you say, voice dripping with sarcasm, but you still accept the snack when he hands it to you.

you pop it into your mouth, chewing slowly, and riwoo watches you with a curious expression. "good, right?"

you shrug. "it’s alright."

"you’re so ungrateful," he sighs, shaking his head. "this is why i don’t share."

"you literally just said you were gonna eat these alone."

"and?"

you roll your eyes but take another anyway, and he smirks, clearly pleased. the conversation drifts into nothing for a moment, just the sound of snacks crunching and the occasional shuffle of fabric as you both adjust your positions.

then, riwoo speaks again.

"you ever think about what it’s like?"

you glance at him. "what?"

he gestures vaguely. "this. the whole… being an idol thing."

you pause, considering his words. it’s not like you’ve never thought about it before, but hearing riwoo bring it up so casually makes you more aware of just how much it actually means to him.

"i guess," you say after a moment. "but it’s probably not the same as actually experiencing it."

"yeah." he leans back, letting his head rest against the mirror. "it’s weird, sometimes. like, i always knew this was what i wanted, but now that i’m here, it still doesn’t feel real, you know?"

you study him for a moment. his expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his voice that feels heavier than usual.

"does it ever get overwhelming?" you ask.

he laughs, but it’s softer this time. "of course. all the time."

"but you love it?"

he nods. "yeah. i really do."

you can tell by the way he says it that he means it. there’s a kind of quiet certainty in his voice, the kind that only comes from doing something you truly care about.

"what’s the best part?" you ask.

he tilts his head, thinking. "probably performing. there’s something about being on stage that makes everything feel worth it. like, no matter how exhausted i am, the second i step in front of a crowd, it just… disappears."

"like adrenaline?"

"yeah, but more than that." he exhales, staring at the ceiling. "it’s hard to explain. it’s like… in that moment, nothing else matters. it’s just me, the music, and the people watching."

you try to imagine it. standing on stage, lights shining down, thousands of people watching, cheering, singing along. it’s a world so different from your own, but the way riwoo talks about it makes it sound almost magical.

"and the worst part?" you ask quietly.

he hesitates for a second before sighing. "probably how little time i have for anything else."

you blink. "anything else?"

"like…" he gestures vaguely again. "normal stuff. being able to just go out without thinking about who might recognize me. spending time with people without feeling guilty about not practicing. not having to constantly worry about what comes next."

"but you always seem so laid-back," you point out.

he grins. "yeah, well. cameras only capture the good things."

there’s something about the way he says it that makes your chest feel strangely heavy. you’ve always known that being an idol isn’t easy, but hearing riwoo talk about it like this makes it feel more real, more complicated.

"do you ever regret it?" you ask.

he shakes his head immediately. "never."

you raise an eyebrow. "not even a little?"

"not even a little." he turns his head to look at you, and there’s something steady in his gaze. "it’s hard, yeah. but i don’t think i’d ever want to do anything else."

you hold his gaze for a moment before nodding. "that’s cool."

he snorts. "that’s all you have to say?"

"what do you want me to say? ‘wow, riwoo, you’re so inspirational’?"

he grins. "i wouldn’t mind."

you roll your eyes. "you’re impossible."

"and yet, you’re still here, listening to me ramble."

"because i have nothing better to do."

"ouch," he says, but he’s still smiling.

the room falls into silence again, but it’s not awkward. it’s the kind of quiet that feels comfortable, like neither of you need to fill the space with words.

then, riwoo exhales and stretches his arms over his head. "anyway," he says, shaking off the heavier atmosphere, "you should be honored, you know."

you glance at him. "why?"

"because i don’t usually open up like this," he says dramatically. "you’re one of the lucky few who gets to hear my deep, emotional thoughts."

"oh wow," you deadpan. "i feel so special."

"you should!" he nudges you with his knee. "i could be spending this break eating my snacks in peace, but instead, i’m here having an emotional heart-to-heart with you."

"right. so selfless of you."

"i know, right?"

you shake your head, laughing. "whatever you say, riwoo."

he grins, leaning back on his palms again. "you should come by more often."

you glance at him, surprised by the casual way he says it. "oh?"

"yeah," he shrugs. "it’s nice, having someone to talk to between practices. plus, you keep me entertained."

"so i’m basically your personal comedian?"

"exactly."

you scoff. "you’re the worst."

"but you’ll still come, right?"

you don’t know why, but the question makes your chest feel warm.

you roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your lips. "yeah, yeah. i’ll think about it."

riwoo just smirks, like he already knows your answer.

"alright, break time’s over," riwoo announces, pushing himself up from the floor.

you groan, still comfortably seated on the mat. "that was barely a break."

"you’ve been sitting there doing nothing," he says, rolling his eyes. "you don’t need a break."

"mentally, i do."

he huffs a laugh, then stretches his arms above his head. he looks over at you, then smirks. "actually, since you’ve been here for so long, why don’t you try dancing?"

you blink, caught off guard. "huh?"

"yeah, you’re just sitting there watching. might as well join in."

"no thanks," you reply quickly.

"why not?" he presses, stepping closer to you. "it’s not like i’m asking you to perform. just a couple moves."

"riwoo," you say, shaking your head. "i don’t dance."

"so?"

"so, i’m not about to make a fool of myself."

he smirks, not at all deterred. "sounds like an excuse to me."

"it is," you admit, feeling no shame about it.

he laughs lightly. "whatever, you’ll regret it if you don’t at least try." without waiting for a response, he reaches down and grabs your wrist, tugging you to your feet.

"come on," he says, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

"this is such a bad idea," you mutter, trying to resist, but he’s annoyingly strong.

"it’ll be fun," he says, grinning. "trust me."

you have no choice but to follow as he leads you to the center of the practice room. he steps back a little, putting a little distance between the two of you, and nods.

"alright, watch closely. i’ll teach you something simple."

"define simple," you murmur under your breath.

he gives you a side-eye. "simple as in, you can totally do this."

"we’ll see about that."

he just chuckles. "don’t overthink it. just feel the beat, okay?"

he moves, easily sliding into a smooth groove that matches the rhythm of the music playing in the background. it’s nothing crazy, just a few steps, but the way he moves, the way his body naturally flows with the beat. it’s effortless.

you watch him for a moment, trying to process how easy he makes it look.

"alright, your turn," he says, nodding at you.

you hesitate, unsure of yourself. you glance at him nervously. "i’m not so sure about this…"

"don’t worry about it," he says easily. "just follow what i do. we’ll go slow."

you take a deep breath and try. you start to mimic his movements, but almost immediately, you realize how awkward you feel. your body’s not moving the way you want it to, and you can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous you must look.

riwoo watches you, and for a second, you swear you see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"you’re way too stiff," he says, though there’s no mockery in his tone.

"i know," you mutter, stopping mid-move.

he sighs lightly and steps closer. "don’t think so hard. just move."

"i am moving," you argue, but it’s not with any real bite.

"you look like a robot," he teases, then places his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you back into position.

your heart skips a beat as his fingers lightly press into your skin, and for a second, you freeze. you’ve never been so aware of someone’s touch before, especially not in a situation like this.

"relax," he says, his voice low and patient. "i’m just adjusting you. don’t be so tense."

"i’m not tense," you protest, even though you can feel yourself stiffening under his touch.

"yes, you are," he says with a quiet laugh. "just let go a little."

there’s something about his voice that makes it hard to resist. his hands are still on your shoulders, and the warmth of his touch lingers as he gently moves you, shifting your stance, adjusting your arms.

when he steps back, he gives you space again, and you take a deep breath.

"try it again," he encourages, his tone gentle but confident. "but this time, just let it flow."

you give it another go, and it’s still awkward, but somehow, it feels a little better. less forced. less stiff. you move, more in sync with the rhythm than you thought you could.

"that’s it," riwoo says, nodding approvingly. "see? you just needed to relax."

you glance at him, then shrug as nonchalantly as you can. "yeah, well, don’t get used to it."

he smirks. "we’ll see about that."

just as you start to get a little more comfortable with the movements, he steps back, an idea apparently lighting up his eyes.

"hey," he says, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "why don’t we take this up a notch?"

you raise an eyebrow, unsure. "what do you mean?"

"i’ll teach you a choreo," he says, not waiting for you to respond. "it’s not that hard. i promise."

"riwoo…" you start to protest, but he’s already moving into position, signaling you to follow him.

"just trust me," he says, his voice suddenly much softer. "i’ll guide you."

before you can say anything else, he steps closer again. this time, he places his hands lightly on your sides, guiding your posture, adjusting your movements as you try to follow his steps.

"don’t overthink it," he murmurs, his voice quiet but reassuring. "just go with the flow."

when he moves, you move, and somehow, you start to sync up with him. the movements aren’t perfect, but they’re less awkward, more fluid. you don’t even care how bad you probably look, because right now, everything feels oddly right.

finally, after a few more steps, he takes a step back, letting you try the combo on your own.

you glance over at him, a little unsure.

"not bad," he says with a satisfied grin. "you’re getting the hang of it."

"yeah, don’t expect me to start performing on stage anytime soon," you joke, trying to hide the way your heart is still pounding from the close contact.

he laughs, clearly not bothered by your comment. "maybe one day."

you both catch your breath for a moment, but then riwoo steps toward you again, grinning.

"hey, want to try dancing with me to this one?"

you blink. "what?"

"just follow my lead," he says, grinning wider now.

"you’re really not gonna let me off easy, huh?"

"nope," he replies, then extends his hand to you, an invitation you find yourself unable to refuse.

you almost fall as you try to copy his choreo. it’s not bad, if anything it’s fun, and you’re getting the hang of it.

"see?" he says softly, his eyes meeting yours for a second before he looks back at the floor. "it’s not so bad when you don’t think too hard."

you nod, still feeling a little breathless. "yeah. not bad at all."

there’s a quiet, unspoken understanding between you two as you dance, and in that moment, nothing else seems to matter.

the music shifts, a little more upbeat now, and riwoo adjusts his pace, pulling you along with him. you try to follow, but this time, the steps are quicker, and you're struggling to keep up. he notices immediately, and with a knowing grin, he slows down for you to copy.

"hey, take it easy," he says, his voice gentle. "you don’t have to rush. just feel it."

you nod, focusing more on your movements than trying to impress him. you don’t have the pressure of keeping up with him anymore. this isn't a performance, it's just... dancing. and for the first time, you start to enjoy it. you stop thinking about how you might look or how clumsy you might be and just let your body move with the beat.

"see? you’re doing fine," riwoo says, breaking the moment of silence. he looks at you with that relaxed smile of his, his eyes bright with encouragement. "you're getting the hang of it. just like i thought you would."

you smile, the tension in your shoulders easing. "yeah, i guess it’s not too bad," you admit, a little out of breath from the dance, but also from something else. you can't quite place it.

"not bad? c’mon, that’s a compliment coming from you," he teases, his smile widening. he moves again, picking up the pace just a little, and this time you follow more easily, matching his energy.

you chuckle, trying to hide the way your heart speeds up at the contact. "i didn’t realize i was that bad."

"not at all," he says, his hands still resting on your arms, his touch reassuring, like he's genuinely trying to make sure you’re okay. "you’re doing great. you just have to trust yourself more."

it’s easy to forget that he’s an idol. the way he speaks to you, the way he moves with such ease, makes him feel like just another person, not someone who's constantly in the spotlight. you’ve never seen him in that world, on stage, surrounded by cameras, fans, and the pressure of expectations. but somehow, when he’s here with you, there’s none of that. it’s just him. and right now, that’s all you need.

"you make it look so easy," you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "like you were born to do this."

he pauses, a playful glint in his eyes. "well, that’s because i was just as bad as you." his grin widens as he teases you again, but there’s a flicker of something softer behind his expression.

you raise an eyebrow, not quite sure if he's joking. "really?"

"yeah," he says, his voice shifting slightly, more thoughtful now. "i’ve been dancing since i was a kid. it wasn’t always this easy, but when you do something enough, you kind of just get used to it, you know?"

you nod, trying to imagine him as a little kid, practicing in front of a mirror, perfecting every move. it’s hard to picture, but there’s a certain kind of passion behind his words that makes you believe it.

"i guess it’s like that with anything," you murmur, meeting his gaze. "you just have to keep trying."

"exactly," he says, his tone warm and encouraging. "it’s about consistency. and patience."

you stay quiet for a moment, reflecting on his words. you’ve always thought of dancing as something for other people as something you could never do, something you’d just watch from the sidelines. but now, in this moment, with riwoo guiding you, it feels different. you can do this. you just need to keep trying.

the song changes again, and this time, it’s slower. you take a breath and step into the new rhythm, the fluidity of the moves matching the soft beat. riwoo matches your pace, his eyes focused, but there’s still that easy smile on his lips.

you find yourself getting lost in the movement again, your body moving naturally now, following his choreo without overthinking it. the steps aren’t perfect, but they feel more natural this time. the accidental touches between the two of you aren’t awkward, they’re just part of the flow of the dance, part of being in sync.

for a while, you don’t think about anything else. it’s just you, riwoo, and the music. it’s peaceful. free. the world outside of this room doesn’t exist. it’s just you two, moving together.

you lose track of time, and eventually, the song comes to an end. you’re both breathing a little harder, sweat beading at your temples, but there’s a quiet sense of satisfaction between you.

riwoo steps back, still smiling. "not bad, huh?"

you laugh, a little out of breath. "yeah, not bad." you try to act cool, but there’s something about the way your heart is racing that gives away how much you’ve enjoyed this. how much you’ve enjoyed being so close to him.

he offers you a drink of water, and you take it, gulping it down eagerly.

"i think you could be a great dancer if you wanted to," he says casually, sitting down on the edge of the mat to catch his breath. "you just need more practice. maybe one day we’ll get you on stage."

you shake your head, laughing nervously. "i don’t think i’m cut out for that. i’d probably trip over my own feet."

"i don’t know," he says thoughtfully, eyes glinting with that mischievous spark. "you’ve got potential. i’ve seen worse dancers than you."

"is that supposed to be a compliment?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

he grins, flashing a quick wink. "definitely."

you chuckle, shaking your head. "i’m not falling for that." but there's a warmth to his teasing that makes it hard to keep up the act. it’s the same warmth that’s been there since the moment you walked into the room. the same warmth that’s made dancing with him feel less like a lesson and more like... something else.

and in that moment, you realize that maybe this whole thing, the dancing, the closeness, the way riwoo has been teaching you, it’s not about dancing at all. it’s about being with him. it’s about how easy it feels to be near him, to follow his lead, to let yourself be vulnerable without worrying about messing up.

you look at him, trying to hide the soft smile tugging at your lips, but he catches it. "you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle, like he can see right through you.

you nod, keeping the smile hidden behind a sip of water. "yeah. just... thinking."

"about what?" he tilts his head, curiosity in his eyes.

"about how i never expected to end up here," you admit, lowering the bottle. "with you. dancing."

"well, you’re doing fine," he says, offering you that grin again. "keep it up, and you might just get better than me." he winks.

you roll your eyes, though you can’t help the way your heart skips at his words. "i think you’re getting ahead of yourself."

but his smile doesn’t fade. "maybe. but you never know. anything’s possible."

and for the first time in a while, you start to believe it.

the studio is quiet now, the music turned off, the lights dimmed just enough to make the room feel less like a space for rehearsals and more like a place for something personal. something shared. you and riwoo are sitting on the floor, your backs resting against the cool wall, your legs stretched out in front of you. it’s late, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and your soft breaths after the intense practice.

you both haven’t said much since finishing the last dance. there’s a comfortable silence, the kind that feels easy between you two, like it doesn’t need to be filled with words all the time. but still, there’s this lingering feeling, like there's something more you want to say, something that needs to be said.

"you know," riwoo says, breaking the silence, his voice soft but not too quiet. "i didn’t think we’d end up here. you and me, talking after practice. i figured you’d be, like, too cool for me."

you chuckle, glancing at him sideways. "too cool? really?"

"yeah," he says with a grin, "you have that vibe. like you’re the type to just dip out as soon as the practice ends, no time for anyone else."

you laugh, a little louder than you meant to, but it feels good. "i’m not that bad. i swear."

"uh-huh," he teases, nudging you with his foot. "you’re full of surprises."

you tilt your head, not sure if he’s joking or if he’s being serious. "what kind of surprises?"

"i don’t know," he shrugs, looking over at you, his eyes reflecting a flicker of something deeper. "just... the way you are. you don’t show it, but you’re different from what i expected."

you stare at him, trying to read his expression. there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel seen. like he’s looking at you, really looking at you, and he’s not just seeing the surface but something else. something real.

"what did you expect?" you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

he thinks for a second before responding, his tone thoughtful. "i don’t know. i thought you might be a little standoffish. or maybe too serious. but you’re not. you’re easy to talk to, not all caught up in your own world."

you’re surprised by his answer, but you don’t let it show. you just smile, a little unsure of how to respond. "maybe i’ve just been good at pretending."

he raises an eyebrow. "pretending? what do you mean?"

you shrug, feeling a little more vulnerable than you want to. "i don’t know. i guess i’ve always been the quiet one. the one who doesn’t stand out. so i just... act like i don’t care, even when i do."

he looks at you, his expression softening, and for a moment, you think he might say something else, something that digs a little deeper. but instead, he just leans back against the wall, his hands resting behind him, and sighs.

"i get that," he says, his voice quieter now. "i think... i think a lot of us pretend, in some way. we try to fit into a mold, be what other people expect us to be, even if it’s not who we really are."

you turn your head to look at him, intrigued. "really? you too?"

he chuckles lightly, his eyes closing as he tilts his head back. "yeah. being an idol, it’s all about the image, you know? how you’re supposed to look, how you’re supposed to act. sometimes, it’s hard to figure out where you end and the image begins."

you nod slowly, understanding what he means. you’ve never been in the spotlight like him, but you can imagine the pressure of always being watched, always having to be something more than just yourself. it must be exhausting.

"do you ever get tired of it?" you ask, your voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

riwoo’s eyes flicker to you, and for a second, you see something different in his gaze. something almost... vulnerable. but it’s gone before you can really pinpoint it.

"yeah," he admits, his voice a little rough. "sometimes. but it’s part of the job. and i love what i do, so i can’t complain too much."

you nod again, not sure what else to say. it’s a strange feeling, knowing that even someone like riwoo, with all his talent and confidence, has doubts and struggles. it makes him feel more real, more human. like he’s just a person trying to find his way, just like you are.

you sit in silence for a while, the hum of the air conditioning filling the space between you. it’s not uncomfortable. it’s just... peaceful. you don’t need to fill the silence with words. not with him.

"i have a question," he says suddenly, breaking the quiet. you look over at him, waiting for him to continue. "what’s your dream?"

you blink, taken aback by the question. you hadn’t expected him to ask something so personal. "my dream?" you repeat, trying to think of an answer. "i don’t really know. i guess... i guess i want to do something that makes me feel like i matter, you know? something that makes me feel like i’m not just... another face in the crowd."

he nods, his expression thoughtful. "i get that. it’s hard to feel like you’re seen sometimes, like what you’re doing matters."

you bite your lip, feeling a little exposed. you never really thought about it that way, but it’s true. you’ve spent so much of your life trying to blend in, trying to avoid standing out. and maybe that’s why it’s always felt so empty.

"what about you?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. "what’s your dream?"

he pauses for a long time, his gaze distant, like he’s searching for the right words. "honestly?" he finally says, his voice softer. "i think my dream is to be happy. to do what i love and not feel like i’m losing myself along the way."

you’re surprised by his answer, not because it’s not a good one, but because it’s so... real. it’s simple, but it’s also deep. it makes you think that maybe, deep down, all any of us really want is to be content, to feel like we’re living for ourselves and not for others.

"i think that’s a good dream," you say, your voice quiet but sincere.

the night has stretched on, but it still feels like time is bending in your favor. you and riwoo have settled into a quiet rhythm, the hum of the studio a backdrop to your words, as if the world outside has paused, just for a moment. you’re still sitting side by side, legs stretched in front of you, the cool air swirling around the room, but there’s a different energy now. it’s more... comfortable. like you’ve crossed some invisible line, and now, there’s no going back.

riwoo stretches his arms over his head, his body lithe and graceful, and you watch him for a moment, the way he moves, how natural it looks. it’s mesmerizing, like the dance never stops, even when the music’s off. you can’t help but think about how many times he must’ve practiced, how many hours he’s put in, to make it all look so effortless. it’s no wonder he’s so good at what he does.

"you know," he says, breaking your thoughts, his voice casual but his eyes a little more serious, "you should come by more often. watch me practice, I mean."

you blink, caught off guard by the suggestion. you’ve been so wrapped up in the conversation and everything that’s been happening that you hadn’t really thought about coming back here. but the idea of seeing him dance again, of being here, feels... right. it feels like something you might want to do.

"yeah?" you ask, a little unsure. "you wouldn’t mind?"

he shrugs, his expression softening into something more playful. "nah, I wouldn’t mind at all. I actually kind of like having you here. keeps things interesting."

you smile at that, the warmth in your chest spreading. it’s funny, how a simple statement, a small suggestion, can make you feel like this. like maybe you’re more than just a casual acquaintance to him, more than just a person watching from the sidelines. like you matter, in a way that’s both unexpected and comforting.

"i’ll think about it," you say, your voice light, but there’s something in the way you say it that makes you realize you’re not just saying that to brush him off. you actually want to come back. you want to be here, in this space, with him.

he grins, that mischievous glint in his eyes making your heart skip a beat. "you better. it wouldn’t be the same without you now."

you laugh, nudging him with your shoulder, trying to hide the way your heart is racing, but he notices. of course he does. he always notices.

"you’re such a show-off," you tease, trying to keep the conversation light, but you can’t help the way your thoughts are starting to drift. does he really want me here? it feels like he does, but maybe it’s just the way he jokes around. maybe it’s just his personality. but you can’t help but wonder, as he looks at you with that easy smile, if there’s something more underneath all the teasing.

"maybe," he says, leaning back against the wall, his arms folding behind his head. his eyes are on the ceiling now, but he doesn’t seem distant. he’s still there with you, still here. "but you’re the one who’s been hanging around, you know. i’m just saying, it’d be nice if you came back."

you stare at him for a second, feeling a mix of emotions. confusion, excitement, maybe even a little nervousness. you try to keep your voice steady when you reply, but it cracks just a little. "i’ll come back."

he doesn’t respond right away, just turns his head to look at you, his gaze quiet and soft. there’s something unspoken between you two now, something that lingers in the air like the scent of something sweet, something that’s just out of reach, but you can almost taste it if you try hard enough. he’s not just asking you to come back to watch him dance. he’s asking for something more. and you’re not sure what that something is yet, but it feels... important.

"promise?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of his words is more than just the request. there’s something in his tone, something gentle but earnest, and for a moment, everything else falls away. the studio, the night, the world, it all feels distant, like it doesn’t matter.

you pause, your heart beating a little faster, before you nod, a small but sincere smile tugging at your lips. "promise."

it’s funny, how something as simple as a promise can feel like it means so much more than it really does. but in this moment, it does. you feel it in your bones, the way your words settle into the space between you two, the way they’re not just words. they’re a promise to show up, to be there, to see what happens next.

he smiles then, the kind of smile that lights up his entire face, and you can’t help but return it, your chest warm with something that feels like anticipation. you don’t know what will come of this, what will happen the next time you come back to watch him practice, but you know one thing for sure, you’ll be there. you’ll be here, with him.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s all you need to know for now.

"good," he says, his voice light again, that playful tone returning. "because i’m not going to let you get away that easily."

you laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, laughing together, your promise hanging in the air between you, unspoken but understood.

and somehow, it feels like the beginning of something new. something unexpected. something you can’t quite name yet, but that feels right, all the same.

as you stand up to leave, you glance at him one last time, catching his eye. there’s a quiet understanding in his gaze, a softness that wasn’t there before, and for a second, you wonder if he’s feeling the same thing you are.

"see you soon," you say, your voice steady but your heart racing just a little.

"yeah," he replies, his voice low but sure. "i’ll be here."

and with that, you step out of the studio, the door clicking shut behind you, leaving only the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway. but even as you leave, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed. something has shifted. and you know, deep down, you’ll be back. you’ll be back to see him, to see where this goes, to see what you both can become.

and that thought is enough to make your heart flutter just a little bit faster.

— ty for reading ! —

series taglist : @somber-reads @saritahwang

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

perm taglist @s0shroe

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robo-milky · 1 day ago

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Dynamic Swap 1: What if Rook fell first?

Now Cloche is the one who’s nonchalant! Rook would still run from her, but not out of fear (yippee?)

I love my expressive and confident Rooks out there… bUT I WILL FOREVER HC THAT ROOK FINDING HIMSELF FALLING DEEPLY IS A VULNERABILITY TO HIDE AND HIM GETTING NERVOUS LIKE HE’D WITH NEIGE (just a tad)

[Ramble]

• How Rook would’ve caught feels for Cloche is by being there to observe the small glimpses of herself when she thinks she’s alone. Like a glacier melting, Cloche warms up to let the little smiles turn the corners of her lips or exhale too heavily to be anything else but frustration. Rook knows that if he reaches out, Cloche will revert back after unwinding, so he’d rather bask in her presence from afar. Rook also feels special for being the only one to read her so accurately and understand her true intentions (as opposed to Cloche freaking Rook out because she figured him out and he couldn’t read her back.)

• Instead of the first encounter where feral! Cloche attacks Rook in the school forest, Cloche calls Rook out for being “voyeuristic” when he was there, hidden behind a wall, and watching the whole time she was roughed up by bullies. Cloche didn’t know it was the Vice Dormleader of Pomefiore she was calling out to, but was vaguely aware that the presence of a master remained even as she was left alone. Instead of Rook’s usual dismissals of scathing remarks to his character, this one from Cloche makes him reflect just a little. After all, he’s never once stepped in once to help, having seen that Cloche took all the pushing and shoving just fine.

• Now, he slips little treats for her where he goes. Sometimes it’s a 50 Thaumark bill, or a new handkerchief that could replace the one Cloche just lost. Rook knows that Cloche will pocket them, and if anyone tries to harass her over it, he’ll swoop in gaslight them that the lost item was originally Cloche’ and she must have dropped it herself. Before Cloche would even realize Rook helped her, he’s gone.

• Similar to how he’d write Neige poems and letters, Rook would send them to Cloche too. To be inconspicuous, Rook signs each letter with “H”.

• Rook is partially accepting of this crush, yet is also in denial, waiting for it to pass soon. All this excitement and giddiness might just make him spill something he might regret.

• Since Cloche doesn’t idolize Rook in this AU, unfortunately she’d think of him of a sucker that’s overly sentimental. She’s more indifferent to Rook than trying to avoid him.

#this idea has taken me by storm #cat scratches 🌸#oc: cloche🎊#rookloche #twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twst ocs #rook hunt #twst rook #twst prefect #twst yuu #twst yume #rook hunt x oc

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jamiehe4rtsmen · 1 day ago

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⁹ can't believe i get to call you mine

୨ৎ

"you see that girl over there?" schlatt leans on the counter, pointing towards you across the deli shop, who was squinting at the menu (you forgot your glasses at home and were suffering the consequences).

the underpaid employee blinks. "yeah."

schlatt lights up, a dumb grin settling on his face as he lets out a giggle. "that's my girl. can you believe that?"

"wow... so, what kind of sandwich do you w—"

"i mean, that's like, the definition of pulling above your league. am i right?" he pushes his elbow into the cashier gently, like they were best buds who were catching up after a long day.

"for sure. what kind—"

"i asked her yesterday, and she actually said yes! can you believe i—"

"give me your fucking sandwich order."

his video had now garnered 9.9 million views, titled "the bit went too far". it started off as an apology video, apologinzg for something vague, until you walked into frame and chirped "hey babe, whatcha doin'?" in the video, schlatt whipped his head around and hissed, "shh! what if they see you? i'll lose like, all my revenue from my woman audience!" your eyes widen and you giggle conspiratorially, walking out of the frame. schlatt turns around, facing the screen, and shrugs awkwardly before the video cuts off. all thirty seconds of it went absolutely viral.

right after this video was posted, unpaid intern came out with its first episode. a specific clip mentioning you went viral.

"so, after everything that's happened today, how are we feeling? like schlatt, we all know you've got a girl back home." ludwig transferred the microphone from himself to schlatt.

he grumbled, "what's it t'ya?"

"well, are the two of you thinkin' about kids?" a grin broke out across ludwig's face.

schlatt's poker face was immaculate as he shrugged. "well, so far the two of us have been trying to keep her tamagotchi alive more than anything, so once we deal with that first... we'll think 'bout it. but i don't mind the idea."

the kids burst out into the classic teasing chant of, "schlatt and his girlfriend kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—"

"alright, alright! cool your little jets, kiddos." he groans, ruffling their hair.

on his new minecraft server, he was talking about you (as always). he killed a few sheep and made you a pink bed, placing it quite literally right next to his. he made a little sign that said "for my girl" and side eyed chat before quickly scrambling to add a little "<3" at the end, but when his chat teased him for it he scoffed, gaslighting to the thousandth degree. "psh.. no, chat. you guys are seein' things."

he'd added a new dono goal (which he reached in under an hour), which read "STREAM W/ THE MISSUS." he begrudgingly kept his word, booting up a just chatting stream titled "q&a with woman."

chat had fed him important questions to ask, like your name and hobbies, but he purposefully picked out the most funny one. straight-faced he looked at you and loudly proclaimed, "would you still love me if i was a blue ford f-150?" to which he got a hesitant, "...yes, but would i be like... carsexual then?"

he had also been caught and clipped glancing at his phone during streams and chuckling to himself, his cheeks flushed. sometimes he would even turn his phone to chat to show that toots 💕 texted him "saw a pineapple can at the grocery store next to a lawnmower and thought of you"

"ah. shakespeare's got nothin' on my girl. bill can suck a cock." he sighed, clearly lovelorn as he chuckled to himself.

sometimes chat would tease him with donos such as "blink twice if you need help" or "dating above your league final boss"

but his favorite thing was when someone on twitter tagged him in a photo of you and a man talking to each other, captioned "@/jschlatt, i'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but i saw your girl at a restaurant with this guy. dm me if you need emotional support 😘 xoxo"

schlatt was sent this tweet on stream, and burst out laughing. he laughed so hard he burst into tears, then he called you in the room with a mock-serious voice. "babe, jschlattsleftsock on twitter—"

"x, the everything app," you jokingly interrupt him.

he rolls his eyes, clearing his throat and grumbling, "not fuckin' calling it that. anyway, she said that you cheated on me with this guy." he burst into laughter as he showed the photo of you and the guy.

you burst into laughter two, but in between laughs you wheezed, "that's— my older brother— oh my gosh! and the xoxo at the end, the girl is shameless!"

chat, when they realized the truth of the situation, calmed down and started laughing too. you and the guy did look eerily similar to anyone with a pair of eyes, and it became a bit between the two of you and chat.

୨ৎ

divider credits @issysh3ll

#fanfic #fluffy fanfic #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt x you #schlatt x reader #schlatt x y/n #celeb crush #jschlatt fluff #schlatt #schlatt x you #jschlatt x reader #jschaltt #jschlatt x y/n #jschlatt cute #cute

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jarofstyles · 5 hours ago

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Another picture blurb 🥰

Warnings- cigarette smoking, alluding to abandonment, complex feelings,

Check out our Patreon for early access and 250+ exclusive writings and series

The atmosphere was one familiar to them. The thumping of the party in the house below them, the cooling summer air grazing their skin as they sat in the window, the bustle of the town’s nightlife starting to dwindle in the streets below.

The tension between them was something that had been growing, but since they’d kissed? It had been boiling under the surface. They hadn’t talked about it since, hadn’t muttered a word. And yet like clockwork, she had made her way up to the his room in the middle of the party and he had opened the door with the cigarette in hand.

Her tank top did little to shield her from the slight chill in the air. Denim shorts that could almost qualify for hot pants weren’t of any help either. But it didn’t feel like the time to say anything as she simply let herself feel it, the goosebumps on her skin an added accessory.

The silence was loaded and she didn’t want to be the first to break it. Thankfully, Harry was far more observant than she gave him credit for. When he had gotten up, she assumed it had been for his water bottle or something of the sort, but when his voice interrupted her thoughts, she spooked a little.

“Arms up.” He mumbled, holding a thickly knit sweater over her head, bunched up to make the application easier. There was no reason to deny him, except the fact that she knew she would be stealing this and holding it to her face the moment she left his room. She would inhale it and sleep with it on, because the smell of him had always quelled some of the ache her chest felt when she thought a little bit too hard.

“Thanks.” She whispered, stiffening for a second when his hand slipped under the collar of the knit and brought her hair out. Attentive. He was always so fucking attentive and sweet and it scared the absolute fuck out of her.

“Should have said you were cold.” He replied, though he didn’t go back to where he had been sat. Instead, he stood next to her, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off of his body.

“Wasn’t a big deal.” Peering up at him, she gave a hint of a smile. “I appreciate it though. The end of summer always gets chilly at night.”

The silence lingered for a moment, Y/N looking back out onto the street. A young couple walking their dog, a few people she vaguely recognized from her classes in the past stumbling out of the bar, the chime of the convenience store bell just a few buildings over. Familiar, yet not. His voice startled her when he spoke again.

“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.” He spoke softly, looking down at the street with her. “It’s okay if you regret it. That’s life. I’ll get over it. But I like you.” The turn of his face was caught by the corner of her eye, but she refused to look. Not yet.

“I don’t regret it.” She whispered back, rubbing her thumb over the sleeve cuff of his sweater. “I just don’t know…” in typical Harry fashion, he allowed her to collect her thoughts. He didn’t interrupt. He let her think before continuing. “I don’t want to be alone. I’m scared.” The wobble in her voice surprised herself, not anticipating it coming at all.

“Why would you be alone?” Taking the risk, he took her smaller hand into his own and lightly traced her knuckles with his thumb, feeling the metal of her rings and the heat of her skin.

“Because everyone leaves at some point.”

The words sat for a moment. Stagnant in the air, she could almost see them with her own eyes. The loops of the letters, the color of her words. The truth she had been dealt so often.

“Sometimes they do.” His words had hers falling from the air onto the street. “But m’not going to. Not unless you want me to.” The hand that took her cheek in his palm shook just the tiniest bit, the only real tell that he was nervous. It made him more human. “I’ve been trying to get you to see that I want to stay for months. Been bothering you every day… trying to get you to see that I want you. I’ve been scared that the kiss would be the thing to scare you away. I wanted it to bring you closer, but I knew it spooked you.”

Her eyes remained closed for a few moments, allowing herself to enjoy the heat of his hands and the way he caressed her like she was something precious. Like she was something worth staying for. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You had a shit hand dealt to you.” That was an understatement. But he hadn’t shied away from that. “I want you, though. All the time. I don’t want to fuck up what we have, and if you don’t want me that way I’ll back off. We can go back to what we were before. But I want more, if you’d let me.” Leaning his head down, he rested his forehead against hers. Reading her cues, he made sure he wasn’t pushing it.

“I want it too. But I’m scared.” Her hand turned in his, allowing him to thread their fingers together. In her mind she never wanted them to come apart. She would rather someone take a seam ripper to them than voluntarily move them away.

“So am I.” Harry laughed, squeezing her hand. “Shitless, actually. But I want you more than I’m afraid.”

Y/N felt her lips on his before she could think of a response. Surging forward and melting into his body, she felt his hand keep her face tilted towards him, the smile against her lips, the hum of content. His warmth melted her, letting that hole in her chest feel a little less cold.

#jarofstyles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #picture blurb #picture prompt #harry styles angst #Harry angst #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #Harry fluff #harry smut #harry styles fluff

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tragicvampireromanceisland · 1 day ago

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MANNN so. sooo. all this talk about pilot fear got me thinking about pilot Joyyyy...we should talk about her too because good Lord, she is…such a piece of work. i NEED to throw rocks at her <3 it's really fascinating how early concepts of joy just, like...straight up made her mean? spoiled? abrasive? not a control freak, not a toxic optimist, not a well-intentioned extremist looking out for riley...just...a whiny brat! she instantly complains about anything she doesn't get immediate gratification from, and doesn't want riley to grow up because it means she can't have fun anymore. which makes sense i suppose, given a lot of the earlier drafts for inside out were about joy's immaturity rather than her being controlling...

if you factor pilot fear into all of this, too, i feel like he'd have muuuch more reason to actually, you know. turn Evil and try to kill joy. pilot joy always gave off villain protagonist vibes to me…she's awful, but mostly unaware how much the others resent her—fear in particular. she's too full of herself to really grasp that.

much of the vague draft i've written in my head about this revolves around fear's betrayal ultimately shattering joy's worldview…i do still think the joy-sadness angle in the final movie was probably the best choice to go with (especially since there weren't any complications of dealing with the aftermath of AHEM. ATTEMPTED MURDER), but daaamnn if i don't think the pilot stuff is Neat!!

alsooo if you're unfamiliar with pilot joy i highly recommend checking out this storyboard, which illustrates her personality pretty well. i actually stole a few lines directly from this storyboard, which is…certainly saying something about this version of joy, lmao. there's definitely more stuff out there, but this is probably the best example. anyways. please throw rocks at her with me <3

#SORRY for the long caption but. just know it COULD have been longer. i love talking about the og drafts for io DHKFJHKJ #anyways i had so much fun with expressions here YAY!! storyboards always provide such good inspo for that <3 #yes i made her call fear a killjoy on purpose....foreshadowings. and such #immm. not sure if i'll do anything with that vague draft in my head....we will see i guess. sniles 😁#inside out #inside out 2 #inside out joy #inside out fear #sketchbook

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saphig-iawn · 12 hours ago

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Playing with memory is always fun. So many consider memories to be objects with a definitive shape and size. They don't know that they have roots, that they release a scent into the mind's air.

Hearing this sweet pup so feverishly misremember the reason why he has been following this sorceress, makes her smile. She knows a memory of a previous form of his has blossomed, releasing its beautiful aroma into his body.

You see, one day, she let the pup think he had won. Not entirely, of course, but a little victory. One that would whet the appetite and salivate the maw. One that gave a hunger.

A simple green velvet coin purse lay slouched on the trail as the sorceress' footsteps fade downtrail. Celestial patterns in a warm gold thread encompass the purse. The simple clasp was adorned with the relief of a woman's face.

Pup picks it up, the fabric still warm from the comfort inside the sorceress' robes. He shakes it, pricking his pup ear. He beams as the sound of coins jingling meets his ears. Pressing his little paw hand into the clasp, feeling the warmth of the woman's face on his little bean, he pops the coin purse open to reveal... a single coin...

A little disappointment whimpers from his mouth as his shoulders sink.

With defeat, he plops himself down on the trail, holding the coin in his fingers. Its unlike any coin he has seen, no typical crests or markings, just a vague humanoid face. His little brow furrows as the not-so-nice thought of it being fake crosses his mind.

He gives it a little bend, but there's no give. He flicks hit, and places the coin near his ear to hear for any inconsistencies. Only one test remained. The ultimate test for any adventurer worth their gold.

The bite test.

He places the coin between his back teeth, the coin now strangely warm, and he bites!

The coin remains resolute.

With a gentle smile of relief, he goes to pocket the coin, but finds it a little hard to hold, like its weight shifted and it was threatening to tumble out of his grip.

He adjusts his grip, and sees that the coin doesn't fit in his palm any more.

He became elated! More gold, and the coin was getting even bigger!

He had to switch to two hands now, and his arms were starting to strain, but he didn't care, he was going to be rich.

He lays the coin down on the ground with a plume of dust swirling up from beneath it. He shields his eyes and then furrows his brow.

The forest wasn't that big, was it? The trail wasn't this wide?

He goes to stand and finds his legs don't want to respond at all. He looks down with some annoyance, sometimes his legs go to sleep on him.

Usually, in fact every time his legs went to sleep, they never turn into gold. So it was needless to say that he was more than surprised to find his legs had become solid gold. He tried to move his legs, and his paw hands did naught but squeak off of his new pristine golden fur. He tried another grasp but his hands just didn't have the strength either.

His fingers were starting to turn.

Panic set in, and his frantc movements painted pawprint after pawprint of gold leaf on his body.

He was inanimate in no time at all. Reduced to the size of a chess piece.

His whole body vibrated with incoming footsteps. He wanted to act, but his thoughts felt like they were stretching and compressing all at once.

Warmth.

All throughout his small aurate frame was an endless caring warmth as the sorceress held him in her hand.

"Its been a little while since your last rest, sweet pup. Time to snuggle in."

The sorceress reaches down to the coin.

"You did will too, my gingham ragdoll. I know this isn't your typical form but you don't mind one bit, do you darling?" she purred, as she caressed the cheek of humanoid relief.

"You did as well, my sweet pet. Even though I made it myself, the green velvet with celestial embroidery is a daring look" she cooed as she picked up the coin purse, caressing the face on the clasp.

She opened up her coin purse, and popped the coin and pup inside.

Warmth, all three of them felt.

Warmth.

Playing D&D tonight and it makes me yearn to play a character I've been rotating in my mind for sometime...

A Seamstress Sorceress!

Every one of her spells manifest as enchanted fabrics and more.

Magic missile becomes arcane needles with streaming ribbons.

Hold Person has magic satin unravelling around the target and then mummifying them.

But my favourite visual would be for Command.

Threads and bolts and fabrics apparate and envelop the target. A whirl of fabric magic spins about them, and when it all settles, there stands the target, encased in a doll fascimile of themselves, following along so obediently. The voice coming clearly from the embroidered face, but a keen ear would hear their muffles beneath.

#saphiposting #hypnodomme #hypnok1nk #hypnotic #trance #brainwash #brainwashing #hypnosis #mind control #erotichypnosis #inanimate tf #inanimate transformation #magical transformation #dnd nsft #dnd ns/fw

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moonlitenvyillust · 3 days ago

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Hey TeleNeo fans, want some pain? No? Too bad here you go

Tags: men crying (why would that be a warning tbh), angst (or at least a try out of writing angst), love letters but the sender is dead, major character death, Telemachus is mentioned but is the sender, EURYCLEA MY QUEEN, Neo cries <3, don't you love making character's suffer, ancient Greek gays, TELENEO CLUB HAS FOUR/FIVE MEMBERS ISTG-, deprived of content. So I'll write it!, me being a tired bitch, based on: "to my dear Historia" With too many alterations.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙|-π-|⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

And so the letter ends.

The second he heard of the great Odysseus's return, he felt a pang of relief for Telemachus. His beloved finally got the one thing he had dreamed of for his entire life. He couldn't help but feel a little jealous... He never got such reunion with his own father. The great Achilles had died and that was why he was drafted to war.

He immediately set sail to Ithaca as he heard the news. He finished his little quest and immediately jumped onto a ship. His little mind could not comprehend how much he missed the island, but more over, how much he missed his Telemachus

Walking down from the ship to the docs, he was just about to go to the palace when-

"Excuse me, Lord Neoptolemus?"

That voice... Neo remembered her, that's Telemachus's nurse maid, Euryclea.

"It's so hard to try and find you, here, a favor from the prince"

She handed him a letter, albeit an not so old not so new looking one. Atleast a few weeks old. A stain is seen on the edge... Coffee? No, that's the colour of Telemachus's meds when it dries on white.

And the letter wrote...

"To my dear, Phyrrus

As I write this, my health is severely declining. I wished to give this letter to you directly–hell, maybe even say the words I wish to say. But my voice has been lost through my last fight with a suitor. He hit me hard enough, I think I broke my vocal chords. However I of course had asked Euryclea for her word, to give this to you during your next visit. I know for a fact you are a busy man, multiple quests given to you at a time. Henceforth I didn't send this letter, I didn't want to worry you and give you an unsafe return.

That said, I want to be selfish. Just for once. I swear it. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. But even before the suitors plagues my life, I had been dying. In a literal sense.

My body is weaker than an average man and it's not only because of the fact I am untrained, but it's because of severe health disorders... Yes I have been training under Athena, but that doesn't mean my chronic pain just Dissapears. It gets worse, actually. But I can deal with it. Usually

I have realized that my time is no longer than at least a few weeks when this letter is wrote. The headaches had been more frequent, I fall over with leg pains more often, and it just overall shows a sign that my name is in the "to reap" Soul list of Thanatos.

I love you, more than how I would love a friend. But not able to be as a lover, for you deserve someone better. Someone stronger. Someone... Your height of glory. But I shall let myself be selfish for my last few days. I love you.

I ask for my body to only be burnt when you made an appearance. I know it's so much to ask. But words spread fast and you run faster.

So, if I die before you return... Consider this as my goodbye."

It had been a while since the last time Phyrrus cried

But just this once

He let himself weep

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙|-π-|⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I had a vague idea for this after watching a "to my dear Historia" Edit, so have this. Share my pain.

@ list because I know who would like this stuff @cutob @no1teleneoshipper @lenamiyabi @lemonade-tree7 here you go. We are deprived of content tbh. Have angst, almost forgot @kindred-spirit-93

#epic the musical #epic #the illiad #kinda #telemachus #neoptolemus #alternate universe #me being silly #school is killing me #teleneo #the teleneo club #gay ppl can never just say ily hug #<- so i make it happen in a letter<3

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merlucide · 2 days ago

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DYED DAISIES

notes: this wa written over the course of two months so ignore any writing differences LMAO [requested]

pairings: Lev Haiba x F!HanhakiReader

word-count: 4k

warnings: reader dies, angst, unrequited love

The prettiest flowers still die.

Or something like that.

That saying had never felt more cruelly fitting than now. Because your love for him had bloomed, beautiful and endless, only to wilt under the weight of its own yearning.

Lev Haiba. He was everything—like fresh air on a new day, clear and comforting. There was something so radiant about him, like he carried the sun inside his chest, always burning, always glowing. He was so full of life, so eager, so unshakably bright. Every moment with him felt like a memory before it even ended, something worth keeping, something worth holding onto.

But even the most beautiful things don’t last forever.

You had just moved to Tokyo from Okinawa, a small island of little shops and quiet streets, where the sea was always within reach and the air smelled of salt. Life had been simple there, almost dreamlike in its familiarity. But dreams don’t last, and neither did your parents marriage.

The divorce was inevitable. Necessary, even. So when the dust settled, you and your mother packed up for a fresh start. Tokyo. A world away from the slow comfort of your island home, but still Japan, still familiar.

The apartment was small, tucked into a four-story building with little railing balconies. You lived on the third floor—high enough to feel safe, close enough to the ground to still hear the life below. You neighbors were mostly elderly, eager to welcome you with stories and recommendations, their warmth a surprising comfort in a city so large.

But one neighbor, in particular, caught your eye.

You were hanging your towel over the balcony railing, completely focused on not dropping it, when suddenly, a head popped up from below like some sort of startled meerkat.

“HEY! YOU’RE THE NEW NEIGHBOR RIGHT?”

You yelped, flinching back. Your towel nearly slipped from your fingers as you leaned forward to get a better look. A boy stood on the balcony below, looking up at you with wide, cat-like green eyes. His silver hair was tousled from the wind, and his grin was nothing short of electric.

“Uh—yeah?” you said hesitantly. “We moved in, like, four days ago.”

“Sweet! I’m just below you. I’m Lev, by the way. Are you going to Nekoma?”

He spoke fast, his excitement practically vibrating off him. You tilted your head, vaguely recognizing the name. “Um, I think so? That’s the one with the red, right?”

“Yep! That’s the one!” His grin widened. “Hold on, lemme come up.”

Before you could process what he meant, he disappeared from view, the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs echoing through the air. And then—

Holy shit.

He was tall.

You blinked up at him in disbelief as he stood before you, lanky limbs clad in a black hoodie and red shorts. Was he really a high schooler? There was no way. He had to have been held back.

“I’m a first-year. What about you?” he asked, peering down at you like a curious cat.

Your brain short-circuited. “You’re a first-year? No way.”

“Yeah! Why?”

You shook your head in disbelief before finally responding. “I’m a first-year too, actually.”

Lev brightened. “Really? Hey, maybe you’ll be in some of my classes!”

“Heh, maybe.”

The conversation spiraled from there, filled with his boundless energy and your cautious amusement. And before you knew it—

“Hey, wanna walk to school together? When’s your first day?”

You blinked, taken aback by how natural the offer felt. “S-sure. I think I start this week?”

“Sweet!”

“Levochka!” A voice rang from below. “You’re gonna be late for your game!”

“Oh crap!” Lev jolted, eyes widening. “I totally forgot I have a game today—aaaaah!”

You barely had time to react before he turned to sprint down the stairs. But just as he reached the first step, he hesitated, turning back to you.

“Wait—what’s your name again?”

You laughed softly. “L/N Y/N. Just call me Y/N.”

“Got it! See you later, Y/N!”

And with that, he was gone, a whirlwind of energy and excitement, leaving only the lingering echo of his voice behind.

It had barely been a four-minute conversation, but somehow, you felt lighter. The thought of starting over in a new school, in a new city, suddenly felt a little less daunting.

Monday morning rolled around, and your mom had already picked up your new uniform. It was simple, flat colors that complemented each other nicely. You liked the tie.

The apartment was quiet when you left. Your mom was still asleep—her new job wouldn’t start until next week. You carefully locked the door behind you and made your way down the stairs, hesitating when you reached Lev’s floor.

Did he really mean it when he said he’d walk with you? Or did he just say that in passing and forget?

Just as doubt began to creep in, his door slammed open, then shut just as fast. Lev stepped out in his uniform, his height making it fit a little awkwardly, the sleeves just a little too short on his long arms. His eyes immediately landed on you, and his face lit up.

“Heeeeey, Y/N! Ya ready?”

You nod, and without another word, the two of you dribble down the stairs together.

The walk to Nekoma was anything but quiet. Lev fired off question after question—Where did you live before? What’s your favorite food? Do you like cats? Oh! Do you like volleyball?—each one tumbling out of his mouth with unrestrained curiosity. He listened earnestly to your answers, nodding along like he was committing them to memory, only to get sidetracked seconds later, launching into an excited ramble about something completely different.

Then, without missing a beat, he switched gears again.

“Oh! Right! So, school pointers!” Lev straightened up, as if preparing for an important briefing. “Now! The senpais can be super scary, and they give awfulnicknames—seriously!”Lev shuddered. “Yaku-senpai calls me ‘Stickman Godzilla’!” He flared his arms dramatically, his voice dripping with exasperation. You giggled at his theatrics, covering your mouth not to hurt his feelings.

“But! They’re all pretty cool,” he continued, grinning at your reaction. “They won’t give you any trouble!”

The morning air was crisp, the city bustling with students heading in the same direction. And with Lev beside you—talking a mile a minute, making the simplest things sound like the most exciting adventure— it was really refreshing.

Nekoma’s campus looms in front of you, larger and more modern than the one back home. The sleek glass windows reflect the midday sun, and the polished doors stand tall, welcoming in the hum of students passing through.

“Oh yeah! Let me see your schedule!” Lev says, leaning over your shoulder to scan it. His eyes light up as he spots something. “Hey! We got two classes together—3rd and 7th!” he exclaims, his voice filled with excitement.

A small smile tugs at your lips at his enthusiasm, his energy contagious. He gives you a quick, wave before darting off to class.

You were more than happy to share some classes with him, you won’t be all alone in a big new school, THANK GOD!

You watch him for a moment and your heart seems to skip a beat, and you can’t quite shake the feeling that this might be the start of something more than just an ordinary school day.

And that was the beginning of your demise.

You exhale, clutching the strap of your bag a little tighter. It’s only been just a few days since you transferred, but you’re already settling into a routine.

And that routine, involved Lev.

As he’d mentioned, he was part of Nekoma’s volleyball club. The past few days, you’d been waiting for him to finish practice so he could walk you home, since you still weren’t familiar with the area.

And it sure doesn’t take long for Lev’s friends to notice you.

Kuroo leans against the wall near the gym doors, watching as you wait outside like you have the past few days. He nudges Kenma with his elbow. “That girl’s been hanging around a lot, huh?”

Kenma glances up from his game, “Yeah.”

“Aye, Lev,” Kuroo calls out, catching the lanky boy’s attention “You got a girlfriend or what?” His tone is teasing

Lev, stretching out his arms, blinks in confusion. “Girlfriend? No? Why?”

At the mere mention of the word, Yamamoto all but barrels into the conversation, eyes wide in horror. “YOU GOT A GIRLFRIEND BEFORE I DID?!?”

Kenma doesn’t even bother looking up from his console. “We all know that’s unlikely,” he says flatly. “But even so, Lev has a better chance than you do.”

Yamamoto gapes, snapping his head toward Kenma, ready to fire back with an outraged rebuttal.

Kuroo smirks. “Then who’s that girl who keeps waiting for you after practice? The one you’re always walking around with?”

“Oh, you mean Y/N?” Lev brightens. “She’s my new neighbor! I’ve been showing her around. She’s really nice too!” His smile is wide, easy—completely oblivious to how much attention this conversation has gathered.

“SO SHE’S AVAILABLE?” Yamamoto nearly shouts, grabbing Lev’s shoulders with urgency. “I think so?” Lev tilts his head slightly.

“She’s pretty,” Kuroo comments offhandedly.

Lev shrugs, nodding. “Yeah, she is.”

You don’t hear any of it, you’re too far away and too focused on the tiny pixelated worm inching across your phone screen. The soft click of the buttons fills the silence around you as you tap away, trying to guide it toward the apple without crashing into the walls.

A shadow falls over you, and a familiar voice breaks through your concentration.

“Sorry for the wait! Ready to go?”

You glance up to see Lev grinning down at you, his usual energy still buzzing even after practice. Quickly tucking your phone away, you nod, pushing aside the strange warmth lingering in your chest.

The years passed, and your world became entwined with his.

Lev was your constant. Through high school, through late-night study sessions, through laughter that echoed off apartment walls. Your love for him had been a slow bloom, petals unfurling with every moment spent at his side. You never said it out loud, never let it slip past your lips. But it was there, woven into the fabric of your being.

Then came adulthood.

Lev became a model—of course he did. He was perfect for it. Tall, striking, a natural in front of the camera. You were the first one to encourage him to pursue it, to tell him he had what it took. And he did. He thrived.

Meanwhile, you chased your own dreams, diving headfirst into Bio Technology! You got into a great collage for it too! Your days were filled with labs and research, your nights with the same familiar routine: wake up, go to class, go out with Lev, repeat.

It was simple. Comfortable. A rhythm you could live in forever.

But one morning felt different. You woke up with a tightness in your lungs—subtle at first, but unsettling. It was unusual, almost suffocating, and scary. You took a slow sip of water from the glass beside your bed, hoping it would help as you got ready for the day.

The feeling didn’t go away. Days passed, the tightness lingering, pressing heavier with each breath. You brushed it off, blaming exhaustion, stress—maybe just the effects of your messed-up sleep schedule.

But when you stumbled into the bathroom, fingers trembling, and vomited into the toilet—

White petals.

Soft. Fragile. Coated in the slickness of your own blood.

Daisies.

Your breath stilled.

With shaking hands, you grabbed your phone, typing with feverish desperation.

‘Why did I throw up flowers?’

The answer came faster than you wanted.

‘Hanahaki Disease.’

An unrequited love. A curse born from emotions too strong to bear. The flowers bloom in the lungs of the afflicted, suffocating them slowly, petal by petal.

The only cures?

Surgery.

They would cut the flowers from your lungs, but they would take everything else with them. Every feeling, every longing glance, every heartbeat that belonged to him—gone. You would wake up whole but hollow, looking at Lev without so much as a flicker of emotion. The love you had carried for years, the love that had rooted itself into every part of you, would be nothing more than a memory erased.

Or…

Reciprocation.

Lev loving you back.

Your breath shudders as you scroll further, as if the words might shift into something kinder, something that doesn’t sound like a death sentence. But they don’t.

And there it is—the third option. The one that isn’t written, but looms over you like a shadow.

If neither cure happens… you die.

The flowers would grow, day by day, petal by petal, tightening around your lungs like vines, filling every breath until there’s no space left. Until your body becomes nothing but a garden of unspoken love, blooming too beautifully for its own survival.

A weak, shaky inhale rattles through your chest, and for the first time, you feel it—the weight of something growing inside you.

If you do nothing, it will kill you.

Your trembling hands grip the edge of the toilet, knuckles white as you struggle to steady your breath. The taste of blood lingers on your tongue, metallic and bitter, mixing with the phantom sensation of soft petals against your lips.

Your phone gripped tightly beside you on the floor. Hesitantly, your fingers hover over the contacts, your vision blurring as you scroll down.

Your eyes flickered to Lev’s name in your contacts.

Your throat tightens.

He doesn’t love you.

The thought crashes into you like a wave, violent and merciless, knocking the air from your lungs.

You’ve spent years searching—grasping—for something, anything that could mean he felt the same. A lingering glance, a touch that lasted just a second too long, a shift in hisvoice when he said your name. But there was never anything there.

Nothing.

A shaky breath escapes you, sharp and uneven. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing back the stinging heat behind them. Your body feels too heavy, your chest unbearably tight, like the flowers are already taking root, growing vines around your ribs.

You press a hand against your sternum, as if that will somehow stop the ache, stop the petals from blooming.

You have to try.

Even if it’s hopeless. Even if it kills you. Which, if he doesn’t it will.

You bite your lip, forcing yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs shake beneath you. You have to give it a shot.

You don’t have any other choice.

The bell above the diner door jingles softly as you step inside, the warmth of the place wrapping around you. Lev is already sitting at a booth near the window. He grins the moment he sees you, waving you over with the same easy enthusiasm that’s always made your heart squeeze.

“Hey! Took you long enough,” he teases.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens—not just from the disease, but from the way he looks at you. Like you’re only a friend. Like he doesn’t see the way your hands shake when you hold the menu, or how your breathing hitches every time he laughs.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

It’s fine.

The two of you fall into easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing at once. He tells you about his latest shoot, his voice buzzing with excitement as he mentions the new campaign he’s working on.

“—She’s half-Japanese like me! I mean, not Russian, but still, y’know? She’s really cool—and, like, really professional. I was kinda nervous at first, but she made everything feel so natural.”

You nod, forcing a small smile as he rambles. He looks genuinely happy, his excitement infectious. It’s nice. It should be enough just to see him like this.

But it’s not. Man.

So you keep searching—grasping for something, anything—a glance that lingers just a second too long, a touch that hesitates before pulling away, a shift in his voice when he says your name. A fleeting moment, an unspoken word, some tiny, fragile proof that maybe—maybe—he feels it too.

But there’s nothing. Nothing at all.

The diner’s warm glow seems to be the only comfort in the bustling evening, but even that doesn’t seem to settle you. You poke at your food, trying to force down a few bites, but your thoughts keep racing. Every now and then, Lev glances at you from across the table, his usual energetic demeanor a little more reserved today.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice light but with a note of concern. An honest expression.

You look up from your plate, blinking at him for a moment. “Yeah, of course.”

Lev raises an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he studies you. “Really? ’Cause you’ve been kind of… off, you’ve barely said a word y’know?”

You laugh nervously, but it sounds more like a quiet exhale. “I’m just tired, really that’s it.”

Lev doesn’t buy it. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Sureeee…”

He leans forward, a little more serious now, his usual teasing tone softened. “Come on, talk to me. What’s really going on?”

He really can see right through you.

“I’m serious! I’m just tired!” You exasperatedly laughed shaking your head.

Gosh, one of the things you fell in love with him for was his persistence! but not right now…!

Lev’s expression softens, and he reaches over to tap the edge of your hand lightly. “I won’t push you for answers anyyyymooooreeee.. You know you don’t have to do all of it by yourself, right? You’ve got me Y/N.”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I know, Lev. Thanks”

Lev’s eyes narrow as he processes what you said. Then, without missing a beat, he grins his usual wide grin, shooting you two big thumbs up.

For a moment,it felt like everything was okay.

Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t realize that he loves you.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Still, some stubborn, pathetic part of you clings to hope.

It not like you have a lot of other options right now.

Weeks pass.

Your symptoms worsen.

The ache in your chest no longer fades, the petals come more frequently, and the taste of blood lingers longer than before. It’s getting harder to hide, harder to pretend that you’re fine when every breath feels heavier than the last.

You had tried and tried and tried to find a spark.

And still, no progress with Lev.

You had made plans to meet him at one of his shoots. Lev had begged you to go, which obviously you’d go regardless, he really wanted to introduce you to his new partner for this campaign.

But this time, it was different. It felt like your last chance. If something didn’t change now—if Lev didn’t feel the same way—it could be the end. You could already feel the weight of the disease creeping closer, and the thought of never hearing him say it, of never being loved in return, made everything seem so much more real.

Today you would tell him. You would confess.

Praying that he felt the same, somehow, and somehow be cured.

It has to happen.

You walk through the glass doors and the woman behind the desks sends you a soft smile, recognizing you. Lev has done a handful of photoshoots at this location, so that means you’re somewhat a regular.

you walked up the stairs, heart beating erratically.

And then—

You saw him.

There he was, standing in a buttoned white shirt, the top buttons undone, trailing down to his chest just enough to show a hint of skin.

Beside him stood a woman, her raven-black hair falling elegantly over her shoulder.She leaned into Lev, and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. She was draped in a satin gold dress that shimmwred in the light, the rich hue complementing her skin tone perfectly. The cameras clicked rapidly, capturing the intimate moments as they shifted positions.

Each shot seemed to get more…intimate, more intense.

You started to feel the tightness in your chest. It wasn’t like Lev hadn’t done photoshoots with women before—that really wasn’t it. It was the way he was holding her, how his hand rested possessively around her waist, how he looked at her with such tenderness… that was new.

The photographer called out, ‘That’s a wrap!’ and they reluctantly pulled apart. But the woman’s hands lingered on Lev’s chest, soft and warm, as if she couldn’t bear to break the connection just yet. You could feel the weight of the moment from where you stood, the air thick with something unspoken. You couldn’t hear their words, but you could see the way Lev’s smile deepened, how it stretched wider than usual, his eyes twinkling in a way that made your chest tighten.

It wasn’t just any smile—it was a smile brimming with warmth, with something deeper, something that made it clear that he was lost in whatever was happening between them. Something you had never seen from him before. Your heart slammed in your chest, a sickening wave of jealousy and fear rushing through you as you watched.

Lev’s fingers brushed back her hair, soft and lingering,the tenderness of the gesture cutting through you like a knife. The motion was almost reverent, as if he were trying to hold on to her, to pull her closer even though she was already standing right there. Your breath caught, your chest ached with the hollow feeling that gnawed at you. You couldnt look away, but you didn’t want to see it.

She pulled away with a sly smile, a quiet confidence in her every step as she walked off toward her manager, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. Lev stayed rooted to the spot, still smiling, his expression distant, lost in the euphoria of the moment. He was completely adrift in something you couldn’t reach, something that felt like it had already taken him far, far away from you.

And as you stood there alone, watching him from the corner of the room, it felt like you were watching your own heart break all over again.

The world blurred.

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized it was too much. This wasn’t something you could stand to watch anymore. With every ounce of strength, you turned and left the set, your heart heavy, your legs unsteady.

Lev, still lost in his thoughts, didn’t notice. He never knew you were there.

His eyes flicked toward the door you had just exited, a blur of color rushing away.

The park was quiet when you collapsed beneath the tree, your knees drawn tightly to your chest, hugging them as if trying to hold yourself together. The world felt heavy, unbearably so, pressing down on you with a weight you could hardly carry. Each breath felt like a struggle, and the familiar surroundings of the park—the one you and Lev had always come to when life got too overwhelming—seemed foreign now, like they no longer held the comfort they once did.

You ran here, your legs carrying you without thinking, desperate to get away. This was supposed to be your safe place, the one place where everything felt right, where you could laugh and talk with Lev, away from everything else. But now, it felt like you were suffocating in the silence, the emptiness filling the space where his presence used to be oh so comforting.

You buried your face in your knees, trying to block out the memories, the images of Lev smiling at her—the way he looked at her.

A single daisy grew beside you.

You plucked it from the earth, twirling it between your fingers.

The delicate stem bent between your fingertips as you twirled the flower absentmindedly, staring down at the small thing that felt like the last piece of life you had left.

Then, softly, you brought it to your lips.

You kissed the petals, your lips trembling as they met the soft flower. Every unsent word, every unspoken wish, every tear you never shed for him—it all poured into that one fragile kiss.

“My heart is forever yours, my Lev.”

A final whisper. A final truth. A truth you never thought would be yours to claim.

The words like a confession, but it wasn’t a relief.

It was a heavy burden.

A promise you could never fulfill, but one you were more than willing to make. You would never be able to give him the love you wanted, the love he deserved. The ache in your chest deepened, and with each breath, it was as if the world was slipping away from you, inch by inch, until there was nothing but the weight of your own heart breaking.

You couldn’t hold on anymore. You couldn’t fight it. You were tired, tired of waiting, tired of hoping, tired of loving him in silence.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in colors of sorrow—purple and orange as though the universe itself was mourning you. It felt like the end of everything.

It was the end of everything.

You let the flowers around you bloom, their petals soft against your skin, but their beauty felt distant. Fading. Like you.

And as the quiet swallowed you whole, you gave yourself up to it. The ache, the love, the pain—everything. You allowed yourself to be consumed, to fade away, because living without him, without that love, was something you couldn’t bear anymore.

lol I hope this made sense bc I wrote the majority of this sleepy and only proofread twice LMAO (also 2nd angst I have ever written)

Made March 1st 2025

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sirowsky-stories · 2 days ago

Text

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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