#romy dya | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

almostwisegalaxy · 9 days ago

Text

The Intransigence of Silence_2

Actor x fem!reader

Reader has a bit of a shy character in this story

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: So far away_ Martin Garrix x David Guetta

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Enjoy y'all ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

..................................................................................

The Next Day

Y/n entered the studio the next day, her stomach in knots. Each step felt heavier than the last. She had spent the night replaying their exchanges, searching for meaning in the intensity that consumed her every time she locked eyes with the actor. She knew he was right: she could no longer ignore what burned between them.

Yet, she didn’t know what to do about it. She wasn’t just a young actress trying to make a name for herself; she was his student, under his guidance. And he… he was everything she wasn’t. Powerful, experienced, unattainable.

When she arrived, he was already there. He stood facing a row of mirrors, hands in his pockets, looking distant. But as soon as he noticed her, his gaze darkened slightly, betraying an inner turmoil he struggled to hide.

“You came,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving her.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended.

A heavy silence settled between them, but this time, it wasn’t the usual silence of their mentor-student dynamic. It was something else—something deeper, more fragile.

They began rehearsing. The actor, true to form, corrected every movement, every inflection. But y/n could feel something had shifted. He was still demanding, but his critiques seemed less biting, more measured. She felt his gaze on her—not as a mentor assessing a student, but as a man observing a woman.

She tried to focus on her role, but her mind was elsewhere. She caught him glancing away several times, as if he were struggling to maintain a distance.

Finally, as she performed a particularly intense scene, he abruptly interrupted.

“Stop.”

Y/n straightened, her breath uneven. “What’s wrong?”

He crossed his arms, hesitating. Then he spoke, his voice quieter than usual:

“You’re acting like you’re afraid. Afraid of what? Me? Yourself?”

His words hit her like a blow. She looked down, unable to respond.

“Do you want to know why I told you to drop this role?” he continued, his voice hardening slightly. “It’s not because I doubt you. It’s because you’re not ready to face what it demands. You’re brilliant, y/n, but you’re still fragile. And this world—” He paused, searching for the right words. “This world will destroy you if you show yourself to the public before you’re strong enough.”

She looked up, and for the first time, she saw a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes.

“And you, sir?” she asked softly. “Do you think you’re not part of what could destroy me?”

He flinched but didn’t answer immediately.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted at last, his voice barely audible. “Maybe I’m your worst enemy in all of this. But if I had to choose between breaking you a little to make you stronger or watching you fail because I did nothing… I’d always choose the first option.”

Y/n felt a wave of conflicting emotions rise within her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to tell him she didn’t want to be his project, his creation. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t just that.

“And what if I don’t want to be strong on your terms?” she whispered.

He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on hers, his expression unreadable.

“Then tell me, y/n. Tell me what you want. Really.”

She remained silent, frozen under his intense stare. Part of her wanted to tell him she wanted to run, to be free of him, of his hold over her. But another part, deeper and more honest, knew she wanted something else entirely.

Finally, she replied, her voice trembling:

“I want you to let me make my own choices.”

The actor stepped back slightly, as if her words had struck him. But instead of retreating, he stepped forward again, closing the gap between them to almost nothing.

“Then make a choice now,” he murmured. “But know this—if you stay here, if you keep following me, listening to me, challenging me… there won’t be any boundaries left. Not between you and me.”

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. He was so close, yet he made no move, spoke no further words. It was up to her to decide.

She could have walked away. She could have ended it all. But instead, she took a step forward, closing the last bit of space between them.

They stood motionless, the tension between them almost unbearable. Then, slowly, he raised a hand and brushed her face—a gesture both tender and hesitant.

“Y/n…” he whispered, as if warning her, but he said nothing more.

She closed her eyes, letting her breath sync with his. And for the first time, she felt like she had taken back control. Not over him, but over herself.

When she opened her eyes, she said simply:

“I’m staying.”

And this time, it was he who looked away, defeated.

---

She had barely spoken the words when he gently, yet firmly, took hold of her. One hand slid behind her neck, the other brushed her arm. The kiss was everything they were: intense, controlled, yet overflowing with a passion that had been suppressed for far too long. There was no hesitation, no awkward uncertainty. It was as though all the tension that had built up had finally found its release.

Y/n found herself suspended in that moment, her mind flooded with contradictions. But when he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her gaze, she saw in his eyes a humanity he had always tried to conceal.

"I can’t turn back anymore, y/n," he murmured. "And neither can you."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he shook his head, almost regretfully.

"You need to understand—if you choose to stay, there’s no going back."

She didn’t need to think. Her voice trembled slightly, but her words were clear.

"I’m staying."

From that moment, their relationship changed. During rehearsals, they were still mentor and student, the palpable tension between them hidden under a veneer of professional rigor. But when they were alone, in the shadows of backstage or after long sessions of work, the boundaries disappeared.

The actor, usually a master of self-control, occasionally allowed brief moments of tenderness to slip through: a hand brushing hers under the guise of giving advice, a look that lingered a second too long. Y/n, on the other hand, felt a newfound strength. She was no longer just under his influence. She had gained a certain equality in their strange dance.

But their secret was fragile. Other actors began to notice something had changed. Whispers grew louder, more insistent. Yet neither y/n nor the actor let the rumors destabilize them. Their bond, though discreet, seemed unbreakable.

A few months later, the film y/n had auditioned for—and that the actor had forced her to abandon—was finally released. It was a disaster. The reviews were ruthless, criticizing the lack of depth in the performances, the weak script, and the absence of chemistry between the lead actors.

In the studio, conversations revolved around this failure. Some of her former colleagues now looked at her with envy, as if her absence from the fiasco had suddenly validated her place among them.

The actor observed all of this in silence. One evening, as they were alone after a long day of rehearsals, he placed a newspaper on the table in front of her. On the front page was a scathing review of the film.

"Did you read it?" he asked calmly.

Y/n nodded, avoiding his gaze.

"I don’t feel any satisfaction, if that’s what you’re wondering."

He leaned against the table, arms crossed.

"This isn’t about satisfaction. It’s a lesson."

She looked up, intrigued. He continued:

"Do you see what happens when you rush into something to prove something to everyone except yourself? It’s not about talent. It’s about timing, about preparation."

Y/n remained silent for a moment, absorbing his words. She knew he was right. But deep down, another question burned within her.

"And if I had been ready? If I’d gotten the role? Would it have changed anything?"

The actor stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Then, he knelt down to her level, so they were eye to eye.

"I never stopped you from taking that role because I doubted you, y/n. I stopped you because I knew it wasn’t worthy of you."

She felt her eyes well up, but he gently placed a hand on her knee—a gesture that seemed to say, No tears, not here.

"One day," he added, "when you’re ready, it’ll be you the critics praise. Not because of me. Because of you. And on that day, you’ll understand why I pushed you this hard."

From that moment, their relationship entered a new phase. The actor became even more demanding, but also more invested. He poured himself into every detail of her training, pushing her further than she thought possible, but never breaking her.

Y/n, for her part, grew in confidence. She no longer saw him just as a mentor or a man she admired, but as an ally—someone who believed in her even when she doubted herself.

But lurking in the shadows of their connection was a persistent tension. They had crossed a line, and though they tried to conceal their relationship, they both knew the day would come when they would have to face the consequences of their choices.

For now, they moved forward together, united by a complex mix of ambition, desire, and mutual respect.

---

Their relationship had imperceptibly, but undeniably, changed. The actor remained true to himself: demanding, distant in the eyes of the world, but with a softness that surfaced when they were alone. Yet, he never made overt gestures—no grand declarations or romantic promises. His affection was visible in the details: the way he held her a moment too long during a correction, a lingering glance, or a murmured phrase that hung in the air long after he’d spoken it.

Y/n, for her part, felt overwhelmed. She never knew how to respond to these stolen moments: the thrill of a hand brushing hers, a quick kiss in the shadows of a hallway, the intensity of his gaze that seemed to unravel every thought she tried to hide. She continued to address him formally, clinging to it as a fragile form of control over something that felt so unstable.

One evening, after a late rehearsal, the actor offered to drive her home. They were alone in his car, enveloped in a charged silence. The city blurred around them, but all she felt was the warmth radiating from him—so close and yet so distant.

When he stopped in front of her apartment, he turned off the engine but didn’t move. Y/n, hesitant, opened the door, but his hand firmly stopped her.

“Wait.”

She turned to him, surprised. His gaze was steady, burning, yet unreadable.

“You can’t keep running away,” he said softly, almost reproachfully.

She furrowed her brow. “Running away? I don’t understand.”

He sighed, and then, suddenly, he leaned closer. His kiss was intense, full of the tension he had been holding back for weeks. Her hands instinctively found his shoulders, but she didn’t push him away. When he finally pulled back, she was speechless.

“Stop addressing me so formally,�� he murmured, his voice husky. “You’re not a stranger to me anymore, y/n.”

She blinked, trying to compose herself. “It’s… a habit.”

“Change it,” he replied, his tone commanding but his gaze betraying a certain tenderness.

After that night, something shifted between them. The kisses became more frequent, though always fleeting, almost stolen. When they were alone in the rehearsal room, he would sometimes surprise her, pulling her close just to brush her lips with his before resuming his role as her mentor as though nothing had happened.

Y/n felt disarmed by these moments but clung to them nonetheless, unable to deny the effect he had on her. He never told her he loved her, but every gesture, every look seemed to scream it in his place.

One day, while she was rehearsing alone, he entered without a word. He stood watching, arms crossed, until she stopped, flustered.

“Why are you always so nervous around me?” he asked, his tone almost teasing.

She averted her eyes. “I’m not nervous.”

He approached slowly, a faint smirk on his lips. “Then why do you still refuse to speak to me informally?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he placed a finger on her lips, silencing her.

“No excuses. Just… say my name.”

She flushed deeply. “Actor.”

He nodded, satisfied. Then, before she could say anything more, he kissed her again—this time slowly, savoring every second.

They began spending more time together away from the studio. A hidden café tucked in a quiet alley. A late-night stroll through the city. One day, he took her to a nearly deserted park where they sat in silence, simply sharing each other’s presence.

He had a way of touching her—not possessively, but protectively. A hand on the small of her back as they walked side by side. A strand of hair tucked behind her ear, his gaze burning when she looked up at him.

One evening, after one of their outings, she murmured, “I still don’t understand why you chose me.”

He frowned, clearly displeased. “Stop. It’s not about choice. It’s you, y/n. You, and nothing else.”

She didn’t respond, but that night, she fell asleep with his words etched into her mind.

Their relationship was discreet but had taken root. The actor, despite his usual cold demeanor, showed flashes of warmth that only y/n saw. He teased her occasionally, but his words always carried a truth that touched her deeply.

“You’re much stronger than you think,” he told her one day after she nailed a particularly difficult scene.

She lowered her eyes, but he tilted her chin up with a finger. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you. Believe me, y/n.”

She nodded, unable to reply. But in her heart, something shifted.

Their days became intertwined with tender gestures and stolen moments. She was slowly growing accustomed to calling him by his name, though it still felt awkward. He, on the other hand, seemed to take subtle pleasure in watching her soften.

One night, as they shared a late dinner in a small restaurant, she caught him staring at her.

“What?” she asked, self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he replied, a faint smile on his lips. “Just you.”

And in those moments, y/n knew she could never go back.

---

After months of relentless effort, y/n finally landed a role in a big-budget series. It wasn’t a lead role but a pivotal character integral to the storyline. The role demanded a complex emotional range and a magnetic presence, and y/n knew she had to give it her all.

To her surprise, the actor approved without hesitation. When she shared the news with him, he fixed her with his piercing gaze, and for the first time in a long while, a genuine smile lit up his face.

“Good,” he said simply, but his voice carried pride. “This is the right role. One that will challenge you, but also make you shine.”

In the following days, the actor became more involved in her preparation. There was no longer any restraint in his encouragement, though his critiques remained just as sharp.

One evening, after a long rehearsal session, he looked at her intently. “Do you know what I admire about you, y/n?”

She looked up, surprised by the question, but didn’t answer.

“Your ability to turn fear into energy. Even when you think you’ve reached your limit, you keep digging deeper. That’s what makes you unique.”

His words warmed her heart, and a new wave of motivation surged within her.

Their relationship, already intense, became even more intimate. There were fleeting gestures—a hand brushing her arm as he passed by, a rare but genuine smile when she nailed a scene.

They spent more and more time together outside of rehearsals. The actor, usually reserved, slowly opened up to her. One evening, after a particularly productive session, he took her to a quiet, hidden restaurant, far from prying eyes.

“Why here?” she asked, intrigued.

“Because it’s peaceful. And you deserve to breathe.”

They dined in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with mutual understanding.

As they stepped out, he suddenly stopped under a glowing sign. Y/n looked at him, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

He leaned slightly toward her, his eyes burning with emotions he usually kept so well hidden.

“Stop being so formal with me,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent.

She flushed, looking away. “It’s a habit…”

“A habit I hate,” he replied softly, but with an intensity that made her heart race. “When you’re with me, be yourself. Not some polite version.”

She nodded timidly, but the moment stayed etched in her memory.

When filming began, y/n poured all her energy into the role. The scenes were demanding, but she knew this was her chance to prove she belonged in this world.

Though the actor wasn’t directly involved in the production, he often visited the set to support her. He stayed in the background, but she always felt his gaze on her, watching intently.

One day, after a particularly challenging scene, he waited for her outside.

“You did well today,” he said, placing a light hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her heart racing under his touch.

But he didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he let it slide to her cheek, gently guiding her to meet his eyes. “You know I’m proud of you, don’t you?”

She bursts into tears. No one has ever expressed such emotions to her. She takes refuge against his chest, serving him tightly against her.

Their connection grew more palpable, almost tangible. They didn’t talk about their feelings, but their gestures spoke volumes. A stolen kiss in a dark alley after a long evening of rehearsals. A quiet walk in a deserted park. A fleeting exchange of glances while working together.

One night, as they sat in y/n’s small apartment, he kissed her gently, almost hesitantly, as if to ensure she wanted it as much as he did.

“You know,” he murmured against her lips, “you drive me crazy sometimes.”

She laughed softly, resting her head against his chest. “You’re the one saying that?”

“Yes,” he replied, his tone serious. “Because you’re everything I didn’t know I was looking for.”

When the series premiered, y/n was praised for her performance. Critics highlighted the depth she brought to her character, and her name began circulating in the industry as a rising star.

The actor watched her progress with a mix of pride and admiration. But he didn’t shower her with unnecessary praise.

“This is only the beginning,” he told her one night after a particularly successful premiere.

“I know,” she replied, a confident smile on her lips.

But this time, she knew she could face anything. Because he was by her side—not as a mentor or a guide, but as an equal.

---

y/n had come a long way since her role in the series. Offers were pouring in—interviews, magazine covers, proposals for new roles. She had become one of the most sought-after actresses of the moment. Yet, despite the whirlwind of success, there was one constant through it all: the actor. He was always there, always quietly in the background, but never too far away.

That night, there was a premiere he had to attend, a prestigious event for the release of his new film. He was the star of the evening, the headliner. But it wasn’t the spotlight he was seeking. No, his eyes searched the crowd endlessly, looking for a particular face.

y/n was there, radiant in her simple but elegant black dress. She seemed different—not in appearance but in the energy surrounding her. She was confident, independent, and it shone in every movement she made. The actor watched her from afar, a profound sense of pride swelling within him. He had always known she had incredible potential, but what he saw that night exceeded anything he had ever imagined.

For the first time, he didn’t mind not being the center of attention. He was content to simply observe y/n, like a lucky spectator, marveling at how she captivated the room with her mere presence.

The evening came to an end, and the two of them found themselves alone in the actor’s car, the road nearly deserted under the starry sky. The city lights sparkled through the windows, but inside the car, everything felt calm. The silence between them was now comfortable, imbued with a softness that hadn’t existed before.

y/n, tired but happy, stared out the window. The night had been a turning point for her, and though she had savored every moment, she felt moved by the actor’s presence, as if the evening wasn’t complete without him.

When they arrived at her apartment, y/n hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling nervous. Something in the air felt different tonight. She stepped out of the car, thanking him with a simple smile, and headed toward the door. But before she could close it behind her, she felt pressure against it. The actor gently stopped her from shutting it.

He stood there, just behind her, but the space between them felt immense. He stared at the ground for a moment, as if searching for the right words, before finally meeting her gaze. His eyes, usually so controlled, betrayed a mix of intensity and vulnerability.

“You know…” he began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Tonight, I saw an incredible woman shine under lights that didn’t even do her justice.” He paused, as if each word needed to carry the weight of his feelings. “And I realized how lucky I’ve been to see you grow.”

y/n stayed silent, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t expected this moment to be the one where everything changed, but looking back, she couldn’t deny what had been building between them.

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them, and the world seemed to freeze around them. “I love you,” he finally said, the words falling slowly between them, like a confession that had been held back for far too long.

y/n felt her knees weaken, as if that simple admission had lifted some of the weight she had been carrying for so long. She looked at him, her eyes glistening with emotion, unable to respond immediately. But she didn’t need words. Her hands rose on their own, finding his.

Before she could say anything, he leaned in and kissed her—a soft, almost tentative kiss at first, but it quickly deepened into something more fervent, more intense. It was as if all the months of waiting, all the unsaid words, had found their release in this silent yet profoundly meaningful moment.

He followed her inside the apartment, without another word, but none were needed. The actor sat on the couch while she prepared to relax after the long evening. He watched her every movement, every gesture, as if trying to memorize every detail.

When y/n finally settled beside him, he took her hand gently, without urgency. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, his voice sincere. “But I didn’t know how to say all of this before.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her heart overflowing with conflicting emotions. “Neither did I,” she admitted before turning her face to him with a shy smile.

“You’ve changed a lot. You’re stronger now,” he continued.

“No,” she replied softly. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Her words hung in the air, filled with truth. Their relationship had evolved, and she now knew that, despite all the doubts and struggles, she was ready to move forward with him—not just as a mentor or a protégé, but as something more, something real.

He pulled her gently toward him, kissing her once more, but this time, it was slower, more deliberate. There were no barriers left between them, no unspoken words to hold back. The boundaries of their relationship had dissolved, and they were no longer two individuals separated by roles. They were simply themselves, together.

---

That night, the truth of their feelings was finally laid bare in the form of a kiss and the simple yet profound words they exchanged.

..................................................................................