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sirowsky · 1 year

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Day 2 and time for the second Celebration Story! The prompt for this one was: "I don't want you to go" with Din Djarin, and I thank @shsoba05 for that <3

Rating: Teen Warnings: Din Djarin x Reader, reader has no physical description and no specified gender, slavetrade, slight angst. Word Count: 1450 Sirowsky's Masterlist

--Acts of Kindness--

You weren’t supposed to stay. You were a mission that went wrong, a package to be delivered, except the destination was destroyed before he could get you there. And with nowhere to go, he couldn’t just kick you out of the ship on a tiny moon where the only other lifeforms had just been eradicated.

He’d tried to find someone that would take you, some place where you’d be welcomed, but without any luck, as that part of the galaxy wasn’t the friendliest or richest of sections. So, against his better judgement, he’d kept you. Being a slave meant that you technically belonged to him anyway, since the buyer was dead, and the seller had already torn up their contract.

Grogu liked you, and you were tremendously good with him, somehow understanding all of his little cues and what he was trying to say, even after just a few days with him. You seemed to love to teach him stuff, and he absorbed everything like a sponge, always eager for a challenge and endlessly pleased whenever he succeeded with anything particularly difficult.

You’d been a factory worker, rather than a pleasure-slave, so you were strong in both body and mind, used to working hard and given little time to recover. So, it took you weeks just to acclimatize to being allowed to sleep a full night, or just sit down to rest if you needed to. But the more familiar the routines became, the more relaxed and comfortable you were, and as the weeks passed, Din started noticing that he was quite happy to have you around.

You smiled and laughed all the time, so happy to be living like a free person that you never missed an opportunity to share your joy. And aside from always caring for Grogu, you took on the responsibility of keeping the ship clean and the engines running smoothly, entirely without his asking, just because you wanted to be useful.

All of which was why, when the chance finally presented itself, when a farmer on Naboo recognized your slave-tattoos and asked about your contract, Din was suddenly angry. Whether with himself for falling into the trap of caring too much, or with the farmer for bringing up the contract at all, he couldn’t tell. But his first instinct was to tell the man to take a hike.

The only thing that stopped him, was the fact that the farmer had every right to ask for your papers, and when he found out that they were torn, meaning that you were still for sale, he immediately made an offer. It was a reasonable one, and although Din didn’t want the payment, he was just a courier and had no rightful claim to you unless he bought you himself.

And there were numerous reasons why he couldn’t do that.

He told the farmer that he’d need a day to write up a new contract, and they parted ways with the agreement to meet up on the farm the following morning. All without you having any voice in the matter. You just stood there beside him while he negotiated your sale, silent and unmoving, instantly returned to the joyless and unrooted person you’d been when he’d first met you.

That evening, even though Grogu tried everything that he could think of to make you laugh, you remained still as a statue before him. In your need to shield yourself from the painful loss of this illusion of freedom that you’d enjoyed for several months, you had already cut yourself off from them. Preparing to go back to a life of endless toiling, where smiles and laughter died before they were even born, and no one would spare a thought to your comfort.

Din didn’t sleep at all that night, and neither did you. You just sat beside each other in complete silence, until the sky started to brighten, and you were suddenly out of time.

“I don’t want you to go…” he heard himself whisper, and then saw your hands close into tight fists on your lap, but whether it was from anger or pain, he couldn’t tell.

It wasn’t fair of him to say something like that when he was the one that had made this mess in the first place. But it was the truth, and he just didn’t know what else to say.

“You gave me a wonderful gift, Din,” you said, and he couldn’t fathom what you meant by that. “You showed me all the things that I never knew and could only ever imagine. So now, when I’m tired and I look up at the stars to take my mind off the work for a moment, I won’t have to imagine what it’s like to fly among them. I’ll have so many beautiful memories to take me away.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and even if he had, it was time to go. He picked up the contract, you took Grogu in your arms, and together you left the ship and walked the two miles over to the farm. The farmer was waiting for you, payment in hand, and when the contract was signed and the trade was complete, you hugged the child tightly before handing him over to Din.

And it wasn’t until that point that Grogu understood what was happening, and a sound that Din had never heard before, escaped his throat. It was a scream and a sob and perhaps even an attempt to speak, but mostly it was just heartbreaking. It cut through the air like a knife and slipped under armour, clothes and even skin, into your very bones, trying to shatter them.

You were already being led away when his little arms reached for you, and when you didn’t come to him, he screamed again. You turned your head back to look at him then, and your cheeks were covered in tears, but you knew better than to try and run from your owner. But when you looked away again, the child decided to take matters into his own hands.

And suddenly Din’s boots where scraping against the gravel road, because Grogu was pulling himself through the air with such force that he doubted if anything could’ve stopped the little guy. Hearing the commotion, the farmer turned around to investigate, only to then positively leap backwards at the sight that met him.

The kid didn’t stop until he was in your arms again, almost sending the Mandalorian crashing into you too. And even though you knew that you shouldn’t take him, that it would only make it harder to let him go again… you just had to. Sorrow robbed your legs of all strength and you dropped to the ground, hugging the boy to your chest while desperate sobs relentlessly tried to claw through your throat.

“Please…” Din pleaded to the farmer, even though he knew that it was unlikely to make any difference. “Take your payment back, let me cross the bond… please.”

But to his astonishment, the older man seemed to soften. His shoulders slumped and he looked at the scene before him as tears formed in his eyes. Then he looked back up at Mando, nodded and held his hand out for the payment. Din gave it to him and then moved back to you, kneeling and reaching for your right hand as he pulled the knife from his belt.

In one quick and precise movement, he cut your skin open through all three of the tattooed rings around your wrist, thereby breaking your bond as a slave and setting you free. You didn’t seem to even feel the pain when he then quickly put his gloved hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. You just stared at the farmer with wide, incredulous eyes, and then thanked him for his kindness.

Instead of answering, he walked away, but then returned after just a minute, carrying a med kit. And while he dressed your wound, he told you about the slave that you had been meant to replace, and how that person had also been torn from people they loved and had ended up killing themselves to escape the pain.

He told you that he would rather set you free than ever experience that guilt again. You told him that he was a good man and that you hoped that he could find some help for his farm, and then the three of you left.

Coming back to the ship, you were suddenly smiling again, playing with Grogu as if nothing had happened, and Din hoped that you knew, even though you couldn’t see it, that he was smiling too.

<<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that more people might find it <3

@tacticalsparkles @tanzthompson @sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @annathewitch @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @winter-fox-queen @lovefreylove @elegantduckturtle @shadowolf993 @callsigncatfish @hounding-around @cannedsoupsucks @ellie-darling @startrekkingaroundasgard @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @thisshipwillsail316 @dihra-vesa @tobealostwanderer @ophelialoveshandsomemen @deadhumourist @tintinn16 @spideysimpossiblegirl @nolanell @toomanystoriessolittletime @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bilibiche @harriedandharassed @shadesofnerdlygrace @hotchlover @little-mrs-morales @gallowsjoker @cosmicbreathe @criminalmind1927 @myfavpedrothings @spishsstuff @suttonspuds @sjdraws-00 @ezras-channel-rat @justnat15 @anditsmywholeheart @i-love-movies @insomniamamma @lowlights @thelion-sroar @herefordistractions @ellenmunn

#sirowsky's 500 followers celebration 🍾#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x gn!reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian au #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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sirowsky · 1 year

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Day 3, and this one is a panicked rewrite because I was in a mood when I first wrote it. So, please bear in mind that I wrote this in an hour and that it's not proofread, and thank you so much to @lowlights for the prompt, which was "Did you just break my door down!?"

Rating: Explicit 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero Tovar x female reader, reader has no description except wearing a dress, anger, heated argument, smut, modern AU. Word Count: 1200 Sirowsky's Masterlist

--Anger Management--

He’s in the shower when he hears heavy banging on the front door of his house, but it’s been a really long day and he’s in a bad mood, which for Pero Tovar means that he shouldn’t be around people. So, he ignores whoever’s out there and carries on scrubbing himself clean of the engine oil that’s soaked into his skin through his clothes.

But just seconds later, a bang so loud that he fears half the house is coming down, suddenly thunders through the structure, and he all but leaps out of the stall. He grabs a towel without slowing down, sloppily wrapping it around his waist as he leaves the bathroom and goes looking for the source of what he’s almost certain must’ve been an explosion.

Instead, he finds his front door hanging off of just the lower one of the hinges, along with scattered debris of what had been the doorframe around the lock-mechanism, all over the hallway floor. And in the middle of all that, is you. Standing just two feet inside the house, panting hard and with your fists tightly closed against the sides of your thighs.

You’re quite clearly fuming, but that’s not what Pero is most immediately concerned about.

“Did you just kick my door down!? Are you out of your fucking mind!?” he berates you, almost screaming as his anger builds, but you’re not the least bit intimidated.

“Yeah, I did!” you scream back, taking a step closer. “Because you’re a god damned coward and I’ve had it with you!”

“You broke into my house to call me a coward??” he demands, but he’s actually truly shocked at this entire situation.

Because while he does know that you have a temper, he also knows that it takes a lot to set you off, and he can’t think of anything that he’s done recently that could’ve triggered you.

“When you stand me up for the third fucking time, you better believe I’m calling you chicken!!” you retort, and suddenly he wants to kick himself in his own balls.

You’ve been friends for ages and watched each other go through one failed relationship after another, until you both eventually just sort of gave up. That had then led to over two years of both of you being mostly miserable, until you’d suggested that maybe it was fate and that you should go on a date with each other. And once that idea came into his head, Pero had started looking at you differently.

He had realized that you were pretty much perfect in his eyes, and it had astounded him that he’d never seen it before. So, six weeks ago, you’d made plans to go hiking your favorite trail together and stop for a picnic at a gorgeous viewpoint at the highest section of it. But he’d had to cancel at the last possible minute because of work.

Two weeks later, you’d tried again, keeping it simple with dinner and a movie, and he’d accidentally left you sitting alone in the restaurant for an hour before he’d remembered to call and cancel. Not because of work that time, but because of a very drunk colleague. You’d been understanding, but also very disappointed in him.

So, this time, you’d made plans to meet at your place, which was just a five minute walk from his, and you were gonna make him his favorite dish. He hadn’t remembered to cancel at all tonight, because he hadn’t even remembered that you’d made plans. Not even before his car had decided to start leaking oil and distracted him.

A quick glance at his waterproof wristwatch tells him that you would’ve had dinner ready at least three hours ago.

“Fuck…” he sighs, knowing that nothing he says is gonna make up for this one. “I’m so sorry, hermosa.”

You throw your arms out in exasperation, and he can’t blame you.

“If you’ve changed your mind then just say so,” you growl, but he can hear how the anger is being replaced by the hurt. “I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

“No, I haven’t… I’m just an idiot,” he says, shaking his head at himself.

You seem to agree with him there, but you also look like you’re contemplating something. Then, from one second to the next, all the hurt vanishes from your frame and something determined and strong takes its place. And in the next moment, you’re crossing the hallway with long and powerful strides, not stopping until you crash into him, grabbing his head and harshly pressing your lips to his.

Bewildered, he kisses you back, and every inch of his body is suddenly sparking to life. He wraps his arms around you, ignoring that the towel drops to the floor when he lets go of it, because now that he can finally taste you, he’s instantly bewitched. Whatever it was that had him in such a bad mood earlier is completely forgotten, and all he wants is just to get lost in you.

He quickly pulls your dress over your head, finding you already naked underneath, which only stokes his hunger. Somehow, the bedroom seems a mile away even though it’s just down the hall, so he slips a finger into you while you’re still walking, needing you to be ready for him as soon as you reach the bed.

You try to wrap your fingers around his hard length, but he stops you, because if you touch him, he’s not gonna make it. Thankfully, you take the hint and leave him be, and when he slips another finger into you, your pleasure makes you quiver, forcing your hands up onto his shoulders to steady yourself. Reaching the bed, he pulls his fingers out and quickly licks them to taste you, because there just isn’t time to do it properly right now.

He pushes you down on the bed and you eagerly climb back into the center of it, spreading your legs for him as he chases after you. There’s no hesitation from either of you, no question that this needs to happen, that it’s right and good and perfect, so once you’re settled, he finds the heat of your core and dives right in.

It’s all a little too hard and a little too fast, but he can’t help it. He needs to have you. And he can feel that same need from you, spurring him on with your heels against the backs of his thighs and your fingers digging into his back. But that urgency takes you both to your peak within just a couple of minutes, and all too soon, it’s over.

Still, as he lays there on top of you, trying to find his breath again, feeling that wonderful boneless sensation spread through every part of him, he’s happier than he’s been in a long time. Perhaps ever. And he smiles to himself when it occurs to him that without your temper, you never would’ve dared to make that first move.

“Thank you for breaking down my door, querida,” he whispers in your ear, hoping that you know that he’s not just talking about the door, but about his own walls.

<<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that more people might find it <3

#sirowsky's 500 followers celebration 🍾#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x female reader #modern!au #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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sirowsky · 1 year

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As promised, here comes the first of the Celebration Stories! My heartfelt thanks to @suttonspuds for this prompt, which was "Did you just kick my door down!?" & "You like my beard?"

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Joel Miller x Reader, reader has no description or specified gender, mature themes, cursing, The Last of Us AU. Word Count: 920 Sirowsky's Masterlist

--Neighbors--

“What the fuck…?” he barks as he walks through the broken door, eyeing it incredulously before he turns to you with anger quickly filling his frame. “Did you just kick my door down?!”

You squirm slightly where you stand, further into the house, while you try and come up with a good excuse. Despite his growing years, he can still make your adrenaline spike with his impressive glare and deep scowl.

“You didn’t answer, so I…” you try, but he predictably doesn’t buy that.

“So, you break my fucking house? What’s wrong with you?” he growls, walking closer, and even though you know that he won’t hurt you, your instinct is still to back away.

You don’t, though.

“I haven’t heard from you in weeks, I was worried,” you finally say, and it’s true. “You’re kinda ripe these days, so it’s not like it’s unthinkable that something might’ve happened.”

His anger is mildly dampened by that, but he’s still not happy. Especially not at such a crude reminder that he’s no young stallion anymore.

“Well, I’m still here, and I still gotta feed myself, which is why I was out hunting. Would it have killed you to wait five goddamned minutes?” he grumbles, and you lower your gaze to the floor, evading the question.

Because of course, you could’ve waited, but for some reason you’d felt extremely worried about him today, to the point where you’d ran the half mile between your house and his. It seems silly now, but it had felt so overwhelmingly frightening at the time.

“How the hell did you manage to break the damned thing anyway? You’re no youngster yourself, you know,” he complains, and you shrug, lifting your head again to watch as he picks up a few of the smaller pieces that had come loose when you’d assaulted the wood.

“I guess I’ve just always been better than you at taking care of myself,” you mumble, and his eyebrows twitch slightly, but he doesn’t disagree.

“You gonna stick around to help me fix it?” he asks then, and you relax, because you know that means that the argument is over.

He’s been your closest neighbor for a few years now, and you’ve always had a good relationship, always helping each other and looking out for one another. But you’ve also always argued.

In the beginning, it had been pretty much on a weekly basis, because you’d struggled to learn the different sides of his character and how to talk to him in a constructive way. And while it had gotten better, communication was still nowhere near his strongest trait.

Also, things had gotten somewhat more complicated after you’d spent a night together about a year ago. It’s developed into a friends-with-benefits sort of thing, more than any deeper affection, and you suspect that that’s about as much as he’s capable of giving anyone. Which you’re perfectly fine with.

The physical closeness is about comfort more than passion, and you’ve since spent many nights just sleeping next to each other, simply for the warmth of not being alone. But you can tell from his tone that he’s asking for more than that today.

“Be rude not to…” you answer with a small smile, which he reciprocates.

“Thanks.”

He brings his tools and together you fix the door in no time while idly chatting about the weather and the animals that you keep. Conversation does occasionally get heavier between you, but that’s mostly late at night when you’ve had a drink or two. Work flows easier with lighter topics.

“It’s getting about time to do something about that mop on your head,” you tease, keeping to the spirit of easy topics, and he huffs a laugh.

“I was thinking I might grow it out, see how long it would stay curly,” he suggests, and you can’t really tell if he’s joking, so you just go with the first thing that comes to mind.

“I don’t think your hair will ever be anything but curly. Which is good, cause I like it like that,” you smile at him while tightening a screw.

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod earnestly, which seems to spark his interest. “Do you like my beard?”

He hasn’t bothered to shave much lately, probably because his right hand is causing him some trouble these days, so his beard is as wild as you’ve ever seen it. It’s got little bald patches and still shifts between brown and grey, although the silver is winning that battle.

“I like it a bit more tamed than this,” you chuckle, pinching a few strands between your fingertips and tugging gently, which makes him smile. “But yeah, I like it.”

You’re all finished with the door just then, so he takes the screwdriver from your hand and puts it down on the kitchen table, before coming back to take your now empty hand and lead you to his bedroom.

You stay the night, watching the northern lights dance across the sky through his bedroom window as you fall asleep. And you think about how low the odds must’ve been that you’d not only survive the fungus, but come to live your best life in the aftermath of it all.

Because while your life had seemed good before all that, it’s only now, after your bones have started aching and your energy drains too fast and you can never sleep enough, that you’ve finally learned what it is to have peace. In both mind and heart.

<<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that more people might find it <3

#sirowsky's 500 followers celebration 🍾#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x gn!reader #the last of us #hbo the last of us #hbo tlou

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sirowsky · 1 year

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Day 8 and we've reached the last of the Celebration Stories! There's just another poem tomorrow and then it's over. This story is courtesy of @spishsstuff and the prompt was: "No sweetheart, that's a gun" with Marcus Moreno. Thank you, my friend! This one ended up being the longest of the stories, and took me back to my early days here on tumblr <3

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Marcus Moreno x (female) reader, reader has no physical description and no specified gender, angst associated with the fear of rejection, veiled mentions of male genitals, coworkers to lovers. Word Count: 2850 Sirowsky's Masterlist

--Daring to Dream--

It’s not often that the Heroics organization has time for parties, and even on the few occasions that they do manage to put something together, you’re usually too busy to attend. Because you’re the middleperson between the Heroes and upper management, and since the superpowered geniuses somehow manage to generate piles of paperwork every single day, you are effectively the busiest person in the building.

However, for the first time in almost ten years of working there, you have actually managed to claw out enough free time to go to the retirement party for your favorite colleague, this evening. His name’s Quentin, affectionately called Q, and he was the one that taught you how this place works, back when you’d first started.

He’d made sure that you’d managed to avoid all the rookie mistakes and always warned you whenever someone was getting ready to pull a prank on you, just in case you were the sensitive type, that might be scarred for life by certain types of pranks. You’re quite certain that you would’ve managed without him, but it had mattered so much to you that he’d cared enough about a stranger to do those things for you.

Over the years, he’s become something of a second father to you, so you’re really sad to see him off, but also so happy for him to get to enjoy retirement after over fifty years of devoted service. But you’re unaccustomed to being around your coworkers like this, all relaxed and unprofessional, so the whole thing has left you feeling a bit uneasy, which is why you keep to the background.

That is, until someone extends a hand to you. You’re sitting in a reclining chair that you’ve stolen from the front security desk, because the sec-team have the best chairs, with your feet propped up on the edge of a giant pot that houses an indoor tree, just inside of the entrance. The festivities are being held in the large foyer and lounge area, so you have a good view of everything from that spot, without being in the middle of it.

But the sudden intrusion into your personal bubble takes your focus away from the scene in front of you, drawing your eyes to your left where you find none other than Marcus Moreno, the great leader himself, to be the one that’s holding his hand out to you. You’re usually very observant, to the point where you’re known in this building as someone that’s near impossible to sneak up on, even for a Heroic, so his sudden appearance annoys you a little.

It quickly fades, though, because you like Marcus. A lot more than you should. Still, you have no idea what he’s doing, merely standing there with his hand in the air as if waiting for you to give him something. And when the seconds tick by and he doesn’t say anything, you raise your eyebrows at him, silently asking what the hell he’s doing.

He smiles then, and it’s the slightly nervous kind, which you can’t imagine has anything to do with you.

“Wanna dance?” he finally asks, and you’re suddenly twice as confused as you were a moment ago.

Primarily because there’s no dancefloor and no one is dancing anywhere in the entire foyer, but also just because… why? You’ve always had a good professional relationship. He’s respectful and kind and always helpful, unlike so many of the other supers. But you’ve never become friends. You don’t know him personally, you’ve never hung out or even had lunch together. Truth be told, you can’t recall having ever had a single conversation with him that wasn’t primarily about work, although you’ve certainly wanted to.

“Uh… sure,” you hear yourself say, and then you have to literally bite your own tongue to keep from screaming at yourself, because where did that come from?

You don’t even know how to dance, idiot!

But then the nervousness in his smile vanishes, and he beams at you when you take his hand, and suddenly you don’t know why you’re upset with yourself anymore. You smile back, unable to stop the gesture because he’s too damned cute, with his sparkling, crinkly eyes and that dimple that should be fucking illegal. He only takes you a few steps away from the chair, since the corner behind the security desk is empty and the large glass walls give you a feeling of almost being outside.

You try your best not to look too nervous about it when he turns and snags your waist, in a perfect imitation of those fluid movements you’ve seen in old movies with Fred Astaire. Figures that he’d be all smooth like that. He’s already hogging all the best traits that a person can have within that gorgeous mind and body of his, so of course he’s gotta be a natural at dancing too. Why leave anything for the rest of you…

“It’s nice to finally see you at one of these things,” he says quietly, while he starts to slowly move you across the floor in little rhythmic circles. “Why have you never showed up before?”

Now, you could answer that it’s because you’re not particularly interested in parties, or that you get more than enough of seeing your colleagues during workhours, either of which would be true. But you’re terribly nervous right now, which is probably why you end up sounding cantankerous instead.

“Because someone keeps burying me under mountains of paperwork,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Hey,” he chides, but he sounds guilt-ridden rather than annoyed when he continues. “If you’re gonna throw blame around then at least throw it on all of us.”

His remorse makes you feel bad about your comment, so you make an effort to shed your nervousness and try and behave like a friend rather than a tired colleague.

“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, I didn’t mean to…” you try, but the words just kinda die off on you, so you sigh and try a different track. “I know that you do what you have to out there, and I admire your readiness to always protect people.”

“Just stop wrecking shit while you do,” he finishes the thought for you, and you have to smile at that.

“Preferably,” you nod, and he chuckles and then tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you fully into his chest so that he can rest his cheek against your temple.

He does it so casually, as if you’ve danced dozens of times before and are completely familiar with each other, which you’re most certainly not. Still, he seems totally comfortable with the situation and that makes your body want to mirror him. So you relax and let him lead you around, following his movements and enjoying the closeness. It’s so rare that you ever have anyone this close to you.

But as you move like that, with the entire fronts of your bodies glued together, something suspiciously hard is suddenly poking at your hip, at just the right angle. You could of course try to ignore it, but… Once that thought has entered your mind, it sparks a whole plethora of questions and ideas, and in no time at all, it’s the only thing you can think about.

Because what if he asked you to dance specifically because he’s attracted to you. What if his willingness to always stay for a while and explain himself after he comes to dump another pile of forms on your desk, isn’t just about his desire to help. Maybe he just likes to spend time with you. Maybe he just likes… you.

“Uh, Marcus?” you say, feeling yourself starting to heat up at the prospect that this amazing person might be into you.

“Hm?” he hums right by your ear.

“Is… Is that your…?” you try, unable to find a suitable euphemism for his privates right then.

It takes him a moment, but when he realizes what you’re trying to say, he laughs.

“No sweetheart, that’s a gun,” he explains, and then elaborates. “I was working late today, helping the police disarm a robber, and I just didn’t have time to take it to be destroyed before the party.”

It makes complete sense, he does that sort of thing on a weekly basis, since his powers allow him to manipulate certain metals. And suddenly you feel so stupid. Why would you ever think that he might get aroused just by standing close to you, it’s not like there’s ever been the slightest hint of interest towards you before tonight. Shame burns your skin, and you have to fight the urge to pull free and run away.

You wanna cry, because even the idea of being liked by someone as good and kind as Marcus Moreno, is like having your entire existence validated. It would’ve made every guy that’s told you that you weren’t good enough, either through their words or their actions, finally proven wrong. And now, even though it was just in your head, it feels instead as though those guys have somehow won.

“Hey… you okay?” he asks when you don’t answer, or laugh with him as he’s probably expecting you to.

“Yeah,” you answer on autopilot, desperate for him not to see how pathetic you are.

But your voice betrays you. He can easily hear the tremor, the complete lack of confidence and the way you’re trying too hard, even in that one small word. You duck your head when you feel his grip around your waist loosen, to give yourself a few extra seconds before meeting his eyes, as he pulls back to look at you to try and find out what’s wrong.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and his mirth is all gone, replaced by genuine concern which only tugs harder at your heart, because you so wish that he would always have such care for you.

You’ve always liked him, but never once allowed yourself to think of him as anything but a coworker, because he’s just so far out of your league, and so clearly not interested. If he had been, surely, he would’ve at least attempted to hint it to you.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you lie, which he easily sees through, because you’re still not meeting his eyes, and your voice is anything but steady.

Putting a gentle finger under your chin, he urges you to look up at him, and as much as you want to just run away and hide for the rest of your fucking life, you let him direct you. Because a part of you wants him to know. He studies you closely for several seconds, and you can almost see his mind working, trying to figure out how you went from joking around with him, to looking teary-eyed a mere minute later.

And somehow, he actually does figure it out. You can tell when the realization hits him, in how his brow smooths a bit, and a kind of understanding settles into his frame. So, you try to steel yourself for the rejection that you know is coming, when you see him take a breath and prepare to say something.

“Did you want it to be… that?” he asks, fishing for some confirmation that what he’s thinking is on point, and clearly referencing your earlier mistake.

You hesitate, but then that part of you that needs to know if there’s any chance, makes you nod in response, and the shame builds again. Once more ducking your head, desperate not to see it if he should be repulsed or even just disappointed, you start to back away, already telling yourself all the horribly painful things that he might be about to say, so that maybe it won’t be such a shock.

But none of what you’re dreading happens. He simply doesn’t let you retreat. Instead, he tugs you back into his chest and wraps both arms around you.

“My office…” he whispers in your ear then, before lightly kissing the edge of your jaw.

He pulls back, meeting your frozen, incredulous eyes for just a moment, and then he walks away, indeed heading straight for the corridor that leads away from the foyer and up to the next levels. And you’re left standing there, stunned and flustered and so many other things that have your head spinning and your heart pounding painfully against your ribcage.

He must be joking because he’s never once expressed any interest in you. But of course, it is also possible that he’s just horny and taking advantage of the situation. You know that he hasn’t even been on a date since his wife died five years ago, so maybe he just sees a chance for a little intimacy. Still, that seems unlikely, given that everything you know about his character says that he would never use someone like that.

Joke or not, it’s up to you to decide what you want, or what you’re willing to endure for the chance that this might be exactly what you want it to be. And for once, that’s an easy choice to make. He’s too good to pass up.

You decide to wait a minute before following him, though. Just in case someone’s watching, and as you slowly start moving closer to the crowd, you spot Q heading towards you, which makes you smile.

“Hey there, old-timer,” you say once he gets within earshot, and he chuckles.

“Hey there, paper-tower,” he calls back, and your smile widens.

He’s been calling you that since day one, and it comforts you to hear it again. Once he gets to you, he gives you a big hug and then holds on to your upper arms when he pulls back.

“Did these sharp old eyes just catch you dancing with a certain super?” he says in a low voice, close to your face to keep the people around from overhearing.

“Maybe those eyes are a bit too sharp,” you joke in return, and he huffs a laugh.

“Definitely. But tell me what happened?” he asks, and you know that he’d be thrilled to hear what you’re about to do.

He’s the nosy sort, but not a gossiper. He just likes to know everything.

“He… invited me to his office,” you confess, leaning close to his ear so that you can whisper, but you still see the rise in his brow from the corner of your eye even before you lean back again.

“And you’re going, right?” he blurts out, sounding almost afraid that you might not be, which puzzles you into silence, and he presses on. “Sweetheart, trust me on this: Go.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” you ask, feeling like you’re missing something obvious here.

“I’m seventy years old, I know a million things that you don’t,” he says with a casual roll of his shoulders. “And what I know about Mr. M, is that he’ll make you happy.”

“So, you don’t think that he’s just looking for some tail, then?” you say with a cheeky smile, and he laughs at the ridiculousness of such a thought.

“If that was all he was after, he could get it anywhere. But he’s asking for you, the busiest, most charm-resistant person in the building.”

You can’t fault his logic there, as you’re probably the most unavailable person imaginable in Marcus’ everyday life. Aside from married people, that is. So, you hug Q one more time and then hurry to get away from the party, ducking into the hall and sneaking up the stairs as quickly as you can without running, reaching the office in just a few minutes.

You don’t bother knocking since you’ve already been invited, and when you step inside, he’s waiting for you in his sofa, further into the room. He stays seated while you close and lock the door before moving over to him, but his eyes are on you every second, and you can almost see how his temperature is rising. Unsure of how he wants to proceed, you stop in front of him, but he doesn’t like that.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you down so that you’re straddling him, then his arms wrap all the way around your back, pressing you against him until you can feel him through his suit-pants. Then he tilts his head up to find your lips, but you stop him by putting one finger against his mouth, and he pauses, suddenly looking nervous.

“Just so we’re clear,” you say, and he stops breathing for a second, “I’m expecting dates and stolen moments in the hallways, stupidly lovesick nonsensical gifts and cute notes, and dinners with Missy-…”

He cuts you off by pulling your hand away and claiming your lips, wantonly moaning into your mouth with how strongly it affects him to taste you. But he doesn’t need to say anything. You know from the moment your lips meet that he’s already agreed, and that this is just the beginning. Which is already everything that you never dared to dream of.

<<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that more people might find it <3

#sirowsky's 500 followers celebration 🍾#marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x fem!reader #coworkers to lovers #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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sirowsky · 1 year

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Day 7 of the Celebration Stories, and this one comes from my lovely wife @lucrezia-thoughts with the prompt: "Please, tell me you missed me." with the supreme Marcus Pike! <3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Marcus Pike x friend reader, reader has no physical description and no specified gender, cursing, college reunion, fluff, happy and open ending. Word Count: 732 Sirowsky's Masterlist

--Reunion--

He was one of your best friends in college, but you haven’t seen him since then. You’d parted ways after graduation, and while you had initially tried to stay in touch, this had been before the age of smartphones and all the modern technology that makes connecting to other people so easy these days, so it hadn’t taken long before your busy lives had killed your friendship.

You weren’t going to come to this reunion, for a lot of reasons, but in the end, it had been the prospect of seeing him again that had made it impossible to stay away. He’s in the FBI these days, and you know that he’s working with art theft and stuff, but that’s also pretty much the extent of what you know. Whether he’s single, married, a father, or perhaps no longer identifying as male or straight, you have no idea.

But sitting there, at the far end of the café that’s being used for the event, you’re certain that none of it matters. You just wanna see him again. You watch your former classmates make their entrance, one after the other, and then proceed to behave exactly as you expect, because of course they haven’t changed much. Which is somewhat comforting, but also dull.

You’ve been there for an hour and a half, and barely spoken to anyone, because you hardly knew them when you were in class together, and even less so now. There were two other people that you were also close with back then, Miles and Kayla, but they got married and moved to Europe years ago, so they’re not coming. And since it’s looking increasingly unlikely that the man you’re waiting for is gonna show, you get up and start making your way to the door.

It takes a while, because everyone wants to pretend to care that you’re leaving early, and you’re too polite to just tell them to fuck off, so you fake a smile and try and work your way through them as painlessly and quickly as you can. Stepping outside it feels like you’re taking your first breath of actual air in almost two hours, and it cools you down, so you take a moment to just stand there and breathe.

“Still not a people person, huh?” a familiar voice sounds from your right, and you turn your head to find him there, slowly strolling towards you with his hands buried in the front pockets of his jeans.

“Marcus…” you breathe, stunned to finally see him again.

He looks even better than you remember. More mature and definitely a lot calmer, but that boyish twinkle in his eyes hasn’t gone anywhere. And somehow you feel like you’ve just come home.

“Please, tell me you missed me,” he says with a smile as he comes to a stop right in front of you. “Because I have had a terrible year, and I could really use an old and good friend right about now.”

You decide not to dwell on whatever the terrible stuff might be, because you’re also in need of a good friend to take your mind off the greyness of your life, so you smile back.

“Yes. I’ve missed you terribly. Now give me a hug and then let’s go find some good food and catch up,” you suggest, and he quickly wraps his arms around you with a warm chuckle deep in his throat.

He seems to hold on to you just a little longer and a little tighter than what you’d expected, which makes you think that maybe he really has gone through some shit, and is downplaying it to not ruin the reunion. But you don’t mention it. You just take his arm once he pulls back, and together you saunter off down the street, looking for a Chinese restaurant, and somehow you know that this friendship isn’t going to die off again this time.

You’re both a little different now, shaped by the things you’ve gone through, no doubt, but you’re also the same. Everything about him feels familiar, from his walk to his mannerisms to his voice and the way he talks, and you imagine that it feels the same for him. And you just know in your heart that any friendship that can feel this unchanged and comfortable even after a decade of no contact, is meant to last.

<<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that more people might find it <3

#sirowsky's 500 followers celebration 🍾#marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike supremacy #marcus pike x gn!reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x friend reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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sirowsky · 1 year

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Day 5 and that means that we're back to Joel Miller! This story is courtesy of @bilibiche who chose the prompt: "Gimme a damned second, will you..."

Rating: Mature Warnings: Joel Miller x reader, reader has no physical description and no specified gender, kinda enemies to friends, allusions to violence, cursing, betrayal, guilt, possible spoilers from ep. 5. Word Count: 1630 Sirowsky's Masterlist

--Lost and Found--

You shouldn’t like him.

He’s dangerous, and not just because he doesn’t hesitate to harm or kill anyone that threatens him or the very few things that he cares about, but specifically because he doesn’t care much about anyone or anything. He’s cold. As hardened as the rest of the world by the new rules you all live by, and he seems to have long since given up on hope.

But amidst all of his closed doors, you see something which you know that he doesn’t mean for anyone to ever see. A secret that he keeps locked away, terrified of letting out because of what it would do to him if he tried to set it free and failed. Because it’s the biggest thing that anyone can carry, and yet, it fits into all the smallest nooks and crannies of our beings. Which is why, even when we think that we’ve rooted it out, one drop is all it takes for it to grow.

Love.

He still feels it, no matter how hard he tries not to and no matter how much it hurts him. You don’t know who it is, this precious someone that he drags around with him, unable to let go but equally unwilling to hold on to. It tortures him, so in a twisted ballet of self-preservation, he throws his pain at anyone that he can, trying to keep it from burying him, and the ensuing guilt then makes him angry at himself.

So, in the end, he’s left with nothing but his rage to keep him alive. And it does. Everyone in the QZ fears him, to a greater or lesser extent, because his anger makes him willing to go after anyone, regardless of their rank or status. He just needs a reason, and there have been plenty of them over the years. No one messes with Joel Miller. That’s what every new arrival is told, and sooner or later, they all find out why.

You really shouldn’t like him.

--=¤=-- 9 years later --=¤=--

It’s a wonder that you’ve stayed alive all this time. After being recruited by the Fireflies, you’d ended up outside of the quarantine zone about five years ago, with no way of getting back and knowing that you’d be executed on the spot if you should somehow manage it. All alone out there, you’d been forced to teach yourself to become a better fighter if you were gonna have a chance to survive.

And you had, against all odds. You’d made it long enough to run into a group of people that weren’t assholes, and who had decided to take you in despite quite a rough first meeting. Because by then you were such a good fighter and so adept at surviving in the wild, that you’d become a valuable resource to any community. And especially one trying to build a new home this far out into the wilderness.

Which is why you’ve already been living in Jackson for a year when he rides into town. You can’t quite believe your eyes at first, but then he calls out to Tommy and there’s no doubt that it’s him. Tess isn’t with him, though, and there can only be one reason for that. Instead, he’s got a kid in tow, and that’s what surprises you most of all.

They disappear into the cafeteria, and you quickly head back to work. You have one very compelling reason to not be particularly keen on meeting him again, but you’re also somewhat certain that he would definitely not be happy to see you. So, you make a mental note not to move about town too much until you know whether he’ll be sticking around or not.

But early the next morning, while walking to work, you spot him sitting on the front steps of a house just down the street from yours, and the sight of him makes you stop. Because he looks horrible. You’ve seen him look stressed and angry and absolutely terrifying before, but right now, he’s riddled with sadness and guilt which are things that he’s never allowed to be seen.

And oddly enough, seeing him like that makes you realize that you still like him, in spite of everything. So, you swallow hard, then take a deep breath before turning and heading straight towards him, although you walk slowly. He’s so wrapped up in his own head that he doesn’t hear you approach, and you don’t want to startle him, so you stop some ten yards away.

“Hi, Joel,” you say quietly, and he looks up to search for the source of the voice.

When his eyes locate you, and his brain slowly registers who you are, he turns pale and seems to freeze where he sits. You know why. You know what he did, you’d figured it out a few days after it happened, and for a long time you’d wanted to hate him for it. But you never could, because in his shoes, you might’ve done the same thing.

“I just thought you should know that… I made it,” you tell him with a small shrug, truly wishing to ease his conscience.

Still, he doesn’t move or speak, so you decide to leave him alone with his thoughts. You give him a gentle smile and then turn to resume your walk.

“Gimme a damned second, will you…” he calls just as you take the first step, and you stop and turn back again, just in time to see him run a hand over his clammy face.

Slowly, to give him time, you walk closer to the house, until you’re just a few steps away from him.

“It’s good to see you again,” you offer, but that only deepens the wrinkle between his brows.

“I find that extremely unlikely,” he says, and then continues after a beat. “If you know…”

“Yeah, I worked it out,” you confirm. “But I get it. He’s your brother, you were trying to keep him safe. I don’t blame you for that.”

You can tell that he’s getting agitated, which is only to be expected. You can only imagine how many times he’s thought about you as another one of his victims, hating himself for it, only to now learn that you’ve been alive the whole time.

“I tricked you… made sure you’d be gone, one way or another,” he confesses, and there’s anger in his voice now, but you know that it isn’t aimed at you. “I sent you out there to die.”

“Because with me gone, the operation that I was supposed to head up with Tommy as my second, could never happen,” you recall, and he scoffs.

“It wasn’t an operation, it was suicide.”

“Maybe,” you concede. “We’ll never know.”

He seems to chew on that for a bit, perhaps deciding whether he’s up for debating that point further. But if so, he apparently decides not to. Or at least, that he’s got more pressing questions.

“How the fuck are you alive?” he finally asks, and there’s a hint of awe somewhere in the deeper notes of his voice.

And no wonder, he’s just made the same journey that you did, and undoubtedly encountered the same problems along the way.

“The short answer is that I kept my head. I relied on instincts, but I never stopped working the problem, finding food, water and shelter. And everywhere I went, I trained myself. How to endure and survive heat or cold, how to build shelters if I needed them and how to camouflage myself in different environments. But most importantly… how to fight. With my bare hands or sticks, rocks, ropes, knives if I could find any.”

You stop then, because the past isn’t relevant anymore and there’s no point in going further into detail. Instead, you gesture to the community around you.

“That’s what I do here now. I teach all the things that I learned out there, to everyone living here, to maximize their chances of survival. So, maybe I was always meant to get lost out there. To get away from the control of both Fedra and the Fireflies, and perhaps help to create something better.”

You end with a shrug, and then wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it… That Tommy and I both ended up here and now I’m the one that protects him,” you ponder, but he just stares at you with an expression that you can’t read.

Since you’re about to be late for work, and he’s clearly not ready to have an actual conversation with you, you give up trying to engage him and start turning to leave again. But you have this nagging feeling that this might be your one chance to talk to him, and you so wish that you could somehow free him of any weight that your past might hold over him, you just don’t know how.

“I meant what I said, Joel. It really is good to see you,” you offer, since it’s the only thing that you can think to say.

He still says nothing, but his eyes are far from cold, which makes you feel hopeful that he might’ve lost some of his harsher edges over the years, and that gives you the courage to share one last thing.

“Truthfully, I’ve always liked you,” you confess, and then you turn and walk away, hoping that this won’t be the last time you see him.

But a while later you find out that he’d taken the kid and left shortly after you’d spoken, and somehow, given how unlikely it was that you’d end up meeting out here at all, it seems impossible that your paths will ever cross again.

<<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that more people might find it <3

#sirowsky's 500 followers celebration 🍾#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x gn!reader #the last of us #the last of us spoilers #hbo tlou #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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sirowsky · 1 year

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First off, a huge thank you to everyone who's following my mess of a blog. You are all adding to my confidence and helping to inspire and push me further on my journey as a writer! 💜

Later today, I'm gonna be posting the first of the stories for this celebration, and we're gonna kick off with the man of the hour: Joel Miller.

I'll be using my "regular" tag list, as seen below, so anyone who wants to be notified about these celebration stories but isn't on the list - let me know!

There are seven stories and two poems, and I'll be posting one each day, and then gathering them all here. I do hope you'll enjoy them 🪻

1. Neighbors (Joel Miller)

2. Acts of Kindness (Din Djarin)

3. Anger Management (Pero Tovar)

4. The Well (poem)

5. Lost and Found (Joel Miller)

6. Moving On (Pero Tovar DMTU)

7. Reunion (Marcus Pike)

8. Daring to Dream (Marcus Moreno)

9. An Imagined Adventure (poem)

@tacticalsparkles @tanzthompson @sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @annathewitch @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @winter-fox-queen @lovefreylove @elegantduckturtle @shadowolf993 @callsigncatfish @hounding-around @cannedsoupsucks @ellie-darling @startrekkingaroundasgard @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @thisshipwillsail316 @nakhudanyx @dihra-vesa @tobealostwanderer @ophelialoveshandsomemen @deadhumourist @tintinn16 @spideysimpossiblegirl @nolanell @toomanystoriessolittletime @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bilibiche @harriedandharassed @shadesofnerdlygrace @hotchlover @little-mrs-morales @gallowsjoker @cosmicbreathe @criminalmind1927 @myfavpedrothings @spishsstuff @suttonspuds @sjdraws-00 @ezras-channel-rat @justnat15 @anditsmywholeheart @i-love-movies @insomniamamma @lowlights @thelion-sroar @herefordistractions @ellenmunn

#sirowsky's 500 followers celebration 🍾#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #pero tovar #din djarin #marcus pike #marcus moreno

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sirowsky · 1 year

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Moving On

Part of the Driving Mr. Tovar Universe

Description: Pero's got something on his mind, so you try to help him figure it out, and in doing so, realize that it might help you both to move on.

Author's Note: This was originally part of one of my follower celebrations. It was sent to me as an anonymous ask along with the prompt "Talking helps" from my prompt list, and this is what I came up with. I love this, because it gives so much closure to the overall story, so thank you so much Anon <3

Rating: Everyone Warnings: Mention of character death from the original story, slight angst but also comfort. Word Count: 1082 (122 words added) Masterlist of the original story

You came home late one afternoon, to find Pero by the kitchen table, so deep in thought that he never even heard you come in. Evident from how he flinched when you touched his shoulder. It was extremely unusual for him to not notice you, no matter how preoccupied he was, so whatever was on his mind had to be serious.

Sitting down beside him, you took his hand on the table and gently massaged his fingers while waiting for him to tell you about whatever was on his mind. But he remained silent, staring at your hands as they worked, but clearly not really seeing anything of the room around him. You knew that he’d tell you about it whenever he was ready, but it worried you to see how it seemed to be gnawing at him, so you decided to give him a gentle reminder.

“Talking helps,” you said quietly without looking at him, letting him know you weren’t trying to pressure him into a conversation, but that you didn’t like seeing him like this.

“Sorry…” he mumbled, but before you could tell him that it was alright, he continued. “I’m thinking about this dream that I’ve been having.”

That surprised you, and you looked up to meet his eyes, finding him looking mostly perplexed.

“Good or bad?” you asked softly, hoping to spur him into further explanation.

“Neither… just persistent. I’ve been having this same dream every night for a week now, and I can’t stop thinking about it,” he said with a little shrug, as if he was unsure of why it would matter so much.

“What’s it about?” you wondered, thinking you might be able to help him work it out.

He took a moment to think, and you worried that he might not want to tell you yet. But then he sucked in a breath.

“Horses. I see… hundreds, or maybe even thousands of them, running across the plains in the sunlight,” he almost whispered, as though just the idea of bringing horses back to the estate was enough to break his heart all over again.

And no wonder. King had died just a few months earlier, and you’d both agreed that you were done with horses now. That even the thought of starting over with new individuals was just too heavy to even consider. And yet, his brain was apparently tightly focused on it, for one reason or another.

“Maybe it’s just how you’re trying to process the loss,” you suggested, but he didn’t agree with you.

“No, I don’t think so. Because in the dream, seeing them makes me happy,” he said, looking confused but sounding convinced. “I’m looking for them, and when they run into view I feel such joy. And I think I might know why.”

You felt your brows knit together as you watched him lean forwards and take both of your hands in his. Because ever since he’d lost the black, even mentioning horses had brought tears to his eyes. But not in this moment. Right now, he was emotional for entirely different reasons, and in a way that you weren’t quite familiar with seeing in him.

“What if we turned all of that empty land into a horse sanctuary?” he proposed, and you felt your jaw drop slightly, but he kept going. “I mean like, turn them loose and let them live pretty much wild. Only step in if one of them got sick or needed help with their hooves or teeth or something.”

He could see the questions in your eyes. Your doubts about whether something like this would be too much for him, once it was real. After all, it was one thing to think about it, dream about it. Those were abstracts, whereas actually doing it was something very real and inescapable.

“I know that I could never bond with a horse like before, but it would be nice to be around them again,” he added, no doubt trying to help you understand why this was apparently becoming very important to him.

“Okay… But do you really think you could handle that?” you asked after a beat, because somehow, you felt like he might not have thought this through. “You do realize that we’d have to put them down if they got ill, or badly injured.”

“That’s what I’ve been sitting here thinking about,” he confessed then, and suddenly the depth of his concentration made sense. “The thing is… without the kids or the boys, I don’t really have anything to do. And I just feel like this is something that I could do.”

You understood what he was trying to say. He was a man of very few skills and much too impatient to start learning something new. But this was something that he already knew, and aside from giving him a task to perform each day, it would make use of all the gorgeous land that Sam had left to him, which no one moved through or enjoyed anymore.

“I have to admit, I’d love to hear the sounds of them again,” you replied with a small smile, remembering the heavy thumps of hooves, the proud snorts and all the background noise that you’d gotten used to having around the estate in all the time that you’d spent there with the boys.

Hearing that made Pero smile, which he rarely did around the subject of horses anymore, and that alone was enough to convince you that it was a conversation worth digging deeper into. It would take a couple more months of discussions and planning, where you repeatedly tried to make sure you were both ready for it, but eventually, the Rose Equine Sanctuary was founded, and within just six months, thirty horses had already made their home there.

Over time, it grew to become hundreds, and Pero tended to them without fault, keeping his distance but never going a day without checking on them, no matter how many hours he had to trudge around looking for them. And in caring for the herd, he rediscovered his adoration of horses as a species, rather than just the specific individuals that he’d come to love so closely in his life.

He remembered that he didn’t need to know their characters to be able to appreciate their grace or their power. That all it took to be infected by their calm and harmony, was just looking at them going about their day. Completely free.

THE END

>>>>>>>>>> <<<<<<<<<<

Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging. I would dearly appreciate it <3

#sirowsky's 500 followers celebration 🍾#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero x reader #modern!au #modern!pero #the great wall modern au #the great wall fanfiction #driving mr. tovar fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #sirowsky stories

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