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andy-15-07 · 2 months ago

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Javier Pena x CIA agent!f!reader

You and Javier in secret relationship that you two simply have great chemistry. You enter the meeting with bunch of military, DEI, CIA. Javier was siting with bunch in meeting as you simply listen and watch for General to speak. Then you glare one second at Javi, focus one what trying to do. After the meeting, Javi steps outside and smoke a cigarettes, you step in and talk to him. I know Javi is brave enough about taking down Cali. You got faith for him and if he needed help for you, he’ll called you. He kiss your knuckles that everything would be fine and love you dearly. Lots of hard work for you two would be brave.

(Hope you will write it, thanks and have a good day)

Secrets in the Smoke

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2353 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The conference room was dimly lit by fluorescent bulbs, their harsh light clashing with the somber mood that filled the space. You, Y/N, a seasoned CIA agent known for your steely resolve and discreet efficiency, had entered the meeting with your head held high. Today’s session was critical—a joint briefing with high-ranking military officials, representatives from DEI, and fellow CIA operatives. It was a meeting where every word could mean the difference between success and disaster.

Seated at a long polished table were men and women in crisp uniforms and tailored suits. Among them, your eyes found Javier “Javi” Pena, his presence unmistakable even from across the room. Though you both had to keep your relationship strictly off the record, the subtle chemistry between you was palpable—a private language of glances and half-smiles that spoke of shared secrets and unyielding support.

As the meeting began, you took your seat quietly at the far end of the table, your posture poised and alert. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation as the General prepared to address the assembled team. You allowed your eyes to drift around the room, taking in the determined expressions of your colleagues, until finally, the General cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the General began, his voice deep and commanding, “we are here today to discuss our coordinated efforts against the Cali cartel. Our intelligence indicates that their network is more deeply rooted than we previously believed, and every resource we have must be deployed to dismantle their operations.”

You listened intently, nodding slightly as he outlined the strategy. Every detail mattered—every contingency plan, every tactical adjustment. And through it all, your gaze kept finding Javi’s. He sat with a group of agents from various agencies, his expression stoic yet attentive. For a brief moment, as the General continued speaking, you caught a glimpse of determination in his eyes—a silent promise that he was as committed to taking down Cali as you were.

During a pause in the General’s briefing, you exchanged a fleeting, charged glance with Javi. For a single second, you allowed yourself a small, knowing glare—a reminder of the private bond you shared amid the public formality. You focused back on the presentation, but the warmth of that brief contact lingered, steadying your resolve.

The meeting carried on with intense dialogue. One agent from DEI interjected, “General, if we allocate additional assets to surveillance, we might pinpoint their key operational hubs faster.” Another CIA operative added, “We need to ensure our field agents are equipped with the latest intel. Communication channels must remain uncompromised at all costs.”

Throughout the debate, Javi leaned forward, his deep voice cutting through the technical jargon. “We know the Cali cartel isn’t just a network—it’s a living, breathing organization. Every move they make is calculated. We have to be even more precise. If we’re going in, we need to be in sync, like a well-oiled machine.” His words, delivered with his trademark mix of grit and conviction, resonated with everyone present.

You couldn’t help but smile at his passion. Despite the gravity of the situation, his confidence was a beacon of reassurance for you. Quietly, you made a mental note: if he ever needed extra support, he’d call you without hesitation—and you’d be there in a heartbeat.

Finally, after what felt like hours of planning and debate, the meeting began to wind down. The General wrapped up, “I trust that each one of you will execute your part with the utmost precision. We have one chance to dismantle this network—let’s not fail.” The room erupted in murmurs of assent and determined nods. As the participants filed out of the conference room, you could see the weight of responsibility in everyone’s eyes.

Once the room had emptied, you noticed Javi slipping quietly out the side door. With a practiced glance that masked your concern and affection, you followed him out into the cool night air.

Outside, the corridors were quiet. Javi stood under a flickering light near a set of stairs, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the cigarette he held between his fingers. His rugged face, usually set in a mask of stoic determination, now softened as he exhaled slowly. You approached him, your footsteps echoing softly in the near-empty hallway.

“Javi,” you said gently, stopping a few feet away, “you alright?”

He glanced over his shoulder, a small, tired smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Hey, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly. “Just needed a minute to clear my head. You know how these meetings get.”

You leaned against the wall next to him, keeping your tone casual but your eyes filled with concern. “I do. But you’re one of the bravest men I know. Taking down Cali isn’t easy—anyone would be feeling the pressure tonight.”

He took a slow drag on his cigarette, the embers flaring briefly. “I appreciate that,” he murmured. “I know the stakes, and sometimes it just gets… overwhelming. But knowing you’re out there, doing your part, it gives me strength.”

Your hand brushed lightly against his as you offered a quiet smile. “You’ve got to trust that we’re in this together, Javi. And if you ever need anything—backup, a shoulder, or just someone to listen—you know I’m just a call away.”

For a moment, the sound of distant city traffic and the soft hum of the building’s ventilation filled the silence between you. Then, with a tenderness that belied the harsh world you both inhabited, Javi stepped forward and gently lifted your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss onto your knuckles, his eyes conveying a promise that everything would be alright.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone earnest and resolute, “I love you. I promise, no matter how hard it gets, I’ll always call on you if I need help. And you’ll always be the one who reminds me why I fight.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with both love and pride. “And I love you, Javi. I believe in you—completely. We’re stronger together than apart, remember?”

He nodded, flicking the cigarette away and stubbing it out with a practiced motion. “I do. And we’re going to bring Cali down, one step at a time. But tonight, let’s just… breathe.”

The two of you stood there, the cool night air mingling with the warmth of your shared moment. You could hear the distant murmur of voices and footsteps, the busy world continuing on even as you both savored this small haven of quiet intimacy.

“Remember,” Javi added with a playful glint in his eyes, “when you’re in that meeting next time, I expect you to give me that look again. The one that says, ‘We’ve got this.’”

You chuckled softly. “You mean the glare you love so much? Don’t worry—I’ll make sure you get your daily dose.”

He laughed, the sound rough and genuine. “Good. Because I’m counting on it.”

Your conversation drifted into a mix of mission details and personal banter, each line of dialogue weaving a tapestry of trust and unspoken promises. You recalled recent operations, shared insights about the enemy’s movements, and even traded a few light-hearted jabs about whose briefing notes were better. All the while, the underlying tone was one of mutual respect and unwavering support.

“Y/N,” Javi said after a pause, his voice softening as he looked at you with sincere admiration, “I know I can be stubborn sometimes, and I appreciate that you never let me down—even when I’m too proud to ask for help.”

You reached up and gently touched his arm, your eyes meeting his. “We’re a team, Javi. You take on the danger, and I take care of the details. It doesn’t matter who carries the burden on any given day, as long as we carry it together.”

He smiled at that, a hint of vulnerability shining through his normally guarded demeanor. “I wish I could tell everyone how proud I am to have you in my corner. But you know the rules.”

You nodded, understanding the delicate balance of your secret relationship. “Our secret is safe, Javi. I trust you with my life—and I know you trust me with yours.”

In the stillness of that moment, the weight of your responsibilities melted away, replaced by the simple truth of your connection. The night was far from over, and there would be more meetings, more battles, and more sacrifices ahead. But for now, you both allowed yourselves a brief respite—a pause to appreciate the love that fueled your courage.

After a few more minutes of quiet dialogue—exchanging theories, recounting memories of past missions, and speculating about the future—Javi broke the silence. “I have to get back inside. There’s more work to be done today.”

You hesitated, reluctant to let him go, but you knew duty always called. “Alright, but promise me you’ll stay safe. And if you ever need to talk—or need me—don’t hesitate.”

He leaned in, capturing your gaze with his intense, unwavering eyes. “I promise, Y/N. I love you, and that means more than any mission ever will.”

He pressed one last soft kiss to your knuckles before turning and heading back into the building, leaving you with a lingering warmth in your hand and in your heart.

As you watched him disappear into the corridor, you whispered softly to yourself, “We’ll get through this together, Javi. Always.”

Later that evening, after the meeting had been fully disbanded and the adrenaline of the day had settled into a calm determination, you returned to your secure apartment. The city outside was alive with the hum of nighttime activity, but inside, you prepared for the next phase of your mission. Your mind kept drifting back to Javi’s words and the promise in his eyes—a beacon of hope in a world where danger was a constant companion.

Over the next few days, as intelligence reports and mission updates piled up, your secret relationship with Javi remained a quiet source of strength. In the brief moments between operations, you would exchange coded messages and subtle signals that only the two of you could understand. Every time your phone buzzed with a discreet “Javi check-in,” your heart skipped a beat—a reminder that in the midst of chaos, love was still your anchor.

One afternoon, as you were reviewing a detailed report on Cali’s latest movements, your secure line lit up with his familiar number. You answered immediately, your voice husky with anticipation.

“Y/N,” Javi’s voice came through, low and reassuring. “I need a favor. There’s a situation unfolding at one of our forward posts. I could really use your expertise on this.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you responded, “I’m on it, Javi. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Just hold tight, okay?”

“Thank you,” he replied, relief evident in his tone. “I knew I could count on you. I’ll keep you updated.”

Driving through the night to the designated location, you rehearsed the plan in your mind—an intricate blend of CIA precision and field experience honed over years of challenging missions. The weight of responsibility was immense, but so was the knowledge that you and Javi had each other’s backs, no matter what.

When you arrived at the site—a remote outpost near the border—Javi greeted you with a tired smile and a quick, affectionate hug that conveyed both gratitude and a silent promise to return safe. “You always know how to show up when it matters,” he whispered into your ear.

Together, you assessed the situation, your dialogue blending strategy with subtle, unspoken care. “We need to secure the perimeter and establish a communication line with headquarters,” you instructed the team. Javi nodded, his eyes meeting yours in a moment of shared understanding. Every command, every reassurance he offered to the team, was backed by the quiet strength you saw in him—the strength that made you believe that together, nothing was insurmountable.

Hours later, as the operation wound down and the immediate threat was contained, you found a quiet corner away from the chaos. Javi, looking a bit weathered but resolute, pulled you aside. “Y/N,” he said softly, “I couldn’t have done this without you. I know I’m not always the easiest person to work with, but you— you make me better.”

You smiled, your eyes glistening with emotion. “Javi, we’re in this together. I trust you with everything I have, and I know you feel the same. We’re a team—on the field, and in life.”

He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped yours. “I do. I love you, Y/N. And I promise, no matter how hard the work gets, I’ll always come back to you.”

In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of a hard-fought battle and the quiet resolve of those who had risked everything, you felt the truth of his words deep in your heart. Love, trust, and courage—they were the pillars upon which you both built your lives, even if the world around you was steeped in danger.

As the night drew to a close and you finally returned to your apartment, you replayed every conversation, every glance shared with Javi, knowing that your secret relationship was the one beacon of hope in a turbulent world. And as you prepared for the next day’s challenges, you vowed that no matter what lay ahead, you and Javi would face it side by side—brave hearts in the shadows, united by duty and bound by love.

In the quiet moments before sleep claimed you, you smiled softly at the memory of Javi’s gentle kiss on your knuckles, the whispered promise that everything would be alright. Despite the hard work, the secrets, and the ever-present danger, you knew that you had found something worth fighting for—a love that shone as brightly as the stars above, even in the darkest of times.

And as the new day dawned, with its fresh challenges and uncertain battles, you were ready—ready to take on the world with the strength of your convictions, the support of your secret love, and the unbreakable bond that held you both together, even in the shadows.

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saikiswiss · 4 months ago

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Hey there! Could you do a MHA SMAU where you are fake dating Kiri, pre-relationship, he has real feelings for you and you end up falling for each other? <3

someone got excited.. AND IT WAS ME 12 PAGES AND A DRABBLE STOP ME .. also ignore the fact i literally didnt know how to spell eijiro's name for SOME REASON?? btw idk if theres an actual prom :p ive only watched the anime AND.. IT IS NOT HAPPY RN

OKAY! POSE! —༉‧₊˚.

syp; you and eijiro set up a fake-dating scheme because of a boy in shikestu, what you both were unaware of was that you both have a crushyyyss on each other ooooo :3

small warning: kiri is a little denki-coded :<

m.list mha mlist

small drabble- testing my writing..:

mina spun you around, giggling as the dress you wore twirled in a beautiful cirlce. "it looks great! you look great!" she was so pumped, excited for the both of you guys to actually go out on a big night. prom night. you giggled sweetly back, taking one last look into the mirror. "okay! he just texted me he's outside, ima go okay?"

she quickly nodded, fixing her gloss. "yeah yeah- go ahead girl!" she fluffed her hair. i grinned widely, giving one last look before opening my bedroom door. eijiro was coming with mina's date as well, so it was a perfect time for us to get ready together. i could hear chatter downstairs from my parents, hearing the familiar tone of eijiro. the sound of my heels clicking on the wooden stairs alerted them, causing my mother to quickly fetch her camera.

eijiro's head snapped towards the sound of my footsteps, taking a huge gulp. he felt an urge to cry all of a sudden, out of the sheer beauty of what stood in front of him. the perfect girl, god's creation and sculpture herself, shining so glamorously under the dim lights of the upstairs hallways. it felt like a dream to him, one where he didnt even mind dying in his sleep if it meant he lived this dream forever; so he didnt even bothered pitching his arm because god forbid he wakes up.

"aw! look at my baby!" your mother cheered, taking photos already of your entrance. you blushed, giggling softly as you suddenly felt shy under the gaze of your parents and eijiro. you stepped towards eijiro, admiring him up and down. "hi, you okay?" you asked shyly, voice trembling a bit from being nervous. you can see the look on his face, and youre afraid it may be because he saw you as something else.

"youre beautiful."

your dolled-up eyes widen, pursing your lips shyly as you chuckled nervously. you punched him on the shoulder, feeling something in your gut trembling. butterflies. "eijiro! don't say stuff like that!" that caused him to snap out of his trance, chuckling loudly as he grabbed your wrist. he knows he was blushing furiously, matching the shade of his dyed hair. his dyed hair even matching the shade of your blush. you watched as he slid on the beautiful cosage.

"well arent you two the cutest! honey! come look at them!" your mother chimed in, taking an absurd amount of photos of small interactions. although those small antics made you feel pleasantly ten times bigger. your father stepped in, nodding. "oh- would you look at that? they are cute.." he scratched his stubble, staring at the two of you.

"okay! pose!"

—

a/n; did anyone fw that? I LOVED THIS CONCEPT SM OMG I LOVE U ANON i had sooo much fun i think i love writing for kiri even tho my heart belongs to tenya iida <3 BYE

btw guys::: i am located in cali, and i am aware of the fires,, and i am updating my tumblr </3

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ladykailitha · 1 year ago

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Icarus Part 4

Oops! I didn't realize this one had so many chapters done. I had been using it as my "I'm stuck on the other two stories so I work on this one to clear my head" story and I currently have five chapters backlogged. So instead of Batshit Soulmates today, you're getting two of this one. One now and one tonight.

In this chapter we have Eddie doing his research and we find out how he recognized Steve. Also Jeff&Eddie besties for life!

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

The last few days in Hawkins went by in a blur. Eddie couldn’t do the research he wanted to, not without alerting everyone else what he was up to, so he focused on buying both their albums and listening to them nonstop.

“This that band you went to go see?” Wayne asked after three days of him having both albums on constant repeat. “The one you were whining about have to go to?”

Eddie sat up from where he laying on the floor with headphones on and took them off, resting them around his neck. He pulled one knee up and draped his arms around it casually.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Dustin has been gloating about it, so I would rather you didn’t add to the pile.”

Wayne crouched down so that they were eye level. “This about that secret you found out?”

Eddie opened his mouth to lie but Wayne just raised an eyebrow and he snapped his mouth shut with a click. He let out a low shuddering breath and then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s about that.”

Wayne picked up the vinyl sleeve and looked at the cover. He studied the image a moment or two before he said, “You think that someone you know is in the band, don’t you?”

Eddie bit his lower lip and then sighed heavily. He knew he couldn’t keep it from Wayne, but he had hoped he would have been back in Cali before he realized it.

“I’m not one hundred percent sure,” he said tilting his head back, “but yeah. I think I know someone in the band.”

“You jumping to conclusions?” Wayne asked in that gruff but gentle way that was a staple of Eddie’s childhood.

Eddie looked up at Wayne and then shook his head. “I don’t know enough. Not yet.”

Wayne got to his feet with a grunt. “Good. You keep it that way. There’s probably a good reason for all that.” He waved at the vinyl sleeve. “So don’t you go pushing your friend’s buttons until you know that reason.”

Eddie nodded. “I read you loud and clear.”

Wayne ruffled Eddie’s hair and walked away, leaving Eddie with plenty of time to think.

****

Dustin was staying in Hawkins for the whole summer, so when Eddie left, he was finally on his own.

Finally able to get out of his head and do some real research. He also knew better than to do anything than listen to his own music mid-flight. Too many wandering eyes.

Any one of his fellow passengers could be some blogger, Youtuber, Tiktoker, influencer or actual fucking press.

Thankfully the flight was most empty and short.

He was met at the airport by his manager Chrissy Cunningham.

She grabbed his bag, leaving Eddie to juggle his guitar better.

“Record management has all four of you in a hotel nearby,” she told him as she stowed the bag in her trunk. “They want you sequestered this time.”

Eddie winced. It wasn’t for any music related reason, though he didn’t doubt the sequestering would help with the process.

Nope.

It was because last time Gareth and Brian went on a three day drinking bender and were too sloshed to function for at least two days after that. Almost a whole week of recording down the drain because half the band went off the rails.

“Roger that!” Eddie said with a jaunty two fingered salute.

“You can have alcohol sent to your room,” she continued as they got into the car. “But Gareth and Brian aren’t allowed. So if you share your stash, that’s on you.”

“You can count on me and Jeff not contribute to the delinquency of our bandmates,” Eddie bit out. “We were just as pissed as the label when we couldn’t get a hold of them for those five days.”

Chrissy nodded. “Fame can really do some fucked up shit to people.”

Eddie hummed his acknowledgment. “Just please tell me I’m not sharing with anyone. You know they all hate sleeping in the same room as me.”

Chrissy snorted. “Only because you stay up all hours of the night perfecting song, while they actually want to, oh I don’t know...sleep?”

Eddie cackled. He was the world’s worst insomniac when they were working on an album. The rest of the time he was a sound sleeper.

“But no,” Chrissy hummed, “you all have your own suites. With Brian and Gareth on opposite sides of the hotel so they don’t fuel each other’s vices.”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. “That’s great news.”

They went up to Eddie’s suite and he immediately got to unpacking. He couldn’t stand living out of his suitcase and didn’t know how anyone else could.

He ordered a couple of six packs of beer, his favorite vodka, and a couple of whiskys that should last him at least a couple of weeks. He stashed the beer in the suite provided mini-fridge and settled down to watch Youtube on the big screen TV.

He was just devouring everything he could on The Fallen. He started with their music videos. The one for “Kiss the Boys/Kiss the Girls” was especially sweet. He found out that the lead singer was bisexual and that the song was about finding love in whatever form that took. With a full verse on non-binary peeps despite the title.

But the videos weren’t helpful. The band themselves were rarely in them. So Eddie turned to interviews. Impromptu ones on red carpets and podcasts, as well as sit down interviews for talk shows and entertainment press.

Again the lead singer was charismatic and charming. And it was looking more and more like his theory was correct.

Then he came across the interview.

“How does Azrael see out of his mask?” the Vanity Fair interviewer asked.

The drummer pulled out another mask and handed it to Abbadon. It seemed like it was part of the shtick that the drummer never spoke.

Abbadon held up the mask to the light. “You can see that the eyes are a mesh-like material. It works like a one way mirror. You with the strong light, can’t see in, but Azrael with darkness of the mask can see out.”

Eddie hummed his interest. That was a cool trick. It meant that the drummer wouldn’t get hurt while still maintaining that anonymity.

And it appeared that the interview thought the same as they nodded along, impressed.

“What is the reason for the masks?”

Astraeus leaned forward into the mic. “Because when we first got started no one would take us seriously as ourselves?”

Just then the hotel door swung open and Eddie quickly pressed pause. He sighed with relief when he saw it was Jeff.

Jeff stopped in his tracks to stare at the screen. “Oh hey, The Fallen. They’re pretty cool.”

Eddie whipped his head around and glared at him.

“How do you know about them and I didn’t?”

Jeff laughed. “Dude, the radio embargo was you thing, not an everyone thing. They’re really good. I love their new single ‘You’. It’s really sweet.”

Eddie nodded, it was really good. It was one was of his favorites, too.

Jeff got closer to the TV. “Wait. Is this the ‘metal fans would hate us if they saw who we really are’ interview?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Jeff scoffed. “Metal fans are the most welcoming group of fans out there.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip and thought about Steve. And how preppy he still dressed even this far outside of high school.

“Not if they were preps,” he said softly.

That brought Jeff up short. “What now?”

“I think Abbadon is Steve.”

Jeff started laughing and laughing like he couldn’t stop. Eddie rolled his eyes and pulled up the picture he had taken of The Fallen’s lead singer. Once Jeff had gotten control of himself, Eddie showed him the picture.

“Okay...” Jeff said. “I’m not sure what this shows other than your obsession with necks.”

“Zoom in.”

Jeff rolled his eyes but did as he was told. “Okay, so what am I looking at?”

Eddie licked his lips nervously. “You see those two moles, just under his chin?”

Jeff half shrugged. “I mean, I guess.”

“Steve has moles in the exact same place,” Eddie explained. He took the phone back from Jeff and went through his IG feed. He pulled up a picture of Steve. The angle wasn’t exact, but it was close enough.

He handed it back to Jeff. “Now zoom in on the neck.”

Jeff did as he was told.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Eddie pursed his lips and chewed on the bottom one. He played with his rings and was just fidgeting.

“Dude!” Jeff cried. “We should tell someone!”

Just then Eddie’s fidgeting hit the remote and the video began playing again.

“Is there any chance of a future reveal?” the interviewer asked.

Asmodeus leaned into the mic and said, “Ask us again in ten years when we’re world famous.”

Eddie managed to get a hold of the remote to pause it again and in the resulting silence Jeff and him shared a glance.

“Fuck, dude,” Jeff said. “We can’t say shit, can we?”

Eddie shook his head. “It would be like outing a queer person before they were ready.”

Jeff came around the sofa and flopped down next to him.

“Wow,” he said with more than a little awe. “So Steve Harrington is in a metal band...” He let out a shuddering sigh. “And is good. Not just good, but damn good.”

Eddie nodded. “Is it bad that I kinda feel like I’ve been tricked?”

Jeff let out a slow breath. “Look, I’m not going to tell you how to feel, but if no one knows, that it’s not personal.”

“You mean to tell me that no one knows?” Eddie hissed, getting to feet. “Not Robin, not Dustin? Or any of the kids? Because I call bullshit!”

Jeff looked up at him. “Robin, maybe. Those two are attached at the hip. Hell, Robin could even be their slinky and sexy manager, Celeste. But Dustin, man? I wouldn’t tell that kid shit. Not if I wanted it to still be secret ten minutes later.”

Eddie fought to calm his breathing. Yeah okay. That tracked. Robin with makeup and a black wig would completely disguise her to the point that not even her own mother would recognize her if they passed on the street.

“Dustin wouldn’t–” he began but Jeff cut him off.

“This is the kid that spoiled Will’s surprise party that he was planning,” Jeff said, counting off on his fingers. “The kid that would go searching through his mom’s closets and under her bed looking for birthday and Christmas presents. The same one that announced our second album six hours before it was set to drop. I wouldn’t tell Dustin Henderson the time of day if I didn’t want everyone to know about it.”

Eddie huffed. He wanted to argue that all that was little shit. Not really that important. But then he remembered all the times where Dustin would say something out of context, something that all his friends would jump on him for, only for it to be revealed later that Dustin had spoiled some surprise. It was just that no one had realized it at the time.

This time he let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie said, sitting back down next to Jeff on the sofa. “And I know that if Steve had come to me and said he wanted to form a metal band, I would have laughed in his face.”

Jeff gave his knee a squeeze. “We all would have. So let’s do what we do best. We change the culture. We make the metal scene open to people of all walks of life, not just the freaks and outcasts. We make it safe for them to come out.”

Eddie let out a shuddering sigh. “Yeah. I could do that. We could do that.”

“Good,” Jeff said, patting Eddie’s knee. “It’s not going to be easy, but we’ve never liked easy.”

Eddie laughed as Jeff got up. “So what are you doing in my room anyway? Don’t you have your own?”

Jeff opened the mini fridge and took out a can of beer. “I forgot to order beer and I hate it warm, so I thought I’d steal one of yours.”

Eddie threw a throw pillow at him, which Jeff deftly caught and lobbed back at him.

Jeff came over and kissed his cheek. “Get out of your head and do something with all that restless energy you’ve built up with this eating away at you.”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, man. Thanks.”

Just as Jeff reached the door, he called out. “What would you and the boys think about inviting them to open for us on our next tour?”

Jeff grinned. “They would probably kiss you on the mouth.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Duly noted.”

****

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @papergrenade @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar au

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sirowsky-stories · 1 month ago

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Part 2 - The Date

Hey, y'all. I had hoped to post this early last week, but childhood trauma decided to join the conversation, and here we are. It is looking like this is gonna be a shorter series, though, so I hope to be able to update more frequently, but I make no promises.

Description: You and Pero have your first date and as promised, he cooks for you. But it's the conversation that is the real treat of this evening, because you finally get to learn more about this mystery of a man, and share some things of your own.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x Female Reader, reader is not described but there are descriptions of clothing in this part, mention of road rage and a fatal crash, mention of problematic mental health (neither reader nor Pero), one mention of adhd, mention of the Cali cartel and associated issues.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 10,460 Sirowsky's Masterlist All dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics

He goes directly to the store at the end of the workday, still screaming internally at the mere fact that you invited him to your home, not to mention that you’re calling it a date. But the voice inside of him isn’t just screaming with excitement. There’s massive quantities of fear and anxiousness in there as well, because he has no clue how to behave on a date, or what you might expect from him, beyond him being nice to you. Therefor he passes as much time as possible strolling down the aisles and busying himself with looking around the entire store just in case he finds something other than the ingredients he needs.

Your ordinary workdays on the morning shift are between 6am and 2pm. It’s only when working away that any operator can flex their hours a little, since it’s considered a big enough inconvenience just to live away and work with strangers. Which is why you’d pushed your schedule to start at 7 while you’d been at the sister factory. But it’s back to the normal shifts now, which means he’s got four hours to kill before going to see you. And his entire body feels strangely charged and alert as he repeatedly looks at his watch, getting increasingly frustrated with how slow it seems to move.

He stops in the aisle where they have household items, like coffee cups and vases, cutlery and dishtowels, but also scented candles and little knickknacks, as well as tiny stuffed animals and plushies. Would you like it if he got you something for your apartment? You’ve been living all alone for years, so you probably have your place decorated exactly as you want it. But a candle couldn’t hurt, could it? And most people love plushies, right?

With a deep sigh of annoyance, entirely directed at himself, he starts picking up candles and sniffing the different scents, disliking practically all of them, until he finds a vanilla scented one which isn’t as strong as the others. A more subtle fragrance. And when he sniffs it, it somehow reminds him of you, which seems odd, until he realizes that your perfume must have a vanilla-based fragrance as well, which settles it. He puts the thing in his basket and goes to leave the aisle. But right at the end of it, a frankly adorable grey teddy bear with a red heart stitched in on its right butt-cheek catches his eye, and without even stopping to consider if he should, he grabs it.

Because fuck it. If you don’t like it… Well, he’d be heartbroken, actually. Not to mention the poor little bear. Seriously shaking his head at himself, he continues through the store, wondering if you’re on the verge of driving him insane before you’ve even started dating. But also realizing, within just seconds of pondering on it, that he wouldn’t give a shit if you were, he’d still wanna see you.

That smile you gave him right after he’d told you about wanting to cook for you was the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. He couldn’t describe it, or what it made him feel, even if it was the only way to save his own life, but he’d bring the stars down from the skies if it meant he’d get to see it again. Honestly, he can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for you, just to make you happy, because your joy truly does infect everything around you, and that’s a precious thing. If his past has taught him anything, it’s that while he struggles to accept happiness for himself, he knows how important joy is, in how it prevents people from becoming the worst versions of themselves.

He ends up spending almost ninety minutes in the store, and he notices the slight surprise on the cashier’s face when she scans the candle, the plushie, and the bouquet of flowers, little gift bag of small fridge magnets with smiley faces on them, and a miniature gift box of your favourite brand of chocolate, which he stumbled on closer to the checkout. This is his regular store, so the staff recognize him and probably remember that he’s never bought anything of the sort before, although she’s kind enough not to get nosy about it.

“Are they stupid?” he finds himself quietly asking while he gets the money from his wallet, since there isn’t anyone else in the que behind him and he really is nervous about getting this right.

She’s about your age and several things in her appearance reminds him of you. He feels like you’re the same type of woman, if there is such a thing, so odds are you like some of the same things, at least.

“Are you kidding? If my man brought me stuff like this, I’d be giddy for days,” she says with a genuine smile, understanding even without further explanation, that the items in question aren’t being purchased for his own use.

“It is only a first date…” he admits, wanting to make sure it isn’t too much, and the woman quickly puts him at ease.

“Oh, that’s lovely, congratulations! And don’t worry, first date or tenth, if she’s anything like me, she’ll love this.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t have a smile for her because those only ever come natural to him when he’s around you, but he does nod politely and tells her that she can keep the change, which makes her smile.

Once back home, he unpacks the groceries and then repacks them, putting everything that needs to be refrigerated into one bag and then putting the entire bag in the fridge, while he leaves a second bag with the room temperature stuff on the counter, ready to go. He almost forgets to put the flowers in water, and then he spends a good twenty minutes trying to decide how to present all these gifts to you. Why did he get so many?

It’s still not even 4:30pm once he settles on an idea, and he’s too nervous to try and do anything relaxing, so he ends up cleaning his apartment instead. And then, when he’s only fifteen minutes away from having to leave, he remembers that he should maybe take a shower before the date. Which is why, when he rings your doorbell a few minutes after 6pm, his hair is still wet, making him feel like a dog begging to be let in after taking a shit in the rain.

You’ve been fretting ever since you got home. You don’t have adhd so far as you know, but you do have some of the very typical traits that many types of neuro-divergent people have, such as task-fatigue. Which means you sometimes just can’t bring yourself to clean your apartment or take care of the laundry, even though you absolutely hate seeing the dust and dirty clothes pile up. But it also means that all it takes for you to feel motivated to take care of it, is knowing that someone is coming to visit.

Which is why, the moment you step through the door, you start picking stuff up and, in your head, getting started on about ten different tasks simultaneously. You had intended to start the laundry first, since that would mean you’d have time to swap it into the dryer while getting other things done, but while you’re picking up the clothes left on the sofa and the living room floor, you get distracted by the clutter on your coffee table and the used drinking glasses and cups you’ve had sitting there for the almost two weeks you’ve been away.

There wasn’t time to take care of it before you left, and you haven’t had the energy to get to it in the one night you’ve thus far spent at home since, but it now disgusts you to see it, which is why it makes you forget all about the laundry. Then, bringing the dishes to the kitchen and putting them in the dishwasher, you find empty food packages and other junk and start throwing that away, which then makes you remember that the bathroom trash can needs to be emptied.

It carries on like this for over an hour before you eventually remember the laundry, at which point you’re about ready to slap yourself with how much you’re needlessly stressing over this. Because Pero is not gonna care if your home is spotless. At least, you don’t think so. Then again, he does always keep his station very neat at work. You technically work at his station as well, the two of you alternating between operating the MAP, taking care of the orders on the computer and doing the daily maintenance work, so it’s never seemed strange to you that he always comes to help you clean up at the end of each shift.

But what if he does it because he doesn’t think you’re thorough enough? Two weeks ago you wouldn’t even have entertained the thought that he even cares about such things, but everything’s different now and you just don’t know. At 5:30 you decide it looks good enough and hop into a very quick shower followed by the fastest and sloppiest blow-dry of your life, so you’ll have a few minutes to throw on some makeup, albeit very basic and neutral. You finish with about five minutes to spare, and it’s only then that you realize you haven’t decided what to wear.

Thankfully, since you both have to wear safety clothes at work and mostly arrive in sweats or other simple and soft garments, he hasn’t seen you wear any of your fancier items. The occasional jeans, sure, but not any of your truly nice pants, nor any blouses or dresses. You hadn’t brought any of that for your hotel stay either, since it was a work trip, so literally everything you look really good in will be something he’s never seen on you. And yet, it still stresses you out, because it’s a first date. Which means it can’t be too fancy, but it also has to be a little fancy, otherwise it might seem like you’re not that interested.

The doorbell rings just as you’ve thrown on the top, so you don’t even have time to check yourself over in a mirror before darting to open it, you just take a quick look down to make sure your top isn’t unbuttoned or anything. You open the door to find him standing there in the stairwell with two full grocery bags leaning against his legs, wet hair and a generally sour expression, which then vanishes the moment he sees you smile at him.

“Hi,” you greet, and for a moment, he looks paralyzed.

“Uh… Hello,” he finally manages, before bringing his arms out from behind his back, revealing a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a large glass jar candle.

The flowers are the grocery store kind, but you know the brand, and the chain of florists which the store collaborates with is an excellent one. It’s a spring bouquet, yellow and pink with white sprinkled in there as well, and it's so big that you suddenly can't believe you didn't notice it until he brought it out. Then again, he is the broadest person you’ve ever met. You take the bouquet and smell it, before doing the same with the candle, finding the fragrance of both to be subtle and sweet, which you approve of.

“Oh, my goodness, thank you so much,” you grin, suddenly no longer the least bit stressed about anything because his presence seems to coat everything under a blanket of comfort and safety. “Come on in.”

He looks you over thoroughly before stepping in, though, and you can tell that he likes the soft but tight pants you chose, and the simple and cute silk blouse with the widely cut V-shaped neckline, which sits further out on your shoulders and therefor shows off the thin gold necklace he gave you perfectly. The blouse is designed not to be tucked but rather hang loosely over your hips where it’s cut to enhance the female curves, which always makes you feel a little more confident.

You do the same to him in return, remembering you’ve never seen him in anything nicer either, and you’re surprised at how much it affects you. He’s wearing dark blue jeans, clearly not new but designed to last and only get better with wear and tear. And on top he’s gone for a white henley underneath a black leather jacket which is unzipped.

Now, you would’ve found him attractive no matter what he’d decided to wear, but this? It’s not overtly sexual, but that’s also exactly what makes it so damned good. The combination of colours which manage to enhance his skin, eyes and hair, the way the jeans hug his male anatomy just right to give you a hint of what’s under there, how the shirt falls so that it just brushes over his softly muscular abs, and then the leather to frame it all in… If he didn’t do this on purpose then he’s adorably ignorant of his own attractiveness, and if it was intentional, then he’s clearly a genius on more levels than you’ve given him credit for.

To reign yourself in and prevent the ogling you’re already guilty of, you grasp at the first thing to come to mind as a conversation topic, while he grabs the bags and steps past you into the front hall.

“Is that a motorcycle jacket?” you ask, since you recognize the distinct cut and collar.

“Yes. But I did not ride here.”

“No, I suppose it’d be kinda difficult to get all this on a bike,” you chuckle, closing the door while he takes his shoes off. “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you arrive to work on it, though.”

He picks up the bags again and follows you to the kitchen, which is the closest room to the front hall and from which the spacious living room is fully visible, where he sets the groceries down on the counter and you grab a vase to put the flowers in. You place the candle on the kitchen table, followed by the bouquet once it’s been trimmed, and suddenly it looks so much cozier.

“I prefer to drive it only for the pleasure of the ride, not as a means of transportation,” he explains, and then proceeds to remove the jacket and push the sleeves of his shirt up over his forearms, which momentarily makes you forget how the brain connects to the mouth.

“O-oh. I… don’t think I’ve ever met a biker with that perspective on riding before,” you finally manage, now awkwardly trampling from one foot to the next because you apparently have no fucking idea how to act in your own kitchen with him there.

“How many bikers have you met?” he wonders, which would’ve been an innocent enough question, if not for the barely detectable competitiveness which sneaks into his voice.

And since this very unexpected reaction brings some focus and clarity back into your brain, you jump on the opportunity to tease him a little.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You can see that he wants to press the issue, but he lets it go and starts unpacking the groceries instead, so you decide to reward him for his restraint. “My brother used to ride when he was younger, and he had a whole group of friends he’d go out with, so I’d end up hanging out with them sometimes when they were waiting for the group to gather at our house, or when they helped each other work on the bikes.”

“I did not know you have a brother,” he says after taking a moment to absorb this new information, and he suddenly seems only openly curious.

“Yeah, I don’t talk about him a lot since we kinda lost touch a while back.”

“You said he used to ride. Does he not anymore?”

“No. He stopped after losing his best friend to a road rage incident,” you explain, to which he simply lowers his brows in a silent question, so you start to elaborate. “The driver of an SUV got angry that they filtered to the front of the que at a stoplight, so she raced after them and at the next light, she tried to run them all over. She clipped Richie’s back tire, and he went down right in front of the car, so she just gunned it and drove over him. Then she kept trying to get the rest of them, so they had to abandon their friend while he was dying in the street, to save themselves.”

You haven’t talked about this in a long time, and now that you do, the memories make you sad, but it’s also a bit cleansing to sort of dust it off and air it out, so even though he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, you keep talking.

“My brother escaped unharmed, but he was only twenty-one and it scared the shit out of him, so he never rode again afterwards. An accident would’ve been difficult enough, but knowing there are people out there who might try and kill him if he does something they don’t like, even if it’s legal… it made every car a weapon in his mind, and he couldn’t handle it.”

“I have seen this behaviour as well,” Pero nods in recognition, and his tone is low now. “For me, it was never a problem because I know how to scare people into leaving me alone, but I know how dangerous these drivers are. I am sorry it happened to someone you knew.”

“It was a horrible day. But honestly, it was the aftermath that really messed things up.”

“How so?”

“Because my brother didn’t just lose his friend and his passion for riding bikes that day. It was like he lost a part of himself he didn’t know how to exist without. At first, he got depressed, which then affected his grades and eventually got him kicked out of university. But as it progressed, his mental health got so bad that he tried to end his own life three times within the space of just one month. So, our parents decided that the only way he’d have a chance to get himself out of that state, was to put him in an environment where his entire life would be controlled and structured.”

“They had him committed?” he carefully asks while somehow locating the correct cabinet to find a bowl on the first try, which he then fills with water and dunks a packet of raisins into.

“No. My father was a navy captain, so his solution was to force my brother to enlist. Although, he figured a young man wouldn’t be aided by being in the same branch of the military as his own father, but he wanted the strictest possible regiment, so he threw his weight around a little and that’s how my brother ended up in the Special Forces.”

Your date gets a strange look in his eyes when he hears that, but you can’t pinpoint what the reason might be, so you decide not to ask him about it.

“And this is how the two of you lost touch?” he wonders, while he begins to prepare the meal, so you take out a cutting board for him and watch him chop onions and garlic cloves as you answer.

“Kinda. He’d already distanced himself from me at that point, because I didn’t understand what he was going through and just wanted my brother back. I made it worse for him back then, just out of ignorance. Thinking if I could just find something that would make him happy, all his problems would magically disappear. He stopped talking to me, and then he started getting mean. Until eventually, he even tried to hurt me, and I still didn’t understand that it was because I was adding to his stress.”

“How much younger are you than your brother?”

“Just over eight years. Our parents had him when they were pretty young, and then my dad had a period of time when he was away a lot, so it wasn’t until he was promoted that I came along.”

“Then you were still only a teenager while this happened. This must have been very scary.”

“It was, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I could go back. Because I get it now. With what I know about life and mental health today, I would’ve been able to help him. But I guess there’s a reason why that stuff takes a lifetime to learn. And now it’s too late,” you end in a sigh, which makes him pause his work to look at you.

“Is your brother dead?”

“No. But I’ve only seen him once since the day he enlisted, sixteen years ago. He showed up for mom and dad’s funeral about five years ago, but he never spoke to me or wanted anything to do with the inheritance, and he was gone the moment the ceremony was over.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“They died in a plane crash on their way to a favourite holiday spot of theirs, up north. It was a small prop plane, one of those for like four people, so a bird-strike was enough to take it out. I’ve been afraid of flying ever since,” you admit, but he puts a warm hand over yours on the counter and when you look into his eyes, there’s no judgement in them.

“I’m sorry to hear your family is no longer with you. I do not like to think of you all alone,” he offers with a slightly concerned tint to his features, which only makes you like him more.

“Thanks. But at least I have you now,” you carefully suggest, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

But he gives you one of his rare smiles in return.

“Yes, you do.”

“So, what about you? Do you have any family?” you ask when he returns to the meal, moving on to the minced meat, so he locates a frying pan and turns the stove on.

“No.” He first intends to leave it there, because he doesn’t like to talk about it.

But then, it must’ve been just as hard for you to share these terrible memories from your past, so it’s only fair he does the same. It does not come naturally to him, though, and he’s certain that you can hear the frustration in his voice, so he just hopes you won’t misinterpret the cause behind it.

“I was an only child, and my father was out of the picture before I was even born.”

“So, your mom raised you?”

“For a time,” he starts, but then needs to pause to figure out how to explain, so he lets himself focus on the food for a beat, while you patiently wait. “I was born in Colombia, and my mother was not someone who could afford a good education, so her options were limited. She worked as a dancer, but it was not always enough, so to make ends meet, she would help the Cali cartel.”

“As a mule?” you quietly wonder, and in the depths of your voice, he can hear the other, more frightening options you’re also aware that the cartels might’ve used a woman for.

“Yes. But when I was only ten years old, she got caught by the Narcos, and she was too afraid of the cartel to turn witness, so she was sent to jail instead. I found out later… she died just six months after her sentencing. I was told it was due to dehydration after a very bad stomach flu, but I was never able to confirm if this was true.”

“How much later? Were you able to go to her funeral?”

“No. I only heard about it several years later.”

“Why? What happened to you?”

He pauses again, this time because there’s shame involved in what he needs to say next, and he’s never been good at handling that particular emotion.

“The people she smuggled for knew about me, so when she was caught, they came to find me and took me away to work for them. They did this with orphaned children a lot, because it was an easy and cheap way to procure safe labour for them.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’m sure that wasn’t an easy way to grow up.”

“I knew of nothing else. I was a strong child, so rather than put me to work in the jungle factories, they taught me how to use weapons and hurt people. And for a long time, this was my life.” He doesn’t notice that he’s stopped working on the food until your hand lightly rubs his shoulder, bringing him back to the present.

“I’m guessing you’re ashamed of that?” you correctly surmise, so he just nods in confirmation and returns to the task at hand, putting the finished pino aside to cool and getting started on the dough.

He’s forgotten to boil some eggs, and while he prepares that and starts to melt the butter, you remain very quiet. Still, he feels like it’s a loud kind of silence, hanging under the pressure of a million thoughts and reactions, none of which you’re letting him see. Until the pressure seems to ease when you draw a slow and deep breath.

“I can’t imagine the things you must’ve done, either because you had to or because you thought it was normal, but it doesn’t matter which. We’re not responsible for the things we’re taught as children. How we behave when we realize that those things are wrong… that’s what matters. So, what did you do?”

You don’t know it yet, but you’ve stumbled upon the most difficult question you could ever have asked him, because the answer requires him to reveal the most cataclysmic event of his entire life, and he has no idea if he’s ready for that. And even more significantly, he knows with almost complete conviction that you’re not.

“Ay, Sonriente… I am not sure you are ready to know this. It is not… the happy ending you want it to be.” He says it while meeting your eyes, so you can see the honesty in him.

He doesn’t lie and he isn’t going to, so if you ask him, he will tell you the truth. But he hopes you won’t. Not yet. You take your time, examining his face, maybe looking for some clue to explain what could be so terrible that he’s asking you not to go there.

“What does Sonriente mean?” you finally ask instead, and relief washes over him.

He’ll owe you for this one, and if you somehow find it in your heart to keep dating him, he will tell you at some point. But for now, the lighter subject is a balm to his nerves, bringing a grin to his lips while he pours the melted butter into the mix of flour, salt and baking powder, followed by some water before he begins to knead it into a dough.

“You have not looked it up?”

“Asking you is more fun,” you shrug, allowing the playful atmosphere to blossom.

“How do you know I will not make something up?”

“Firstly, because you’ve never lied to me and that’s not a streak you wanna break if you want me to stick around. And second, because I’m obviously gonna look it up after you’ve told me.”

“How would you know if I have ever lied to you or not?” he wonders, partly just playing along, but also making a little point for you not to assume he’s incapable of being dishonest.

There’s a dramatic pause then, in which you throw him a look that clearly says this is a very stupid question, before you proceed to explain why.

“Pero, I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve said a single thing to me that wasn’t a description of how to perform a task at work, and believe me, I remember them all in perfect detail.”

“Oh, really? Name one,” he challenges, and you don’t miss a beat.

“Two months into my employment, we were waiting for Gary when he was bringing that big shot visitor from Japan, and I sighed and complained about having to just stand around forever when there was so much work to be done. I finally resorted to asking you if you knew why it was taking so long, to which you replied: Gary has a thing for Asians. And at the time, I actually assumed you were trying to be funny, especially when they finally arrived, and I saw no evidence whatsoever to suggest any secret interest in anyone. So, you can imagine my surprise when the guest leaves, and Gary turns to me and says: Oh, thank god, I was running out of lemon-related content in my brain…”

The memory makes him huff a tiny laugh, particularly at how accurately you’re recounting it, while you start fully laughing once you’re done.

“I mean, it would’ve been a completely innocent little joke,” you add between giggles, “even if it had been made up, but the fact that it was true just made it so much funnier.”

“I was nervous,” he admits, feeling a bit sheepish now.

But the fact is, you’ve made him nervous from day one. And while he’s always been quiet and kept to himself, specifically because he hasn’t wanted to become friends with anyone and have to talk about himself and his past, he’s always been extreme with you because of how beautiful you are. He’s known, from the first time he laid eyes on you, that if he ever allowed himself to start talking to you, he’d never wanna stop.

“About meeting a big shot businesswoman?” you incredulously wonder, making him shake his head while he waits for another bout of your giggles to settle.

“No… about just standing there awkwardly with you. You were talking so much, and I was trying not to engage with you, but then you asked me a question and it would have been rude not to answer.”

“And instead of giving me some bland conversational answer like agreeing with me that it was a waste of time, or saying they’d probably be there soon, you chose to share a truth that no one else in the entire crew knew about him,” you question, but you’re not really looking for a reply. This is clearly your way of showing him how well you have him figured out. “That’s how I know you’ve never lied to me. Because even when you’ve had the chance to do it in the most innocent of ways, you still haven’t.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he returns to your original inquiry.

“Sonriente means smile, or in this case, Smiley. It is how I think of you.”

Nervously, he reaches into the left front pocket of his jeans, where he locates the little clear plastic-wrapped package of smiley magnets, which he then hands to you. You take it, immediately realizing what it is, and while not a word spills across your lips, he knows without question that you love them. You rip the package open while mildly squealing with excitement, and immediately start to arrange the little faces on your refrigerator door, giggling to yourself as you come up with funny combinations of expressions.

“Thank you! For the magnets and the nickname. I love them,” you giddily declare after stepping back to admire the now much happier-looking fridge.

He nods in recognition of your thanks, feeling less nervous about whether you’ll like the little teddy bear, which he intends to give you at the end of the night. But for now, he just keeps working on the empanadas. The dough is rolled, and he’s begun cutting it into pieces, and the eggs are done just when he’s about to start flattening the pieces into round little plates.

“Something I’ve always wondered,” you start after waiting for him to discard the boiling water and return to the dough, “is why you never help anyone, unless they ask?”

“Why would I assume they want my help, unless they ask?” he counters, to which you cock your head to the side with a sceptical frown.

“When Eric accidentally crushed his foot right next to you, I’m pretty sure he would’ve appreciated a bit of assistance…”

“Oh no, that was very intentional.”

You obviously weren’t expecting that, so you’ve probably never heard about this particular operator’s lesser qualities.

“What do you mean?”

“Eric is a bully. He is scared of women, though, so you never became a target, but many of the younger crew were constantly heckled and ridiculed by him whenever he was alone with them. I was one of the few who noticed this, and I tried to get management involved, but I had no proof, and the victims of his abuse never spoke up themselves. So, when I finally got fed up with it, I made sure he would not be able to work with us anymore.”

“Wait, I’m confused. Are you saying that you caused his injury?”

“Yes.”

This is all news to you, and he can see how you’re trying to absorb it all while re-framing the memories inside your mind into such a different and surprising perspective.

“But he was operating the press himself when it happened, so how did you…” you trail off, probably unsure of how to even phrase it, now that you’re no longer certain of anything regarding the situation in question.

“The reason I was standing next to him was because I was working on the computer for that machine, so I created a temporary error, causing the press to glitch. And when he kicked it, which I knew he would because that is the kind of man he is, I reset it, and it fired up again.”

Your jaw drops for a second, but there’s still a smile in your eyes, so even though this might be a bit disturbing for you to learn, you’re not put off by it, at least.

“You are diabolical. And very clever, since you’re the one who does the diagnostics on those machines, which means you can hide your tracks,” you conclude after closing your mouth. “And I have no idea why this turns me on a little.”

Now it’s Pero’s turn to be surprised and mildly confused, and he quickly turns all his attention back to the food. But he can’t help but smile with pride, despite the slight awkwardness. He can’t deny that he does very much hope he’ll be able to turn you on more than just a little, in the future. Not tonight, though.

“Come on, you can help me with this last step,” he offers, because the silence is too fucking loud, and he indicates the finished flattened pieces of dough which are ready to be filled and shaped into the final product.

You’ve always been good at taking instructions, so once he’s showed you the correct technique, you pick it up and immediately start generating perfect little empanadas. They need to sit in the oven for about twenty minutes, so in the meantime, you both clean up the kitchen and then you give him a small tour of your apartment.

“It is bigger than I thought at first,” he observes after you’ve shown him your guest bedroom and the very large balcony which is accessible from both your master bedroom and the living room.

“Yeah. I don’t really need the extra space, but I like to have it, and since the inheritance I got from my folks allows me to afford it, I figured I could give myself that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rich, or anything. If I’d inherited that much, I would’ve bought a house. But I set it up so that the bank releases a certain sum every month, designed to last for the rest of my life, so that even if something happened like I lost my job or got injured, I’d still have enough to survive on. I wouldn’t be able to live here anymore, obviously, but I’d survive.”

He has wondered how you can afford a place in the city on the same salary as him. Granted, he’s chosen to live pretty far out into the suburbs because the apartments out there have the same great quality as these city ones, at a fraction of the cost, which allows him to save a lot of money and still live comfortably. But if you have the means, of course you should live where you wish, and these buildings are expensive because of their security rating as well as their top quality, which he approves of for you.

“This is a very smart set-up,” he hums approvingly. “You must stop calling me clever when you are clearly the brighter of us two.”

“Hey, I might’ve made some good decisions in my life, but you thought up the MAP. You built it… There is no comparison to be made.”

“It is only a machine.”

“A pretty darn impressive one.”

“But still only a thing. When it comes to people… socializing, expressing myself, emotions… I am an idiot.”

“Maybe, but not with me,” you counter, and he has no reply for that, because it’s true. “Anyway, it’s not that smart of a decision when I also waste the extra money on space I don’t need, rather than save it up.”

“If this is how you wish to live, then there is no fault to your logic.”

“Yeah, I guess. To tell you the truth, I’ve always dreamed of having a house, but I just don’t wanna live alone in one. An apartment somehow seems less empty even when it’s just me.”

He understands that feeling, and he can appreciate how a single woman, in particular, might find it reassuring to have other people around. For a split second, he imagines a future where you could have your dream house and not live alone, but it’s an image he doesn’t dare to linger on or allow to take footing in his mind, because even if it is a remote possibility, the present is what matters if he wishes to reach the future he glimpses.

The food is finished just as your little tour comes to an end, so Pero takes the tray out of the oven and then you set the table while it cools a little. It makes the entire kitchen smell amazing, so you have high hopes for how good it’ll taste.

“So, I might be revealing my total ignorance of foreign foods here, but I thought empanadas was usually like a starter, or a snack, not a full meal,” you ponder, thinking back on the few times you’ve come across them on a menu or heard someone talking about the dish.

“It depends on the country and the recipe. When I was growing up, it was our equivalent to a Sunday roast. My mother would always make them on Sundays, and she made them large enough that two or three was a full meal. Other families I knew only made the smaller versions, eating them as evening snacks while playing games or watching tv,” he kindly explains without giving any indication that he’s disappointed in your lack of cultural awareness.

“We never did the Sunday roast thing in my family,” you offer in return. “Mostly because dad was away so much, and mom wasn’t actually that interested in cooking, so she’d stick to simpler and quicker meals if there wasn’t a celebration or other occasion where we might want something more elaborate.”

“Did your father enjoy cooking, then?”

“He loved it. Some of my fondest memories with him are the two of us out by the grill in the backyard, with him showing me how to prepare and cook different meats and fish and veggies. For someone with such a serious job and so much pressure to live up to, he was extraordinarily good at just stopping to enjoy the simplest moments with his family. He was always relaxed and happy when he was home.”

Pero seems to think on that while he finishes preparing the meal, so you wait to say anything more until you know whether he’s going to. And sure enough, a minute later, he rights himself up, leans his hip against the counter and looks at you with a curious but also knowing kind of gaze.

“This is why you are so comfortable in a male workplace. Because your father taught you that real men are not cruel or unkind without cause, so when you have met this behaviour in your life, you have not tolerated it. I have seen this strength in you many times, and I know it is the reason why the crew respects you. They can sense, even before they know you, that while they can certainly scare you, they can never manipulate you.”

He says it so simply. As if it doesn’t even occur to him that this could be the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you. Emotions deeper than you’re able to recognize in the moment, are making your chest ache and bringing tears to your eyes, but it’s a strangely wonderful feeling. And then he smiles, just a little, and says the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

“Your father lives in you in this way. Protects you, even from the grave, with the certainty he put inside your heart, that you are worth a man’s time and his respect.”

The tears in your eyes spill over onto your cheeks, but when you smile back at him and start moving towards him because you want a hug, he surprises you by shifting his weight back, away from you. You stop, suddenly feeling a sour pit begin to form in your stomach where the overwhelming gratitude was just swelling so warmly, with the abrupt expectation of something bad.

“But…” he begins, and then looks away, back down at the plate of delicious food waiting to be enjoyed, and the look on his face is something you’ve seen before, but never thought you’d ever see on this man. “I don’t know if I can claim to be worthy of such a woman.”

The feeling in your gut disappears when the warmth returns, and you take a soothing breath before finishing the motion you started before, closing the distance between you even though you can see him make another attempt to deter you. He crosses his arms over his waist to limit how close you can get, so you settle for putting your hands on his cheeks instead, which prompts him to meet your eyes again.

Unworthiness is a feeling you know painfully well, both from personal experience, and from how often you’ve seen it in people around you. It lies and contorts a person’s view of themselves until it becomes this unbreakable truth, built on nothing but the fear of not being enough, and yet so powerful it can make one turn away from the most wonderful and positive opportunities that might ever come your way. All because of a single thought. Because that’s how it always begins. Just one moment in which you aren’t your best self, and someone happens to notice it, and suddenly it becomes a pillar of your existence, as real and significant as those biggest core memories which build your individuality from childhood.

“If my father was here, he would be the first to tell you that it doesn’t matter what you’ve done before you met me, because worth isn’t measured by tallying up how much good you’ve done versus how much evil. Worth is a gift that other people give you.”

He almost flinches with how hard that hits him, and you can see how the words play on repeat in his head in the moments of silence you let him have before you hit him with the next volley.

“You are worthy of me if I choose you. It really is that simple, Pero. And if you need proof, just go pet a dog. Because I can promise you no dog chooses to love or trust you due to some secret ability they have to detect if you’ve got more than fifty percent goodness in you. And I’m no different, so if you want to feel worthy of me, just keep making me feel safe and cared for, because that’s all it takes for me to decide that you are. Do you hear me?”

You keep holding his face, waiting for him to either brush you off or accept what you’re telling him, but even before you’ve stopped talking, you can see in his eyes how deeply he wants to believe every word. And sure enough, not two seconds later, he uncrosses his arms and wraps them around your waist instead. He holds you gently at first, but when you lean into the hug and squeeze his shoulders, his grip becomes so firm that even a deep breath is out of the question.

“I got it wrong,” he whispers into your neck. “I should call you Asombro.”

“Okay. Why?”

“It means amazement and wonder, and I know of no human being who makes me feel such things like you do.”

By the time you’ve sat down to dig into the meal, the empanadas are at perfect eating temperature, slightly cool on the outside while the pino is still nice and hot. He watches you closely when you take your first bite, because your reactions are always honest, so he will see it if you don’t like them, you won’t be able to hide it. But his worry is unfounded. Your immediate reaction is to close your eyes and actually moan with delight, taking the next bite before the first one is even close to chewed.

You notice him watching you and a small laugh makes you hunch forwards and dip your chin a bit, so he can’t quite see your face. There’s too much food in your mouth for you to be able to speak and explain why, although he guesses it’s because you’re embarrassed about the sounds you just made. You don’t need to be, though, since he finds them only endearing. There’s a big grin on his face as he quietly observes, incredibly pleased to have created something you enjoy, not just because he likes to see you happy, but because he’s never cooked for anyone before, and he was genuinely nervous about it. This is the one recipe his mother taught him and he still has no idea why, after so many years lost to violence and rage, he remembers it so clearly.

“Oh, Pero… this is so good!” you finally mumble, because you won’t stop stuffing your face with the food, and he can’t help but laugh heartily with the thrilling warmth that spreads through him at the scene.

“I can see that. I am very happy you like it,” he muses, but it makes you pause, stopping your chewing to just stare at him, which in turn makes him unsure. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just…” You keep looking at him with this peculiar expression he can’t place, but it’s still a happy one. “I’ve never heard you laugh before. I mean, I’ve heard a few chuckles from you recently, which was shocking enough, but that was a real laugh just now.”

He doesn’t spend much time reflecting on how often he smiles or laughs, but he does know it’s not a frequent occurrence by any measure. Your reaction seems a tad excessive, though, since you should’ve learned by now that all bets are off whenever you’re involved.

“I have told you before, Sonriente, your joy is infectious, it is beyond my control.”

“Oh, really? Then how come you’re still fully able to control it at work?” you challenge with a confidently raised brow, surely thinking he won’t have a good comeback for this.

“Because you are still the only one who gets to see this other side of me,” he smirks in response, to which you proudly square your shoulders, clearly happy to claim the privilege despite having your challenge bested.

But his confidence falters somewhat as he thinks back to this afternoon and how he’d been nervous enough to ask a cashier for advice. And then his thoughts travel back further, to the sister factory, and how he’d all but lost his fucking head when going at those three assholes. Then every moment he’d spent after that, almost unknowingly checking where you were every few minutes, not to mention last night and the sudden inability to sleep well without you, and he can’t deny that things have changed rather drastically lately.

“Although, I will confess… since that morning in the hotel room, I have had a much harder time controlling my emotions around you,” he quietly admits, feeling no shame, but a great deal more vulnerable than usual. “You might not see it on me, but there is a reason I still avoid getting too close to you around the crew.”

“I did wonder at lunch today. But I figured you were just sticking to your routines.”

“No. I wanted very much to sit with you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I want it too much. More than I am ready for,” he tries, mentally kicking himself for not being able to explain it better. “Do you understand?”

“I think so… You worry that if you just cave to all these strong feelings you’re not used to having, you won’t know how to control yourself?” you surmise, and again, he wants to kick himself because he should’ve been able to say this.

“Yes, exactly,” he agrees, adding a nod of approval just to emphasize how much better you are at finding the right words to describe what’s going on in his head.

“Well, thank you for thinking like that.” Your quiet voice surprises him enough that he pauses the bite he was just about to take. Because this is the sad kind of quiet. The kind he thinks you’re not even aware reveals all the pains inside you. “Most men don’t take much responsibility for their emotions, much less actively work on controlling themselves.”

He hears the echo of conflicts from your past in those words, which is not unexpected, he’s seen enough traces of defensive behaviour in you to have known for some time that you’ve had bad experiences. What is unexpected is how much it suddenly affects him to see it. How much he wants to ask you to name anyone who’s ever hurt you so that he can track them down. Reminding himself that this is a first date and you’ve both already shared darker parts of yourselves, he instead settles for offering the most significant bit of wisdom he’s gained from the trials of his youth.

“One thing I learned growing up among evil men, is that when all you pour into the world around you is anger and fear, this is also what comes back at you. You cannot expect to be met with kindness and generosity if you scream at people or beat them.”

“Does that mean the reason why you’ve always kept away from everyone is that you wanted them to stay away from you?” you ask without even a second’s delay, as if you already had the question locked and loaded. “Because I assumed it was because you just don’t like anyone.”

“No, you are correct, I dislike most people, and this is the reason I wish for them to stay away from me.”

“Ah. Especially with your lack of control over your emotions and all that. Could get very messy.”

“See? You get it,” he winks, and you smile back before delving into more of the empanadas.

Neither of you speak for a minute then, allowing the good food to have undivided attention and satisfying your stomachs.

“So, at the risk of biting myself in the ass here,” you start after finishing your fourth piece of stuffed pastry, “what is it about me that’s different? Why do you like me? Because I refuse to believe it’s as simple as you being affected by my smile.”

He ponders on this for a bit, trying to decide if he should name the things about you which he just casually likes, like the way you’re always so honest, or the direct way you deal with things that bother you, like confronting those who talk shit about you behind your back. Or maybe the grace and dignity with which you’ve endured his unfriendly and probably often frightening behaviour for the past year. But those are all largely superficial things. They’re not the real reason for his evolving and blossoming affection, and the problem is, he doesn’t know what that real reason is.

“If I told you the number of hours I have spent wondering this myself… I wish I had a good answer for you, and for myself, but alas, I have not yet found it,” he finally admits, and is relieved to see you still smiling despite what must be a disappointing outcome.

“Will you promise to let me know if you do?” is all you ask in return, and since he can’t wait to find out this answer for himself, it’s only fair you get to know it as well.

“Yes. I promise.”

Full and happy after that amazing meal, which was actually perfectly spicy in your opinion, the couch seems like the natural option for the next portion of the evening. So, once the dishes are squared away and the ice cream is just soft enough, you dig into the squishy pillows and blankets with your little bowl, while Pero takes a seat like a normal person, at the other end of the spacious two-seater. Again, you’re a little bummed that he didn’t opt to sit closer to you, but since he’s explained why, you decide not to press the issue.

“Wanna watch something?” you ask, before realizing you have no clue if he even likes movies, since the topics of this date have been very intimate and not at all light-hearted for the most part.

“Sure.”

“Okay. Anything in particular you prefer?”

“Not really. I will watch almost anything, so you pick.”

Oh, great. That’s not stressful at all, you just have to try and find something that won’t put him to sleep, potentially trigger his childhood trauma, or make him think you’re a total weirdo… Simple. You scroll through one of your streaming services, eliminating genres like gangster films, period dramas and horror, followed by teen movies, steamy romance and anime, until you finally decide on adventure, because who doesn’t like a little adventure. E.T is among the first films to come up once you’ve gone into the genre specific menu, and you haven’t seen it in at least ten years, so that’s your pick.

“Have you seen it before?” you ask while the opening credits begin to roll.

“Of course, I have seen all the classics, and all the 80’s and 90’s action movies. They were the best, in my opinion.”

“I mean, you can’t really beat The Rock, The Long Kiss Goodnight, or Screamers. Not to mention RoboCop, Top Gun and Tremors.”

“Yes, Tremors is one of my favourites,” he agrees with a grin, and you’re pleasantly surprised by his choice, since you consider it the best B-movie ever made. "I also like The Goonies, Karate Kid and Indiana Jones.”

Since you’ve both seen E.T before, you’re okay with chatting quietly during the film, talking about your favourite cinema experiences and movies that made lasting impressions on you. It’s a very comfortable kind of conversation, naturally paused by the more dramatic scenes before you, and then casually picked back up. It feels cozy, simple and safe, which is probably why you begin to almost doze off about two thirds into the movie, which Pero notices.

“Perhaps we should call it a night,” he suggests, in a warm, also quite drowsy voice. “We do have to work tomorrow morning.”

“We’ve worked for almost two weeks straight already, they really should give us Thursday and Friday off,” you sleepily mumble, mildly annoyed at the idea of having to end such a lovely evening.

“Yes, they should. But they prefer to throw money at us rather than lose workforce, since that impacts productivity, especially when our shift has already gone understaffed for ten days.”

“But that’s not our fault…”

“No. It is just how the corporate world thinks.”

He gets up and grabs both of the empty ice cream bowls, bringing them to the kitchen on his way to the front hall, even putting them into the dishwasher before he reaches for his leather jacket, while you simply follow him to say goodnight. But before he slips the jacket on, he digs around in it for a moment, which you assume is just a hunt for his keys. Until he pulls a small flat box out of it and hands it to you.

“What?” You stare at the little blue square with the familiar emblem, once more wondering if this man is even real. “This is my favourite brand of chocolate…” you point out, meeting his eyes with incredulity once more. “How do you know?”

“I listen,” he shrugs. But when he speaks again, his tone suggests there’s uncertainty underneath the apparent comfort. “Especially when you speak.”

It makes you smile, knowing that he’s been quietly absorbing all this information about you, not to use against you, but simply because he found it interesting enough to warrant his attention. He slips the jacket on and moves on to his shoes, and once they’re in place, he stands before you in your hall, ready to leave. But he lingers, and there’s a restless kind of awkwardness to him, making you wonder if he’s pondering on the traditional first-date kiss. You wouldn’t mind if he does want to go for it, but you’re not gonna try and persuade him either way. If there’s one thing this evening has taught you, it’s that this man is much more sensitive and fragile than his public behaviour would have you think.

“I would like to do this again…” he finally says, earning another smile from you, which seems to put him at ease, “if you would not mind.”

“I’d like that very much.”

The grin that adorns his face is one of pure joy, and then he nervously turns to leave, reaching for the doorhandle and stepping out into the stairwell. But then he turns back a little too fast, startling you as you’re following him to close the door behind him.

“Oh, sorry.”

“That’s okay,” you reassure him, although you are wondering why he still seems nervous. “Was there something else?”

“No. No, not really. I just… well… Listen, I spent way too much time in the store today, and it was not my intention to get you all these gifts, but I was nervous about tonight and what you might expect, and I wanted to make sure you would be happy. But now it all seems a bit silly…” he bumblingly explains, all of which sounds only endearing to you.

But before you can tell him that, he continues.

“Still, there is one more thing I must give you, and it is perhaps the silliest of all, and if it is you may say so. I am fully aware that you are a grown woman and not a child, it just looked cute, and I thought… heck, I don’t know what I thought. But here…”

From behind his back, he somehow produces the most adorable little grey teddy-bear with a bright red heart sewn onto its butt cheek, and aside from the question of where the hell he’s been hiding this thing all night, all you can think is that you’ve never been more happy to be proven wrong about someone in your entire life. You take the gift with a squeal that morphs into an aww-sound by the time you’ve brought the teddy to your chest, where you hug him close while bouncing slightly on your toes.

“He is not silly, he’s perfect! I love him, thank you so much! If being a grown woman means having to give up on teddy-bears then I don’t ever wanna grow up,” you assure him, pleased to see his uncertainty give way to comfort.

“You’re welcome, Asombro,” he grins, looking stupidly happy now. “Thank you for tonight. Perhaps next time you will let me take you out on a bike ride?”

“Yeah, I’d love that. The weather’s gonna be good this weekend, so maybe Saturday?” you hopefully suggest, and his smile seems to spread from his face all the way through his entire body.

“I cannot wait. Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”

“You too. Goodnight, Pero.”

He leaves down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, and you close the door, locking yourself in as always, already certain you won’t be able to sleep much tonight because there’s just too much to think about. But you wonder how in the world you’re gonna go to work tomorrow and pretend like he hasn’t just given you the best date of your life. Because you know he’s still gonna act like there’s nothing special between you in front of your colleagues, and since you know it’s only because of his desire to keep people’s noses out of his business, you’re okay with that. You simply have no clue how you’re gonna keep yourself in a purely professional state of mind around him.

Chuckling to yourself at the thought that you’re definitely falling for him now, and it’s making you think and probably behave like a teenager again, you blow out the lovely candle he gave you, take one more whiff of the bouquet of flowers next to it, turn the tv off and leave the little box of chocolates on the coffee table, and then you head straight for bed, still holding the teddy to your chest. No matter what, tomorrow’s gonna be a good day, because you’ll get to see him again. And the most wonderful thing of all is that that’s a thought you never would’ve dreamed of having two weeks ago. What a difference a day makes.

Thank you for giving this story a chance, and please don't hesitate to shout at me about it if you want! 🥰

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream

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

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the-californicationist · 7 months ago

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Cali's Kinktober: Day 02

Kinktober Masterlist vestis virum facit - "the clothes make the man" Soap x f!reader Kinks > panties, come play, submission switch Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

When you find Johnny digging through your drawers, his fists clenched around your sluttiest panties, you accuse him of going for a sniff like a hungry hound. But, when he asks if he can try them on himself, you realize he likes the feel of the straps and the lace just as much as you do.

You were almost certain that this was how you would die. When you peered into the hallway, still sweaty from your long commute home from work, you saw your bedroom door ajar in your apartment. Inside the room, it was still dark and peerless, and although you couldn’t hear any movement, the prehistoric animal vibes that were all tangled inside of your throat let you know that you definitely weren’t alone in there. Something made your hair stand on end.

Someone was in your room.

You stalked forward, regretting your choice of footwear. You couldn’t sneak up on someone in clunky mules, but you tried your best to slide forward across the old wooden floor, praying that it wouldn’t creak and alert the intruder to your presence.

You were holding your keys like a cheap version of Wolverine, begging to be wrong. You hoped beyond hope that it was just the wind that pushed your door open. More than anything, you wished Johnny was home. Your stocky, strong, special-forces roommate was out on a mission, but you could really use his killer instinct right now. But, he’d taught you some moves, and you were ready to fight for your life.

You rushed the door, shouldering yourself inside in a flashy display of aggression,

“Gotcha, you motherfu– Johnny?!”

“Ahh!” He shouted, his blue eyes wide and full of shock, “Lass, I didnae ken you’d be home yet.”

“What are you doing in here? Are those… Why do you have my panties in your hand?”

You looked down at his fists as they were clenched around a handful of your laciest and raciest lingerie.

“No! I dinnae… It’s not what it looks like, hen. Shite, I was just…”

“Just what, Johnny?” You put your hands on your hips, admonishing him for being a pervert but secretly pretty excited that he would be into you enough to come and try to smell you on your silky nothings, “Just sniffing my panties, you jerk? Those are the clean ones, idiot. My dirty laundry is over there.”

His face was flushing a bright beet red as he confessed,

“No. No, I just like how they feel. I was just… I could imagine how they feel when they cover you… down there.”

His eyes landed on your crotch, and you were both gazing down at your fully clothed pussy before you knew it.

You looked back up at him and saw that his eyes were still fixated on the outline of your mons between your legs, lost in the depths of his imagination. You stepped forward towards him, snapping him out of his self-induced hypnosis,

“You wanna try them on?”

“What? Oh, I dinnae ken if–” He was unsettled, staring down at the spoils of lace and silk in his fist like he had just realized what he was doing.

“No, c’mon. Try them on if you wanna see how they feel. Wanna pick your favorite pair?”

“I couldnae…”

“You can. Here,” you said, sitting him down on the edge of your bed and taking the scruffle of panties out of his hand, “Which ones do you like best?”

You held up a pair of bright blue ones with lace, watching his face as he studied the underwear with rapt curiosity.

Then, you tossed them back in the drawer and pulled out a black pair that were basically just straps on straps on straps. His face curled up in a hopeful sort of smile, but they still weren’t the winners.

It wasn’t until you held up a very basic pair of pale pink silk bloomers that his eyes lit up like a firework. You knew those were the ones.

“Yeah?” You teased him a bit, “You like the pink ones, Johnny?”

He licked his lips absentmindedly, reaching out to touch the soft ruffles at the edge of the elastic,

“Aye, lass. I like ‘em the best.”

“Don’t you wanna see how they feel on you?”

For once, he focused his gaze back onto your eyes, his face somewhere between bliss and disbelief,

“You’d let me try them?”

“I bet you’d look so cute in these. Honest. Let’s see, hm?”

You set the panties down on the bed right beside him where he could see them. Then, you helped him out of his shirt, watching him ruck off his clothes and let them rumple on the floor. He shucked off his jeans, needing to stand in order to get them over his thick ass and thighs. When you saw his boxer briefs, you shook your head and teased him some more,

“Tsk, tsk. These just won’t do, will they?”

You dropped to your knees and carefully, glacially slow, you peeled them away from his body. You revealed his furry root and pulled them the rest of the way down to free his hardening cock. He was throbbing, pulsing uncontrollably, excited in a way that was so truly male. His huge balls were tucked tight up next to his sacral core, full and eager.

“Wow, Johnny,” you planted a soft, barely-there kiss to the warm shaft of his prick, “Such a nice cock. Don’t you wanna make him feel as pretty as he looks?”

Johnny nodded, breathing hard and letting you do whatever you wanted to him. You decided to dress him like a doll, happy to show him the wonders of lingerie as you knew them. Just seeing your gorgeous roommate undone like this was making your head spin, and you wanted to take it so much further.

“Let’s slip these on, okay? Take a step for me. That’s it,” you guided his bare feet into the leg holes of the panties, guiding them over his knees and watching them stretch past his bulky thighs.

“Oh, bonnie, wait… wait, wait…” He reached down for your hand, trying to stop you, but you shoved the pink silk up past his grip.

“There,” you said defiantly, fixing them so that the back of the underwear were hugging his crack, tucked tight against his hole so that when he shifted his weight, he could feel the glorious slide.

“Jesus, fuck!” Johnny’s hands immediately went to his trapped dick, stroking the head along the silky seam, letting the wrinkles and ruffles tease him from the inside.

You stood, hands on your hips, smiling genuinely up at him,

“Well? What do you think?”

His eyes were wrenched shut, his face twisted in shock and awe, sighing raggedly,

“Bonnie, it’s… too fuckin’ good.”

“Have a look,” you said, pointing to the full length mirror behind you.

It was one of the cheap ones, but it did the trick. Johnny could see himself, naked except for your panties, stroking himself through the delicate fabric.

You kissed his shoulder tentatively, watching him explore himself, and you tried to experiment with him, seeing how far he’d let you go.

You dragged your finger across the swell of his ass cheek, admiring the strength there, tracing the edge of the taut elastic with your fingertip. Then, when you reached the warm join of his legs, you let your finger slip inside to its knuckle, feeling just the edge of his puckered hole, covered in hair and hot to the touch.

“Mnghh…” He keened darkly.

You pulled your hand away, and tapped on his thigh, coaxing him to widen his stance. Then, you ran two fingers along the crack of his ass, across the soft satin, and pressed it gently against his hole. You rubbed it in small, light circles, allowing him to feel the whisper of the fabric against his most sensitive skin.

“Do they feel like you thought they would?”

He nodded, drunk from his pleasure,

“Aye, lass. Better.”

You noticed a dark stain forming against the pastel pink where his cock was drooling into the silk, ruining them with his hunger.

“Why don’t you wear them to the pub tonight?”

His eyes flashed in panic, staring at you through the mirror,

“I couldnae! What if someone sees? They’ll say–”

“Then you punch their fuckin’ lights out. You’re still a man, Johnny. Boys can be pretty, too. Don’t be shy.”

“Alright, bonnie,” he nodded, still stroking himself languidly, smearing the stain along his turgid ridge, “Will you wear some, too?”

Solidarity. You wanted to support him however you could, so you nodded,

“Absolutely. Which ones should I wear?”

He followed you back to the drawer of wonders and fished out a white lace set, a bra and thong combo, and handed them to you.

You admired them as they sat in his wide, callused palm, and you gave him a sinister look,

“Wanna help me put them on?”

What was, at first, surprise melted into excitement as he watched you strip down to nothing. All of your work clothes pooled on the floor at your feet. But, right when you were about to take off your plain, cotton panties, he stopped you. Silently, he was begging for them.

You took them off carefully, letting him see that you wouldn’t toss them away, and you handed them over, trying your best not to be ashamed by your sweat and the tell-tale sign of your horniness imprinted on the wet gusset.

He smiled when you laid them in his hand, trading them for the lacey set, and he brought them up to his nose, watching you the whole time. He sniffed your scent, enjoying it too much, letting his tongue dart out to taste your wet spot, daring to put the slip of fabric in his mouth like a lolly, sucking the sweetness he found.

At first, you were repulsed, thinking about how far you’d walked in those. But, then you looked down at Johnny’s mess that his wet prick was making in your pink pair and you changed your tune real quick. You would absolutely suck his precome from the fabric right this second if he asked you to, so you understood his motivation.

Johnny finally let the used panties drop to the floor and helped you step into your new pair just like you had helped him. He slid them up your legs, taking the time to position them just so, using the thick tip of his finger to trace the outline of each leg hole, lining up the elastic just right.

Then, he helped you with your bra. You let him fumble with it, not giving him a chance to know if he was failing or not, but trusting him to figure it out. Even though he never groped you while your tits were exposed, now that they were covered by the lace, it was like you had given him a green light. His thumbs teased your peaks, plucking at them as if they were the petals of a flower, tugging them towards him one by one. She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me…

Your hand replaced his, resting softly on his throbbing phallus, teasing the fat body of it and rubbing his wet cockhead through the silk.

“Fuck, bonnie. Gonnae have me comin’ if you keep that up.”

“Wanna come in your panties, Johnny? Wear your ruined fucking knickers to the pub in front of all of your friends like the pretty little slut you are?”

“Aye,” he whimpered, his eyes glassy and unfocused, lost in his pleasure.

You pulled his cock downwards so that it would point at the double-sewn gusset, knowing it would stay wet the longest, and you stroked him faster and faster, watching him watch you work. Johnny whined and keened louder with each backstroke, his whole body trembling at your touch. Then, he froze in place, his hips tight and thrusting forward,

“I’m– God! I’m coming, bonnie. You’re makin’ me come! Fuck!”

You watched his white cream spill out and begin to fill the cradle of his underwear, soaking into the fabric and covering his sack and shaft. It pulsed as it dripped, throwing ropes of his milky orgasm into the pink hammock you had created for him.

“Wow,” you praised him, “It’s so much. Mind if we share?”

He was too far gone to understand what you were asking, but you heard a moan of excitement when you showed him what you wanted to do.

You reached a finger inside of his warm pool of come and took some to paint on the inside of your panties as well, showing him how you were laying it in the spot just below your hole. Then, you took more, scooping it up and adding it to your collection. Finally, you reached in once more, greedy and insistent, seeing that there was plenty left, and you used it to paint both of your nipples wet, smearing his pleasure across your puffy flesh, and replacing your bra cups when you were done.

“Holy fuck, lass,” he sighed deeply, “You gonnae wear me all night?”

“Yeah. Would you like that? Both of us covered in your come, and no one’s gonna know,” you leaned in close to him and kissed his jaw. He was too tall for you to reach his lips, but he bent down to press his mouth to yours at the suggestion.

As you watched him get dressed again, opting for his jeans and a fresh tee shirt he’d grabbed from the dryer, a whirling thrill coursed through your blood. You didn’t usually dress up for the pub. It was a place to unwind, not to get wound up, but it was a Friday night, so you opted for a little black dress. You knew that the impression of your lace would stick up through the thin fabric, but you didn’t care. No one was going to say anything to you; you dared them to with Johnny around. Even before you knew about his obsession with your panties, he never let anyone near you with their bullshit. He’d protect you.

You met him in the kitchen, grabbing your purse and keys.

“Lemme see you, bonnie,” he said, sauntering over to you, his eyes pinned to your rack.

“You approve?”

“I can see your bra through it,” he warned you, rubbing the back of his knuckles across a visibly perky nipple covered in lace.

It was so sweet. He thought you were too innocent to know what you were doing, but you kissed his hand and winked at him, letting him in on the secret.

“C’mon,” you led him out onto the street, locking the door behind you, “We’re already late.”

As you walked together, you could feel his come heating up between your lips, slipping against your flesh and making you feel even wetter than you were. You stole a glance over at Johnny, who seemed to be as distracted as you were.

“Can you feel it?” You asked him in a low tone.

He nodded,

“Aye. Wet. Drivin’ me fuckin’ barmy.”

You laughed, clutching his hand in yours, your heart swelling when he grabbed you back even firmer.

At the pub, the game was roaring on every single television. It was Rangers at Aberdeen, but the crowd in your local was expectedly Glaswegian. Johnny’s friends had come up to watch it with him, taking the time to come up on the weekend from Simon’s place in Manchester.

When they spotted him, the whole table erupted. People turned to stare and watched with a bit of amusement as Johnny was pulled left and right, hugged and grappled by all of the men waiting for him. They noticed you as you stepped a little closer, their eyes wandering way beyond politeness, but you didn’t blame them. You’d made your outfit choices on purpose.

“Woah, mate,” one of Johnny’s friends piped up, “Who’s the bird? Too fit for you.”

“Too bad,” Johnny bit back, “She’s with me. C’mere, bonnie. Have a seat. I’ll grab us some pints.”

You sat beside him and watched him order for you. He knew you well enough to ask for a cider along with his ale, but it was the way he couldn’t keep his paws off of you that made your skin tingle. He couldn’t stop touching your back, right were the clasp of your bra was, feeling the ridge of it through the thin satin dress. Sometimes, his hand would wander up to your shoulder, feeling the thin strap, before returning to his point of obsession.

Throughout the game, you watched him come more and more undone. He leaned over to whisper to you once or twice, threatening that he would have to go to the loo and take them off,

“Cannae keep these on, bonnie. Makin’ me hard like a stone. Mates are gonnae think somethin’s up.”

“Let ‘em think,” you giggled, stoking his fire and wanting it to burn.

Finally, in the stoppage time, when Glasgow had obviously won, Johnny made to leave, much to the protestations of his tablemates.

“C’mon, Soap! We were gonna go down to Drygate.”

“Nah, he can go. But, she stays wi’ us,” one of them commented, his eyes fixated on everything but your face.

“Sorry, lads,” Johnny shrugged, “Tomorrow night, though. Still on?”

“Sure, you traitor. Bring her with you, or we’ll send you away,” the bearded one insisted.

“Alright, see you then.”

He rushed you out of the pub, and you couldn’t remember ever making it home in such a short amount of time. By the time you made it up to your shared apartment, you were both out of breath.

“Gonnae come again, lass. So close. You’ve got me so fuckin’ close,” Johnny’s keys jangled in the lock, his movements showing his panic.

Your smile curled into a threat,

“Oh, yeah?” You reached around to the front of his jeans and squeezed the long, hard body of his cock, listening to the keys as they fell to the floor, “My pretty panties makin’ you hard again, Johnny?”

“Lass, please…” He was shaking like a leaf.

You bent down and retrieved his keys, unlocking the door yourself, pushing him through it and shutting it behind you,

“C’mere, baby. Take off those clothes. That’s it. Good boy. Now, stand here. Right here.”

You knelt to the floor in your entryway, watching him lean against the door, his dick flagging against the wet fabric of your ruined silk panties. You took his hand and placed it on the back of your head, watching his eyes widen with a beautiful terror as you leaned towards him.

You let your tongue lap at the obvious wet spot in the panties before you began to suck, taking his head in your mouth and tasting him like a creamy dessert, listening to the chorus of his moans and reveling in them.

“Fuck, bonnie… I cannae… Please…”

You didn’t answer him. You wanted him to come too soon. You wanted him to shoot more of his creamy seed into your silky underwear. So, you sucked harder, taking his entire cockhead into your mouth, fighting it through the fabric that was sealed around it, bobbing up and down on him as much as the panties would allow.

Your hands moved to his heavy, hanging sack, pulling the panties from side to side, letting him feel the slip of them. Finally, you hooked two fingers in behind them, prying open his hole just enough to let him know that you were there.

That was his cue, and his body wrecked him with a blinding orgasm, making him hump his hips into your mouth, his cock desperately trying to fuck its way down your throat. You felt his hand twist in your hair, pulling you tighter to his dick, messy and chaotic, driven by his pleasure.

The come poured from his tip and you tried to suck it through the silk, tasting the salt of him on your tongue and licking him over and over and over until you were sure that he was done spilling into his sheath.

“Those feel pretty good, huh, Johnny?” You teased him, giggling at his expense, pleased with your work.

But, his face was anything but amused. His hand tightened against your scalp hard enough to make you wince, chasing the smile off of your face,

“Take them off.”

You obeyed immediately, stripping him in the foyer, holding the soaking panties in your hand, looking up at him for your next instruction.

“Put ‘em in your wee lips, bonnie,” he snarled, watching you tentatively push the silk into your mouth, choking a bit from the bundle of fabric, “Aye, tha’s it. Tha’s my girl.”

He wrenched you up from the floor and pressed his mouth to yours, kissing you through your gag, his tongue swiping at his own come-soaked mess. When he heard you coughing, trying to control the air and spit and come that was invading your mouth, he chuckled,

“You dinnae even ken what you fuckin’ started, lass.”