#Pocket Tovar

[thekawaiifruitworld]

Tiny Tovar has joined the Pocket Team! :D

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Dessert

Summary: Pero asks you an important question.

Pairing: Chef!Pero Tovar x fem. reader

Wordcount: just under 1k

Rating: M

Warnings: modern au, established relationship, fluff, kissing, implied smut

A/N: This was so much fun! Tagging @iamasaddie for her moodboard writing game. I wasn't really sure which Pedro this was so I just chose one lmao though now that I am thinking about it, it could also be Dieter.... 🤷‍♀️😂

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You were watching the last couple sitting at the restaurant.

They were smiling at each other, their hands joined on the table. You had been watching them all night whenever you were between customers, smiling to yourself at how in love these two people were. 

You were cleaning up the last few tables when the man at the table waved for you, asking for their check. He paid with a generous tip, both of them thanking you for the great evening, asking you to give their best to the chef, before he helped her into her coat, his arm pulling her against her side as they walked out. 

You followed them to the door, locking it behind them, seeing them kiss in the moonlight, before they walked down the street arm in arm. 

Sighing with a small smile you turned back around just as Pero walked out of the kitchen. He still had his black chef jacket on, though the first couple of buttons were opened.

You had been alone out front for the last hour, having sent home the two other servers early as the restaurant slowed down. By now Pero would have sent out the rest of his kitchen staff also, leaving you alone with him. You had turned down most of the lights earlier in an attempt to gently throw out the last guests to close up, the room only lit by some candles and the very low turned skylight.

„All done?“ He asked and you nodded. He leaned in the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched you tidy up the last table. 

It reminded you of the first time you had walked into this restaurant almost four years ago. He had silently stood in the background watching you while the former restaurant manager led the interview for his successor. A job you got in the end.

Pero Tovar had the reputation of being difficult. Some even said he was an asshole. 

You had learned that he just had high expectations and did not hold back when those weren’t met. A trait you admired about him. He was very clear on what he wanted.

Which as you came to learn, also included you. 

You didn’t even notice him being interested in you at first, being so busy with the new job and wanting to impress him. It took at least four months until you realised that whenever he asked you to stay longer to work on whatever he would find as a excuse to spend more time with you alone. 

It took him testing out 15 different new dessert ideas after the restaurant was already closed at night, until he finally asked you out.

Now, after three years of dating, you were living together and very much in love with him. 

He stopped you as you tried to slip past him into the kitchen to put the last of the dirty dishes into the machine. He took them from you, setting them down somewhere before he slowly walked you to the closest table, his hands on your hips helping you up until you were sitting on it. 

You rested your hands behind you on the table, looking up at him in interest. 

You raised your eyebrow in question as you parted your legs so he could step between them. The skirt you had decided to wear slipping up your thighs.

He took a deep breath, his eyes focused on you. His hand coming to rest on your bare thighs as he leaned in closer. A shiver running down your spine at his touch.

You were still surprised that even after standing in a kitchen for more than four hours, you could still smell his aftershave on him. 

„I have something for you,“ he said and you frowned. His hand slipped into his pants pocket, his eyes not leaving yours.

You were about to ask if whatever he had for you was in his pants when your eyes caught something twinkling in the candle light as he brought his hand back up. A shy smile played around his lips as he looked at you, his eyes warm and wide. 

In between his fingers he held a single ring. It was a silver band and you could see something engraved in it. 

„It was my mothers ring. It is the only thing I have left from my family,“ he explained and you took a deep breath as he took your hand in his. 

„Will you wear It for me and become my wife?“ He asked and you nodded at him, a smile on your lips as tears sprung into your eyes. 

„Yes, Pero,“ you whispered and his eyes closed for a moment, his shoulders dropping in relief, before his eyes opened and he smiled, wide. 

Slowly he slipped the ring over your finger, bringing your hand up so he could press his lips on the ring that was now sitting in a perfect fit on your finger. 

You brought your other hand up to rest on his cheek and he closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a deep kiss. You put your arms around his neck as he stepped closer, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close against his chest, making you gasp. 

„I think it’s time for dessert, hm?“ He mumbled against your lips, smirking, and you wondered what he had saved for dessert when he slowly got down on his knees between your legs. He rested his cheek against your thigh as he looked up at you with dark eyes, before his lips slowly searched their way between your legs. 

Your fingers were buried in his hair when he made you cum minutes later, his skilled tongue knowing exactly how to drive you over the edge. 

And later, back home after you thoroughly celebrated, you fell asleep in his arms. 

Dreaming about your future with the man you loved.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2022: October 11th

Day 11: Frottage // Weight Gain // Spanking

Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Weight issues, body image issues, rougher sex, ass slapping

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Winter is coming and with it, you can expect a certain man to ride back into town. If he was still alive, he would come in with a purse full of coins and a ravenous hunger for both food and your cunt. 

It wasn’t as if you were married to Pero Tovar. It is convenient, you assume. The Spaniard had never once voiced wanting to become your husband or hang up his sword. He had just continuously showed back up in your village and at your door to spend the time as the snow flies in your bed. 

He provided for you. Some of the coins he earned was tucked into your pocket, with a grunt for you to not work yourself to the bone. His hand patting your ass and another kiss stealing your breath before he would walk out the door again. 

This is probably the first year that you are nervous to see him. You’ve changed and you don’t know if he will be accepting of that. 

You’ve gained weight. HIps wider and bottom much less firm that when he had first tossed up your skirts. Your thighs rub together and sometimes you have to wear drawers - which you hate to do - to keep from having sores where the skin gets irritated. 

Your stays were let out completely until you had to make a larger dress. Other women told you that you were still a fine looking woman, but you don’t know how Tovar will take your change of appearance. 

****

You should have known he would come on washing day. Your clothes are hanging on the line, the material blowing in the ever sharpening breeze. Soon, your wash would be strung up in front of the fireplace to dry while the winds and snows swirl outside. Your thick nightgown had already been mended, seems torn apart and extra material sewn in to make room for your expanded girth from previous years. 

The sound the hooves of his horse makes are distinctive. Not the gentle plodding of the animals that are used around the village and surrounding farms. It's the thunderous beat of a war horse, a sound you would know anywhere. 

Tovar always looks like he is scowling, so his face doesn’t give anything away when he pulls the reins and stops in front of your washing line. He’s clean, obviously having stopped to bathe before coming to you. His shortened hair still dripping with water and his facial hair shorn down into the patchy stubble and mustache you normally see. 

“Mierda.” He hisses, eyes narrowing as they rake up and down your body as he hops off his horse and starts stomping towards you. Your eyes widen, slightly alarmed and wondering what he is going to do. 

So when he pulls you against him, you are surprised, the air pushed out of your lungs against his broad and armored chest. His hands are insistent as he grabs handfuls of your hips and ass and groans into your mouth. 

“Soft.” He hisses, kissing down your plumper jaw, his teeth biting gently and you can feel eagerness in his touch. “You are softer.” 

You find yourself in your house in the blink of the eye. Stripped down to the skin and bent over the table where you eat, Pero’s cock sunk down inside you to the root. Moaning as the harsh thrusts, the slapping of his hips against your ass  rock you into the table and you are mortified when you can feel your entire body jiggle. 

“Fuck.” He grunts, fingers digging into your plump hips and sides. “So good. I can - fuck - I can ride you harder.” He pants out in your ear. “You can take it, can’t you, hermosa? Cushion the force of me fucking into your sweet, tight cunt.” 

Your eyes slip closed and your head rolls back against his shoulder, moaning again. One hand reaches up and grabs your breast, squeezing it harshly before pressing his thumb against the hard peak. 

“My woman grew plump.” He groans out, the desperate drive of his cock spearing up into you and making you rock up onto the balls of your toes, inching you up higher. He pulls back, watching the way your ass jiggles as he slams into you over and over. “After I cum, I want to be deafened by those thick thighs around my ears. Bury my tongue into the fat lips of your cunt.” 

He seems to love it. Every harsh jolt of his hips accompanies a groan that is louder that the last, hissing with pleasure as you spasm around him. He’s fucked you before, and you know he enjoyed it, but this seems nearly feral. 

The sharp crack of his palm against your ass makes you cry out, bowing your back and he plants his feet on the for more firmly as he fucks into your dripping cunt at a relentless pace. “Gonna- have to stick around, beat away the men who would take you.” 

That’s new. He’s never been possessive of you and now he seems determined to keep you for himself. Even though you had never had anyone since you had started spending winters with Pero. 

“Gonna sleep on you. Soft and warm.” He pushes down on your hips and leans over you again, his cock drilling against that spot that makes you see sparks and your entire body trembles as he works you towards your pleasure. “Sleep inside you. Fuck, have you lay on me all night, spread out over me.” 

He growls, pulling and grabbing on your body with a large handful of your flesh being gripped. Continuously exploring the ways that your curves have grown, softened since he had last taken you. Obviously loving the extra flesh you are carrying and enjoying it. 

“You feel so good.” He rocks into you harshly and leans down to bite your shoulder. “Perfect. I don’t have to worry about hurting you.” 

You had no idea he had been worried about hurting you before. He always handled you roughly, although not cruelly. Now, you understand. His touch is harsher, his thrusts harder as he drives his cock deep and rolls his hips to grind into you. It makes you whine and whimper under him, making him go even harder. 

Your mercenary likes your weight gain, likes a plumper woman. You don’t have to worry about him being disgusted with the thickness of your waist when he obviously delights in it. Your lashes flutter while your cunt throbs, so close to locking up around his cock. Crying out with the thrust that makes your entire body light up in pleasure.

The way your cunt soaks him makes him nearly snarl your name as he grinds into you. Lasting only a few more stunted thrusts before he is burying himself deep inside your walls, painting them with hot spurts of cum as he holds you close and groans into your ear. 

Cumming so hard that he collapses onto you, pressing you into the wood grain and his breath puffs against your sweaty back. Making you grin to yourself as you wonder why you ever doubted him. 

[daddy-dins-girl]

Pedro Boys - Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic

This was such a tough one to do... Thanks to everyone who shared their input and helped me put this one together :). I hope I did everyone justice!

Lawful Good - Marcus Moreno. Always acts with compassion, honour and a sense of duty. Marcus will always do what's right. He is courageous and moral and respects law and order. A "superhero" through and through.

Lawful Neutral - Din Djarin, Frankie Morales. Din will follow his creed; the creed of the Mandalore, always ("This is the way"). He has a strong moral compass and upholds order. His creed and his clan come before anything else. Frankie also follows a code; the one that's patched on his jacket shoulder in the form of an American flag. He may not always agree with the orders he's tasked to carry out and for that he'll carry a lifetime of grief and trauma on his broad shoulders.

Lawful Evil - Jack Daniels. Jack uses the "black & white" of the law to further his own agenda. Blinded by vengeance, he has a goal to achieve and he plans on seeing it through, regardless if it means harm will come to others who may or may not deserve it.

Neutral Good - Javier Peña. A man ultimately out to do good in the world, Javier upholds strong moral values and pursues justice, however he isn't afraid to act outside the law (which happens to be his job) if it's what he believes to be for the greater good. Javier will disobey a direct order if he believes the end justifies the means. He doesn't feel as bound by the red tape as the bureaucrats upstairs and it's always been his belief that it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Neutral - Joel Miller. A true neutral, Joel Miller marches by the beat of his own moral drum. He'll act for himself, indifferent to what is "good" or "bad", based solely on his own needs or feelings at the time, or if his survival depends on it. He won't kill for no reason, but he would certainly kill if he believes someone means harm to himself or his loved ones. By the way, "the trolley problem?" Don't worry, Joel solved it :P

Neutral Evil - Maxwell Lord, Dave York. They have little to no reservations about bringing harm to others if it gets them what they want, but they also won't go out of their way to do something hurtful or evil if it brings them no benefit. Dave is paid to do a job. It's a name on a piece of paper in his pocket, nothing more. Loyalty or morality plays no part in it and Dave is happy to dust off his hands after it's done and go home and tuck his children into bed (and he sleeps just fine at night, thank you for asking). Maxwell has grand aspirations and plans to see them through, regardless of who gets hurt in the process. He'll "grant your wish" whether its for the greater good or the greater bad, as long as it benefits his own agenda.

Chaotic Good - Oberyn Martell, Javi Gutierrez. They uphold principles of justice and freedom but are unconcerned about how it is achieved (inside or outside of the law). Oberyn Martell believes in vengeance in the name of justice. He is bound by honour, love and duty to kill those who brought harm to his family and he will do it with a smile on his face. Javi Gutierrez' actions are inherently good and he believes in doing the right thing, although he will turn a blind eye to his criminal empire family and reap the benefits of their actions because he knows no other way.

Chaotic Neutral - Pero Tovar, Ezra. These individuals follow their own whims and will act in whichever way benefits them the most at any point in time. They are beholden to no one. A mercenary, Tovar can be paid to operate on either side. It makes little difference to him, so long as the price is right. However he also has no qualms about switching alliances, should it ultimately benefit him better, or just because he feels like it. Ezra is first and foremost a survivalist. He will always act in his own self interest with no intentions or bias toward doing evil or good. He's quite capable of switching sides if it is what is best for him (and the teenager he accidentally adopted along the way) either in the moment or for the long run.

Chaotic Evil - Max Phillips. This man is evil simply because he can be, and because it's fun. He lives for himself and his own desires with no respect to rules, authority or other peoples lives. He thrives on destruction and chaos (and has a blast doing it, thank you very much).

related posts: Pedro Boys "During a Fire Emergency" Pedro Boys "Nice Argument. Unfortunately," Pedro Boys "Don't Fuck This Up" Pedro Boys "Dad(dy) Matrix" Pedro Boys & Stabbing Pedro Boys "Feral/Sad/Angelic" Pedro Boys Respond to "I love you." Pedro Boys "Character Tropes" Pedro Boys "Gay/Depressed/Horny on Main" Pedro Boys "Dad/THOT/Bastard" Pedro Boys "bring some Coke to the party" Pedro Boys "Zombie Apocalypse Team" Pedro Boys "I Want a Baby" Pedro Boys "As Babysitters" Pedro Boys "As McDonald's Dads" Pedro Boys "in a horror movie" Pedro Boys "Cinnamon Rolls" Pedro Boys "5 Kids, 3 Chairs" Pedro Boys "Playing Monopoly"

[supernaturalgirl20]

A Fate so Cruel

Pairings: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, fingering, past life lovers (sorta), witches, soulmates, mentions of soulmate mark, immortality, cursing (because it’s Pero 😏).

Summary: Pero’s greed cost him everything he holds dear. Now, he must search for a way to break the curse placed on him centuries ago and help the woman he loves to remember who he is.

A/N: this is my fic for the @pedrostories secret Santa. My secret Santa is @artemiseamoon 💕 I went with Pero on this one, I hope you like what I’ve written for you 🥰🥰 thank you so much @misspearly1 for the beta x

***follow @supernaturalgirl20-writes and turn on notifications for updates on my writing***

Peeping around the bookshelf at the chime of the bell, you catch a glimpse of who entered and a wave of disappointment washes over you. It was Mrs Jenkins, but you hoped it was a certain dark haired Spaniard.

To your displeasure, you greet her. “Good morning… I’ll just be a moment then I’ll be right with you, Mrs Jenkins.” You call out from behind the pile of books stacked in your arms. They’re a heavyset of books and you breathe a sigh of relief when you place the last one on the shelf.

“Pacing… outside.” She replies and the proximity of her voice startles you. She seemingly appeared out of nowhere when only a second ago, she was standing by the front door. However, you didn’t catch what she said and quickly turned to face her, your hand held over your chest as your heart thrums in your ears.“I’m sorry, come again?” You apologise with a quizzical expression.

“Are you deaf girl?” She retorts, “I said, that young man who has been frequenting the place is pacing back and forth like a mad man outside.” Her face is stern as she glares at you from behind her glasses, though a shy smile creeps onto your face as you look toward the window. There he was. The certain Spaniard you hoped for, and now you hope that he decides to actually come inside today.

The sound of Mrs Jenkins clearing her throat snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn your attention back to her. “If you’re finished ogling the man, I have an order to collect,” she says with a clipped tone before turning to make her way toward the cash register.

You diligently follow her with a slight roll of your eyes. Despite her snippy attitude with you at times, the woman is generally rather nice. “Here we go.” You place a large box onto the counter, which she studies quickly before handing over the money. “Do you need any help, Mrs Jenkins?” You ask, then move around the counter with your hands held out, offering your assistance.

“Nope,” she grumbles as she slaps your hand away. “I’ll manage just fine, thank you very much.” Oddly enough, you weren’t surprised by her actions and brushed it off as she grabbed the box and turned to leave. The bell chimes once again and you both turn your head to spot Pero standing just inside the door, looking rather… Nervous?

“Hm.” Mrs Jenkins mumbles, then proceeds to mutter incoherently under her breath as she shoves past him. He watches her leave before his eyes find yours. “I do not think she likes me very much,” he declares while walking toward you slowly, his hands nestled in his front jeans pocket.

“I wouldn’t take it personally. She doesn’t like anyone.” You smile brightly at him before jerking your head to the side for him to follow. “A few new books came in the other day and I had a quick read of them. Well, skimmed through them really, but some of them are extremely old and they’re from China too. Or at least that’s what Jerry said,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “You said you’ve visited the country before so I immediately thought about you.”

Looking up at him as you quickly rummage through the box of books, you find him staring down at you with what looks like adoration in his eyes. His gaze, intense and lustrous, made your skin heat up and you almost lost focus of the task at hand. Great, now he probably thinks I’m weird, you thought while clearing your throat awkwardly before continuing to search for the book.

“Ah. Here it is.” You beam with triumph as you locate the book and hand it over to him. The man matches your smile, evidently relieved that you had found it, until his gaze drops to the cover. Then his smile suddenly fades. Okay, not how I pictured this going. “Is everything ok, Pero?” You ask, slightly worried that you’ve upset him somehow.

“How… Where did you get this?” He questions, his tone slightly harsh making you flinch a little with surprise. You assume he didn’t mean to come across this way and that he was just astonished.

“Jerry brought it in,” You explain, “Said he found them in this old house he was renovating or something. Why? Is it important?” You’re curious now and unconsciously lean closer to him as he flicks through the pages.

He closes it abruptly and rummages through his pocket before handing you some cash. You stare down at the money in your hand and gasp. “Pero this is too much. Well, I haven’t even had a chance to price it but this is definitely too much.”

“It’s not enough, hermosa.” He shakes his head, “Trust me. This book…it may be the answer to my prayers.” The man takes another quick look at you before rushing out the door without another word.

Well, that went great… I think? You wonder silently as you stand staring after him.

***

Pero couldn’t believe his eyes. This was the book he has searched a lifetime for. How ironic it is that you were the one to find it. The gods must be laughing at him right now.

As he rushes out of the shop -albeit reluctantly - he thinks back to his time in china. The memories flood his brain and it’s as if he’s transported back in time.

“You are so beautiful, mi amor. The gods blessed me the day they brought you into my life,” he whispers into your neck. His lips peppering kisses and you groan as his teeth nip at the skin of your there.

“Pero my love, William will be back soon,” you say playfully as you try to push your husband off you. He pulls back, his gaze locked on you and a growl emanates from his chest as he grinds his hips against you. “That idiota will be occupied with general Lin, so we have all the time in the world, amor. Now, let me make love to my wife.”

He sighs at the memory. How he longs to have that again. To have you remember him. To be able to hold you and kiss you, he would give up his life for just a moment with you and your memory of him.

Turning the corner he almost runs into a young child dressed as a witch - Halloween is just around the corner - and he curses in Spanish at the costume. If there was anything on this earth that he hated, it was witches. After all, it was a witch that cursed him to live a lifetime without you. And all because of his greed.

William had warned him. Told him not to do what he was about too. That the woman he was about to rob was a witch, but when has he ever listened to his Irish friend?

The necklace was worth a lot of coin and he was going to sell it and finally build you that home he promised when you left China and the Great Wall behind you. A home that you could fill with his babies. The thought alone had him hard as a rock.

Why had he let his greed get the better of him. You had told him you were happy with the life you both had. Your simple life. Together.

He should have listened. He took the necklace right from under her nose but she soon found out and when she realised that he had sold it, she wasn’t pleased at all. Apparently, it was a much loved family heirloom.

She had cursed him that day. Cursed him to live a life of immortality which was bad in and of itself but then she had cursed you too, only you wouldn’t remember him or the life you both had. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time and change his fate.

The witch - whose name he had learned was Helga, made sure you were lost to him and he spent his life searching. Searching for you and for a way to break this godforsaken curse. His search had led him to the ‘Last Chapter’ bookstore where he finally found you. His Reina.

His body thrummed with nervous energy. Could this be the answer he has been searching for. Would you finally be his again?

He finally makes it home and throws the papers off the table as he places the book on it and begins to search for the right page. No. Not that. Where are you? Ah yes. There you are. His eyes scan the page quickly, searching for the words he hoped were written. Sure enough, they were there.

I’m almost there, my love, he thought.

***

In the days that followed Pero’s departure from you, he hadn’t once come back to visit. You grew worried, especially because of the way he left so hastily, and from the look of desperation he had.

Truthfully, you spent more time than you would like to admit thinking about him and that book. You’ve wondered what significance it has, or what importance it means to him. You only pray that he finds what he’s looking for without driving himself mad.

You also pray that he will pay you a visit again, preferably soon as you wish to see those eyes of his again. They’re so beautiful and warm, transcendent. Whenever he looks at you, it feels as though you’re welcomed in and wrapped up in something familiar. Something you’ve never felt before with anyone, but with Pero, you feel like you’re home.

However, lately you’re left with only the memory of his eyes as he remains unseen. The days pass at a leisurely pace and you bide your time by working the hours away in the bookshop, arranging the bookshelves or reading during your breaks. The tale you read today is a true love story. One of your favourites.

A Spanish soldier falls in love with a maiden from a small village and they travel the world together until they are torn apart by magic. Love conquers all though, and they meet again and live happily ever after.

There’s something so sweet and joyous about reading a love story, no matter how many times you have read stories like this, it never bores you. More often than not, you can guess the endings, but it’s as if you vicariously live through the characters, wishing that their story of love was your own.

As you sit behind the counter on your little cushioned chair, flicking through the pages of just one book out of hundreds in your store, you wait for a customer to ring the bell or something to tear your attention away. Business has been slow today, not that you mind, it’s nice to take a break from time to time.

You ponder in thought about what you’re going to do later, after work that is, and the first idea that sprung to mind was taking an exceptionally long soak in the tub, basking in the warm soapy water and maybe even indulging with a glass of wine.

However, your mind wanders back to Pero - as it always does - and you begin to think about him again. You even hear the sweet pet name he calls you, hermosa. The way it rolls off his tongue so naturally is attractive, and the language he speaks, fluent and smooth, is sexy.

“Hermosa,” You hear the pet name again, this time audibly in your ears and not in the depths of your mind, causing you to exit your train of thought and peep over the counter. There he was. The Spaniard you hoped to see was there once again, as if your prayers were answered.

Thank the gods.

You don’t even know how he managed to enter the shop without the bell chiming, but you don’t care enough to ask. Besides, you were probably too wrapped up in your own mind thinking about him to notice anyways. Quickly snapping your book shut, you lay it down and rise from your chair eagerly to greet him.

“Pero… Hi,” You say bashfully, then ask. “Is everything ok? You left in quite a rush the other day….I’ve been worried about you.”

“He steps closer, a smile edging at the corner of his lips. “Do no fret, hermosa. I’m ok.”

“Oh, good. That’s… That’s good, I’m relieved.” You stutter nervously, finding yourself losing your train of focus yet again as that familiar feeling from his eyes returns. It felt so comforting. It felt like home. “So, did you like the book?” You whisper softly as you walk around the counter, still holding his line of sight.

“It was exactly what I was looking for, hermosa.” Pero moves closer and you notice he’s nervously scratching the back of his head. The movement draws your attention to his hand where he is wearing a silver band. A wedding band. Of course he’s married. A man this handsome couldn’t be single, you think to yourself as you take a step back. How had I not noticed that before?

“Do you believe in soulmates, hermosa?” He asks, moving closer again.

“I - yes I do. I know that probably makes me seem silly but, it’s the hopeless romantic in me I suppose. To think that two people are destined by the gods to be together,” you say softly, a smile spreading across your face.

Pero is smiling back at you and that look of adoration is in his eyes again making you feel hot all over. “Did you know that when the gods fated two souls, they marked them with an identical symbol so that when they descended to earth, they could find each other.” He says, his voice soft and low as he stands directly in front of you.

His breath is hot on your face and you can’t help but look into those deep brown eyes, that slight golden fleck so familiar somehow. “I….is that….did you read that in one of your books,” you ask, your breathing becoming slightly more ragged.

“No, hermosa. I learnt that from my wife. I learnt that from you.” His proximity is causing your heart to beat faster and you can hear it thrumming loudly in your ears. Your vision begins to blur slightly and you feel like you’re going to faint.

“I don’t….how….” You stammer and you take a few steps back until your back hits the counter. Pero’s intense gaze is still set on you as he reaches out both hands, resting them on the counter beside you. He has you caged in, his body pressed against yours and you take this opportunity to really take him in.

He’s so handsome. Even with that scar across his eye. But he’s fucking delusional. Of course you fell in love with the crazy guy. “What are you talking about Pero? I’m not your wife. I’ve never been married. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

His eyes drift from yours to your lips, where they linger for a moment, before meeting your gaze again.

“I have searched every inch of this godforsaken world looking for you. It’s taken me far too long, but I’ve finally found you and I am not letting you go. Not now, not ever.” He laughs, his head dropping slightly before he lifts it again and lets his eyes drift around the shop.

“Of course this is where I found you, hidden among your books. You always did love to read.” Something on the counter beside you catches his eye and his face lights up when he sees what you were reading.

“I see you are reading our book, hermosa. It is my favourite story of all,” he stands a little straighter as he moves one of his hands to rest on your hips. The heat from his hand permeates your skin and a shiver works its way down your spine.

“Our….our story,” you stutter as he moves his other hand to cup your cheek. “Si, nuestra historia. But the story isn’t over yet.”

His thumb caresses the skin of your cheek and you unconsciously lean into his touch. “Pero I don’t….”

“Do you trust me hermosa?” He asks, his voice soft and low as his eyes flicker between yours. You gulp loudly before nodding your head, suddenly unable to speak.

Without another word Pero begins to lean in, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation and when he sees none, he continues on his course. His lips meet yours in a soft kiss and you can’t help but close your eyes. The feel of his lips on yours causing you to moan involuntarily.

Gods, he tasted so good. Like coffee and a hint of peppermint. Like home. The hand that’s resting on your hips squeezes you slightly. “Te amo, mi amor,” he whispers against your lips before he licks along the seam of your bottom lip.

It’s like a flash of lightning.

Like a film reel playing in your head and all you can see is him. Him and you and the life you had together.

Your eyes dart open and he pulls back as you gasp out a breath. “Hermosa?” He asks wearily as he waits for your reaction.

“Pero? What…what the hell is going on?” Your eyes look around as if you're seeing everything for the first time. Your gaze settles on the man in front of you once again and he’s stepped a little closer.

“Mi Reina? ¿realmente funcionó?” My queen. Did it really work? He asks as he reaches out for you.

A smile spreads across your face and your eyes gloss over with tears as you rush forward and hug him. “Oh Pero. I remember everything. It's been so long, mi amor.” You say with a strangled sob.

“How did you break her curse?” You ask as you search his eyes for the answer. A single tear falls from his brown orbs and runs down along his cheek.

“It was really quite simple. All I had to do was make you fall in love with me again. I should have known but I am a fool, always have been.” You caress his cheek and smile up at him.

“You’re no fool, Pero Tovar.” You say softly as you wipe his tears away with your thumb. “Si, I am but I will spend the rest of our lives making it up to you, amor.”

His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss that starts slowly but quickly escalates when he slides his hands down along your curves and pinches your ass.

He groans into your mouth grinding himself against you and you can feel his desire for you hard against your thigh. “You always did love my ass,” you say against his lips.

“Si. And now I am going to take you right here and now, amor. It’s been so long,” he says with a strangled groan.

“We can’t Pero. What if someone walks in?” You say incredulously. He smiles at you. That same devilish smile he gave you when he was up to no good.

“I turned the sign when I came in. No one is going to disturb us mi amor.” His hands run along your sides, caressing your curves before his hand wanders to the hem of your dress. His fingers slowly move up your thigh until they reach the lace panties covering your slick.

He pulls them to the side and runs his fingers along your slit and you groan into his mouth. “So wet, hermosa. Is this all for me?” He teases as he slowly pushes two fingers inside your aching cunt.

“Yes. All….all for you Pero. Only you,” you gasp, your body tingling with pleasure. The coil in your stomach tightens and just when it’s about to snap, he pulls his fingers out.

“No,” you groan and he smiles at you before taking his fingers in his mouth and sucking them clean. “Gods I’ve missed your taste, hermosa.”

A low deep growl emanates from his chest as he works to quickly undo his belt before shucking his trousers down to his knees. Gods, you forgot how thick he is. Well, of course you did, you were cursed.

He lifts your leg over his waist, holding it in place as he lines himself up with your core. Panties once again pushed to the side, you wait with bated breath as he slowly works himself into you.

“Mierda,” he cries out before burying his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m never letting you slip through my fingers again, amor. Not when you take me so well.”

You both moan loudly when he is fully sheathed inside you, taking a breath until you adjust to him. His lips pepper kisses along your neck, “ready amor?” He whispers into your skin and you shiver with anticipation.

“Yes. Please, Pero. Fuck me.” His hips pull back a little and then thrust into you, over and over again. His pace is slow at first but as soon as you moan his name it’s like a switch is flicked and he starts pounding into you.

“Eres tan hermosa, cariño. Nunca dejarte ir de nuevo.” You’re so beautiful, baby. Never letting you go again.

“Pero…oh fuck I’m….I’m gonna come,” you cry out, body shuddering as your orgasm washes over you. The feeling of your cunt clenching him tight, sends him over the edge and he comes with a loud grunt.

A gasp from behind him startles you both and you quickly fix yourselves before turning to find Mrs Jenkins standing there looking aghast.

“How dare you, and in a bookshop of all places. I knew there was something about you,” she says, anger evident in her tone as she points a finger at Pero. “Sick pervert. And you,” she turns to face you, disgust clear on her face. “I’m gonna make sure you get fired for this.”

She turns with a gasp and rushes out of the shop. You turn to find Pero bent over in laughter and you slap him gently on the arm. “Not funny.”

“Oh come on hermosa,” he says as he moves closer towards you. “It’s a little funny. She definitely doesn’t like me now though.” His eyebrow is raised in amusement and you can’t help but laugh. “Well if it makes you feel any better, she definitely hates me now too.”

“I don’t care who hates me mi amor, as long as I have you.” Pero gazed at you, his eyes full of love and adoration. He swore silently to himself that he was never letting you go again. Ever.

[sirowsky]

Part 23 - William

Pero Tovar and Female Reader (nicknamed Bee) Modern AU

It's time for Pero to tell you his side of the five months that you've been apart.

Creator chooses not to use Warnings! This is 18+ONLY!

Word Count: 4983 Masterlist(this story) Author’s Masterlist

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   “I have something for you,” Pero said as he walked into the living room and sat down on the couch.

   You were lying on your side to rest after having eaten way too much that morning, and he lowered himself down on the edge of the cushion in front of your legs, rather than by your head or feet.

   “I hope it isn’t more food, because I’m still congested,” you smiled in return, and he mirrored you.

   Then, out of seemingly nowhere, he suddenly had the cutest little stuffed piggy that you’d ever seen, in his hands.    It was bright pink and perfectly rotund, with an over dimensioned head and tiny little floppy ears, short stocky legs and the smallest corkscrew of a tail.    He held it out to you and you gently took it, as though it was the most precious thing ever, and you didn’t care that you were being silly, you loved it!

   “Oh… it’s so cute! Thank you!” you cooed, holding it to your chest and smelling the top of its head, while Pero grinned proudly at you.

   “You’re welcome, mi amor,” he hummed, but then something sad snuck into the corners of his eyes and the set of his jaw, and you immediately knew that this wasn’t just a moment of sweetness.

   This was him building up to something. And whatever it was, it was bad enough that he needed you to be in your very best state of mind before he brought it up.    He’d sat beside you at breakfast and encouraged you to try some of the goodies from Claire after you’d finished your sandwich, making sure you were full and happy when you’d moved over here to rest.

   But it was only now you realized that he hadn’t taken a bite of anything himself.    You hadn’t noticed a hint of nervousness or trepidation in him, though, so this had to be something serious enough that he’d felt compelled to completely shut it out while he’d reconnected with you.    Which meant that it was bad.

   Your smile faded, and you sat up clutching the toy to your chest, suddenly grateful to have it for the comfort that it was already giving you. No doubt also a part of his strategy.

   “Tell me,” you said, and your voice was small and full of worry.

   He didn’t like that, but you supposed that he didn’t like any of whatever it was that he was about to uncover any better.

   “We should take a walk,” he suggested, rising to his feet and then offering a hand to help you up.

   That confused you a bit, but you didn’t argue. Movement was good for thinking, so if that was what he needed to get this off his chest, then you’d walk with him for as long as it took.    The air was warm and the breeze perfectly cooling. In another hour or so, the sun would be at its peak for the day and the temperature would rise another few degrees, so you hoped that the wind would continue to caress your skin.

   Pero had his hands in his front pockets, as if he was afraid to touch you, afraid that he could somehow hurt you just by being in contact with you.    He loved nothing more than getting you touch you, so if he was purposefully avoiding that, then he had good reason, which was why you didn’t ask for his hand.    You just kept hugging the piglet, and occasionally petting Groot’s head as he was still glued to your side, while quietly waiting for your partner to start talking.

   It took him nearly twenty minutes of aimless trudging until he eventually found his starting point, though, and there was a tension in the air the entire time.

   “After I… sent you away,” he began, glancing at you to make sure that you were okay with his choice of words, “I ended up in a standoff with William. I had knives and the dogs, he had guns and Molotov cocktails, so he got away.    It took three days before he came at me again, and that was when he managed to shoot me. But I still almost caught him, so he kept his distance for a bit after that.”

   You shivered at the imagery of your beloved man, badly wounded and still fighting, refusing to let an opportunity pass him by just because he was in pain.    It wasn’t an imagery that you enjoyed, and part of you wanted to scold him for being so reckless, but you decided not to interrupt him. He was alive and well, and that was the most important thing, after all.

   “A week passed before we clashed again, and this time, he was only able to escape because he managed to critically injure the Doberman and lightly wound the Rottweiler,” he continued, shaking his head slightly. “I was not about to let one of Dean’s dogs die, so I retreated and took them to the vet.    Which is also why, after two weeks of laying low, I left all the dogs here and went out into the woods unarmed and completely exposed.”

   Hearing that made you stop and glare disbelievingly at him, because surely, he couldn’t have been that stupid.    Groot felt your sudden shift in emotion and pressed himself against your leg to help you stay calm, which you appreciated, since you were about ready to start barking yourself.    But the look that your partner gave you in return was apologetic, which was a confirmation that he knew damned well how idiotic that strategy had been.

   “I had to bait him. My only advantage was that I knew he would come for me, so I used that against him, and relied on my instincts and training to protect me, and it did work,” he explained, but you still shook your head in disbelief as you resumed your slow trudge around the property.

   “Suddenly I have no problem understanding why you shipped me off, because I would’ve never let you do that if I’d been here,” you chided, and he accepted that, nodding once to let you know that he wouldn’t dispute it, and then kept going.

   “Leaving myself vulnerable made him overconfident, a trap his former self never would’ve fallen into, and I managed to disarm him.    Not before he had already cut my arm open, but I was not particularly concerned about that in the moment,” he said with a casual shrug at that last part, as though it didn’t even occur to him that it might be absolutely terrifying to hear.

   “Just another fucking Tuesday to you, I imagine…” you sourly grumbled, and from the corner of your eye, you saw him turn his head to look at you, so you met his gaze.

   He was clearly about to retort, but then seemed to realize that that wouldn’t go over too well, so he bit his lips together instead, taking a moment to rid his head of whatever those thoughts had been.    When he spoke again, he was calm, but there was an undertone of something frightened in his voice, which you didn’t like. You would have preferred him argumentative rather than fearful.

   “Not quite. It took everything I had to bring him down,” he admitted. “And even after I had defeated him, he still wouldn’t stop trying to kill me. Which is what told me that I might never be able to break him.”

   “How so?” you asked when he’d been quiet for a little too long after saying that, and your question seemed to pull him back from somewhere far away.

   “We were trained for the possibility of capture, taught to conserve our strength, rest while learning as much as we could about our enemy, strategize and look for opportunities. Never to waste energy unless we had a viable chance to escape or kill our captors.    But William was acting on pure rage. There was very little strategy left in him.”

   He fell silent again after that, and a sadness seemed to bear down on his shoulders.    You didn’t miss his use of the past tense in those last sentences, and that made your own shoulders slump.    Because this all felt like a confession, and there was really only one reason you could see for why he would feel compelled to unburden himself like that.

   “I took him to one of your father’s bunkers,” he finally continued, but then he paused again and swallowed hard a few times.

   “You don’t have to tell me, love,” you offered when he seemed to struggle to pick up the thread again at all. “But I will listen if you need to say it, and I won’t hate you. No matter how bad it is, I won’t think any less of you.”

   That made him stop walking and sigh heavily, before pulling one hand out of his pocket and reaching for yours.    His grip was firm, and his hand was cold, which told you that he was afraid. But exactly what that fear was, you still couldn’t discern.    There was something so fragile about him right then, but it didn’t feel like grief or shame to you. It was much more complicated than that.

   “To make someone as cold as he was… it takes months, perhaps even years of psychological torture and conditioning,” he murmured, as if saying these things out loud somehow made them worse. “They would have used his family against him, breaking him down until he could no longer feel anything but anger, hate and fear, and all if it primarily directed at himself.    Then they would have put him to work, training him to take those feelings out on anyone they targeted, forcing him to use his self-hatred as a weapon.    But that was also how I was able to defeat him, relatively easily.”

   “I don’t know that I’d call anything of what we’ve been through lately ‘easy’. But what exactly do you mean by that?” you prompted, since he seemed to need a little push now and then, to keep going, and you felt certain that he had to get all of this out.

   “Those feelings are what make us weak,” he explained as he started walking again, pulling you along since he now refused to let go of your hand. “You can’t focus as well when you’re angry, your mind won’t let you think clearly. He kept charging me without any larger plan, just like I did with Pete when he had you.    So, all I had to do was wait for him to make a mistake at the right time, and it was over.    Not that it wasn’t still one hell of a fight. Anger might dull your senses, but it also makes you stronger physically.”

   “Yeah, I noticed that when you were the one captured too. Although it was mostly fear for me,” you offered, and he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

   “Fear is an even more merciless coach than anger. It sits deeper within our instincts and drives us harder than anything else.    Your fear kept you alive, pintora. William’s anger kept him prisoner,” he elaborated, and you squeezed his hand back, hoping it was as reassuring a gesture to him as it had been to you.

   “What happened? Once you’d caught him?” you continued, and Pero’s face turned grim and hard.

   “The only way to undo a conditioning as severe as his, is to either help them heal, or break that person down again, and then put them back together.    But when someone is already that badly broken, there isn’t much left to break. Still, I had to try, because even if he still recognized and remembered me, his emotional connection to me was gone, so the only thing that was going to reach him was his family… and I obviously could not offer him that.”

   “So, you hurt him…” you suggested, and he hesitated before nodding, and there was both guilt and shame within the movement.

   He had already told you that he’d tortured the man, so you knew that whatever he said next was gonna be bad, and therefor did your best to fortify yourself against it.

   “I… tried to keep it mostly to his mind, but I had to go at him physically as well,” he confessed, and you could tell that this was the part that he most dreaded telling you about. Still, he didn’t falter.    He was determined to unburden himself. “I beat and burned him… starved him… kept him awake for days… cut him and then let rats and mice lose in the cell.    I did worse things too, but I cannot say them to you. Please, don’t ask me to.”

   You just nodded, unable to speak anymore. Because as hard as this was to hear, it was so much harder to even imagine how painful it must’ve been for Pero to do these things.    William had been his whole world for most of his life. The fact that he’d even been able to do these things to him was testament to just how much he’d loved the man.    Because only love could’ve driven him to commit such atrocities in his desperation to get his brother back.

   “None of it worked, just as I’d feared,” he continued after a little break. “So I had to try the only thing I had left… which was you.”

   That surprised you to hear, and you stopped moving to look at him. He stopped as well, when he felt the tug of your hand in his, and turned to face you.    Seeing your puzzled expression made him sigh before stepping closer and putting his hands on your upper arms, but it seemed more like he was looking to steady himself, than that he was offering you support.

   “My hope was that Will might recall his love for Lin Mae by seeing my love for you. And for one second, I thought that maybe it had worked, after I mentioned our baby,” he paused involuntarily then, to force air back into his lungs. “But if any memories did surface… if it did make him feel anything… he shut it down just as quickly as it had appeared.    And in that moment… I gave up.”

   He bowed his head then, staring at the ground with a snivel in his throat as his hands slowly slipped down your arms until they were just barely keeping hold of your fingers, and you just waited.    Waited to hear him say those words which meant that it was over.    The story, and the tragic life of William Garin.

   “I ran into the woods and I couldn’t stop myself for a long time. Not until my legs stopped working and just wouldn’t carry me any further. And then I fell to the ground and stayed there, unable to bring myself to get up and go back, just to end it all.    But I also couldn’t just leave him there to die slowly in agony.    So, somehow, I got to my feet. And I made my way back.”

   He sounded almost hollow at this point, and you were fighting tears now yourself, because you knew that he was trying not to fall apart. That the pain in his body was probably more than anything you could even fathom, and there was nothing you could do to help him.    The unfailingly kind canine beside you evidently noticed that too, but decided to try anyway, shifting to sit beside Pero and rest the length of his side against the man’s leg.

   He tried to let the dog soothe him, but despite Groot’s gentle manners and valiant efforts, the man remained shattered, perhaps more so than anyone could ever understand.    The hand in yours started trembling even as he closed his eyes in a feeble attempt to lock some of the hurt away, and you could hear every bit of the effort that it took for him to just breathe.

   “Walking down there… I was broken in a way that I did not know people can break.    I was in so much pain, and yet, so clear about what I was doing and why I had to. And even that clarity was adding to my hatred of myself, because why would I be so sure about taking this man’s life? This good man…    Why would I not question it more?” he berated himself, slowly moving his head back and forth in either disbelief or disgust.

   You were openly crying by then, trying to keep your snivels silent so that you wouldn’t disturb him, but the tears were falling in streams down your cheeks.    All because his pain was so tangible. In the same way that he could fill a room with his positive or negative energy, he was filling the air around him with pain, to such a degree that your skin was burning despite the breeze, and your heart pounding against the torrent.

   “…I stepped inside and walked into his cell, and there was no question within me of what needed to be done,” he continued, opening his eyes again as the memories became too vivid behind his lids. “Will was on his knees on the floor in the middle of the room, knowing what was coming, and not a word of protest spilled from him.    He could see in my eyes what I was about to do, and he didn’t question it either. He just kept glaring at me, still with nothing but rage in his being.”

   Suddenly, he let go of you and took a few steps to his left, before he bent forwards and reached towards the ground, and for a moment you thought that he was falling over. But then you saw the key in his hand and the hidden handle among the weeds.    He turned the key, yanked on the handle and a hatch opened, revealing a staircase, and you instantly knew that this was that bunker.

   There would be no purpose for him to bring you to any of the others. And this was clearly the explanation behind why he’d suggested a walk in the first place, because for whatever reason, he needed you to see this.    This was where it had happened. Where he’d been forever changed, and he needed you to understand it so that you would always understand him.    It made sense, but it was also deeply unnerving.

   Without preamble, he stepped down and you followed right behind him, making sure that Groot had gotten in before you pulled the door closed.    There was an earthy smell, but it was dry and cool down there, and you wondered for a second how many other bunkers you didn’t know about, and what they might contain.    But that was irrelevant for the moment.

   You could picture Pero pacing in front of the three cells, wrestling with every decision, screaming and hurling abuse at himself for the things that he was doing. Forcing himself to watch, because you just knew that he would’ve done that.    That he wouldn’t have allowed himself to close his eyes against his own monster, no matter how much it scared him.

   He stopped in front of the middle cell, the one straight ahead from the observation area, looking through the one-way mirror but seeing only the past.    You kept to the side, some six feet away, just in case something triggered an outburst in him. Not because you thought that he might hurt you, but simply because you wanted him to have the space to move if he needed to.

   “I stood there, right before him, just staring at him for a long time,” he said, nodding towards the floor inside the cell that you couldn’t see from where you stood, and his voice had dropped into a quiet, tortured whisper now that he was surrounded by the same walls. “Waiting… for some sign of hope… the smallest hint that I didn’t have to do it.”

   His face was covered in tears now, and his voice was strained and forced, his eyes locked on the place where it had all happened, and you suddenly had to quell the urge to step up to him and put your hands over his eyes. Just so that he might not have to see it anymore.    But those images would forever live inside his mind, there was nothing your hands could do about that, so you refrained.

   “He was still a good man… I knew that he was, and he shouldn’t have to die,” he almost whimpered with the force of the grief that was overpowering him. “……I shouldn’t have to kill him.”

   “Pero…” you whispered, wanting to convey some manner of comfort to him, but nothing more came out.

   He heard you, though, and reached for you, staggering closer until he could put his arms around your shoulders and hug you close.

   “You must understand, mi amor…” he fully sobbed against your neck, with harsh shudders coursing through him every few seconds. “You must not think me weak… I had no other choice…!”

   “I know that, love. Of course, I do. I’m just so sorry that you had to do it,” you tried to soothe, but he started shaking his head then.

   “No, that’s not what I mean.    I need you to forgive me, Bee… for the danger that I’m still putting you in… please!” he cried, and his arms tightened around you as dread coursed through him, adding to the pain.

   “What do you mean?” you asked, practically begging him to explain so that you could go ahead and forgive him, because it made no sense to you.

   What could there possibly be left to forgive?

   But instead of answering, he backed closer to the cell without turning around, pulling you along until you were right next to the mirror and could see inside.    And there, huddled against the right wall with a thick chain locked around his waist, was William. Seemingly asleep but very much alive.    You sucked in a sharp breath and forcibly pulled away from Pero to get away from the glass, irrationally terrified that the assassin could get to you if he lifted his gaze and saw you.

   “I don’t understand…?!” you cried, shaking your head with the desperate need to believe that this wasn’t happening.

   You were so distraught that Groot actually took a defensive stance beside you, even though there was no enemy in the room with you.

   But you knew that the man in that cell was still hellbent on killing you, if nothing else than because that had to be why Pero was begging you to forgive him.    He had spared the life of someone who’s only goal left in existence was to complete his final mission, which was to kill you and everyone that mattered to you. And he had done that after discovering that the man was beyond salvation.

   And still, you couldn’t even be angry with him, because he was already torn to pieces and every second that you stood there, refusing to return to his arms, he fell apart a little more.    He looked as though someone had a noose around his neck and a knife to his heart, impossibly torn between the two greatest loves of his life, and the obligation and responsibility that he felt towards both of you.

   “I know, I’m sorry. But I can’t… I can’t… choose between you,” he confessed, right before whatever remained of his armour crumbled, and he buried his face in his hands and seemed to collapse in on himself. “Please… please, don’t… make me choose…”

   You caught him before he fell to the floor, still holding his head as though it might split open if he let go, and the dog instantly shifted focus, doing his best to comfort Pero instead of shielding you, and in that moment you did understand.    Not in your mind, but in your heart. You understood that if it had been Abby in that cell, you would’ve refused too, even if it would’ve meant unspeakable danger, even if it had put everything you cared about at risk.    You could never have made that choice.

   “It’s okay, Pero. We’ll figure it out, it’s alright,” you cooed quietly, and he somehow fell apart even more in your arms. “Stay with me, baby, it’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

   You said those words and you meant them, but your eyes were on the door to that cell. Because even though William was chained to a wall, and there was a locked security door between you, fear still told you to get out.    Instinct screamed at you to protect your child, but you also couldn’t leave your partner there on the floor alone.

   So, just like Groot at your side, you shielded your loved one, but guarded yourself, knowing in your heart that if it came down to it… if Pero really was incapable of protecting you from this threat… then you might have to do what he couldn’t.    For the simple reason that you were the only person that he couldn’t hate.    He could turn on Dean or Detective Jones if they did it, but he could never turn against you.

   It was the darkest and most sinister thought that had ever existed in your brain, and you wanted to kill it. You wanted the luxury of never having to think like that again.    But this was your reality, and for the first time, you found yourself questioning how you’d gotten here.    You’d reached a point where you were contemplating killing your partner’s brother… How the hell did that happen?

   You were just an artist. Just a simple person with normal problems.    Except right then, you felt like that person was gone. Like you had become something else that was dark and dangerous and terrifying, and you didn’t want to be that thing.    You wanted to be your father’s Bumblebee… you mother’s Beauty… Pero’s pintora.    But most of all, you wanted to be someone that you liked.

   Someone that you could look at in the mirror and recognize and be proud of.    And you realized then, sitting on that floor with your beloved in your arms, that the only way to get back to that person, was to do the opposite of what your darkness was telling you to do.    So, you let go of your Spaniard, stood up and reached for the deadbolt on the cell door.

   Not giving yourself the option to slow down or hesitate, you turned it and stepped through in one fluid movement, and suddenly your enemy was right there. Chained and passive on the floor.    Your heart was pounding so hard against your breastbone that it hurt, and you could hear Pero gasp as it dawned on him where you’d gone, but you didn’t turn back.

   The commotion woke William up, and in the second it took for him to orient himself to what was happening, he was already coming for you.    Every cell in your body screamed for you to move. Dive backwards, flee, fight, claw, bite… anything!    But you refused.

   With burning tears obscuring your vision, you stood your ground, well within his reach, watching as he came at you like a rattlesnake.    Somewhere behind you, your beloved was screaming, too broken and frightened to manage to coordinate himself to get to you in time.    You heard him, even felt the fear in his soul, but you stood your ground, because this had to stop.

   Brother against brother, father against daughter, partner’s on the same side fighting different battles… it had to end.    And it never would so long as someone had to be the darkling. The monster among the stars. Because how was anyone supposed to be able to live with that?    No matter who killed who or why, how was anyone supposed to live on with that guilt?

   “I love you…” you whispered, letting the truth of those words soften your eyes behind the tears, as you looked at the man coming for you with nothing but death in his frame.

   But it really was the truth. You did love him, for everything he’d done for Pero, for the happiness that he’d given his wife and child even in the much too short a time that he’d gotten to have them.    For the proof that he’d given to the world, that it was possible to be a killer and good man, and for showing his little brother that love was the only thing that truly mattered, in the end.

   His hands were only inches from your throat by the time he heard you, his murderous gaze locked on the point that he was aiming for.    But as though your words were laced with a poison specifically tailored to his greatest weakness, he stopped the moment that you said them.    His eyes seemed to involuntarily seek out yours, looking for something that you couldn’t decipher or name, but whatever he did find in your tear-filled orbs, it shook him.

   Standing before you, still with his arms stretched out in attack, he swallowed once and his lower lip trembled, just barely.    Then Pero reached you and pulled you back, just as William too retreated, all but falling against the furthest corner of the room, collapsing into a small pile while his entire body seemed to collapse in on itself.

   As your partner pulled you from the room, you just kept staring at that little bundle in the corner, and your heart somehow pounded even harder, because you knew then that no one had said those words to him since Lin Mae.    You understood that he hadn’t heard your voice at all… he had heard hers.    That was his poison.    Which meant that now, you had to find the cure.

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Link to Part 24

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging, I would dearly appreciate it.

@idreamofboobear @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @sjdraws-00 @shsoba05 @radiowallet @thisshipwillsail316 @myfavpedrothings @cannedsoupsucks @bluegalaxyprime @tintinn16 @winter-fox-queen @shadesofnerdlygrace @tanzthompson @little-mrs-morales @hotchlover @gallowsjoker @cosmicbreathe @criminalmind1927 @harriedandharassed @bilibiche @anditsmywholeheart

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: January 29

I may have started my busytimes, but this was technically my last week of freedom, so I made the most of it!

Here’s what I enjoyed this week!

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🪐 = Year of Themed Creations work!

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MARCUS PIKE

The Saltwater Room (iii) and (iv) by @chaoticgeminate 🪐 This brings Kells’ January fic to a close. This is a fun fic that makes me want to check out the game Raft now and I’ve enjoyed the open-water adventure of sailing a flooded world with Marcus and making what we can of it. I’m so excited to see what the February fic holds in store!!!

The Wedding Planner by @toomanystoriessolittletime 🪐 I just loved this. I love a good romcom. Steph puts Marcus in the role of the wedding planner and everyone gets to own their own corner of yearntown here. Just so much fluff, so much fun, I absolutely adore Marcus getting what his heart desires and the reader getting the wedding of her dreams.

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PERO TOVAR

The Herbalist: Part 2: The Lies Were More Appealing Than the Truth by @blueeyesatnight No Tovar yet, but we’re getting close. Instead, we get a very good study of Kitty and her brother, as well as a really good feel for the town where the story takes place. Blue is doing a wonderful job at setting the character and tone and I really can’t wait to see this girl get Pero all tongue-tied...

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JACK DANIELS

Shaken Not Stirred by @haylzcyon  Hoh my gods. This is the kind of smut that gets me going. The kind where our cowboy isn’t a hard dom or a mouthy fool...Whiskey here is... adoring. Content. Reverent. And Haylz’ beautiful style plays beautifully in that zone between hot and soft, emotions and mechanics, folding in on itself over and over into something silky and smooth. This is a sequel to Over Ice, but it does stand on its own. But if you want the sweet before the spice, you can start there with the heart and work your way down. 

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JOEL MILLER

Symmetry by @words-are-fireproof 🪐 This is a look at Joel Miller, a man with loss and a lot of anger in the world. It hurts that Tommy’s the one who wants to look out for him and the only family he has left, but he just keeps pushing him away and sinking into survival mode. This one’s tough, but really nicely written.

Invitation by @beecastle 🪐 Bee’s doing a Year of Mary Oliver challenge where she uses lines from the poet as inspiration and prompts. This sweet little drabble’s line is “it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world” and Bee uses it to wonderful effect for a moment of noticing something simple and beautiful that the world still has to offer. 

Always Thought That I’d See You Again by @ezrasbirdie  Twenty years since high school and running into the Miller boys again? Tommy coming into your bar to drink and be friendly and Joel coming by to take care of Tommy. Maybe. Maybe he remembers you from high school. Maybe he helps you close up the bar one night. Maybe he walks you to your car. Maybe I had a swoon reading this. Maybe. I’ll never tell.

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EZRA

Ribbons & Wings by @insomniamamma  I will never, ever tire of J’s Prickle stories and am always happy to see her drop another. Ezra and Cee post-film, traveling with their hired third, an amazing found family scraping it together on distant and interesting worlds. J’s extention of the Prospect worldbuilding is top-tier and even here, on a world much like our own, she still manages to make it feel alien and wondrous. You don’t need to read the Prickle ‘verse in order--she doesn’t write them in order--to enjoy these stories. But if you haven’t looked into her very rich worlds, I really suggest you do.

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DIETER BRAVO

The Worst Fic Ever by @beskarberry Y’all just get on your knees now, because this fic was just crowned king. Like, print this out and put it in your pocket for your worst days and it will cure all. I don’t really do this, but this fic gave me so much giddy joy that I’m gonna give it stars. Five. All of them solid gold. 🌟⭐️🌟⭐️🌟 Fk. How about five more. 🌟⭐️🌟⭐️🌟 And a raccoon. 🦝

The Roles We Play by @missredherring  I love the double-entendre of this title. Rachel reframes Dieter as a man with a pouty little boy inside him, one that needs to be handled gently and told no. One that wants comfort but has to learn to do it by himself. And there’s no spice involved, this is a sweet story...and the reader has way more resolve than I would...

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FRANKIE MORALES

I Need A Pilot by @all-the-things-2020 🪐 Putting Frankie--I mean, Franki--into the Star Wars universe and teaming up with Finn and Poe to fly over the mountains in a Resistance run? Yes please! Funny how Poe kind of looks like his friend San-Ti and Franki’s hopper isn’t really built to fly that high, but they’ll make it, right?

You Walk By And I Fall To Pieces by @lesbianhotch​  This is exactly my speed of being picked up at a bar by someone with as much shy DNA as we all imagine Frankie has. It’s sweet and pretty, and Santi deserves a little peck on the cheek for being a little shit.

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MARCUS MORENO

Birthday Party by @dawn-petrichor-world 🪐 Look. You shouldn’t get involved with anyone related to your students. But when it’s Marcus, do you really have a choice?

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JAVIER PEÑA

untitled by @unhinged-summer-fun  So this self-proclaimed thirsty bitch won’t stop it with the alpha!Javier and I  DON’T WANT HER TO. Why does there have to be yearning in the darkness? Why does the timing have to be off? Why can’t we all just have nice alphas?

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DIN DJARIN

Year of Small Joys 1 - Hot meal by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 I love the thought of Din learning step by step how to parent and doing his best to get it right. A hot meal can go a long way for a growing little boy... This is super sweet.

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GUEST CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT

TESS SERVOPOULOS

To Have and To Hold by @miraclesabound  In six short paragraphs, Katie explains the motivation behind the runner that comes for Tess in episode 2 (spoilers, yo) and the calling of like to like. It’s really beautiful and builds on Craig’s sentiments about the kiss...

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[thekawaiifruitworld]

The Pocket Team, available on redbubble!

Post will be edited as new tiny friends join. :D

So far we have:

Pocket Ezra 🌿

Pocket Javi G 🌻

Pocket Joel 🥫

Pocket Frankie 🧢

Pocket Whiskey 🤠

Pocket Marcus P 🥞

Pocket Max Phillips 🦇

Pocket Din (+ Grogu) 🐸

Pocket Tovar 🧱

Pocket Javi P 💕

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Where the Crossroads Meet, Part III

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Fandom: The Great Wall

Ships: Pero Tovar x you/reader (cishet female)

Tags/warnings (chapter specific): Implied sexual assault (not graphic)

Words: 1,751

Summary: As life slows down during autumn, you are once again visited by the mysterious stranger. His wound may have healed but you have yours to deal with.

You wrap your shawl a little tighter around yourself as you leave the cowshed after the evening milking. The bucket is heavy and you can already taste the porridge you’re going to cook. The evening is settling in, dusk creeps upon your homestead, dulls the vibrant colours of the trees, sinks over the withered summer flowers and the autumn-blooming ones that still bring colour to your garden. There is a crispness in the air, incredibly fresh and energizing, yet it is a premonition of colder weather. Your body still carries enthusiasm and vitality but you can feel yourself slowing down before the coming winter.

There is a man sitting on the bench by your front door. You stop still, heart skipping a beat in fear. Your hand finds the knife in your apron pocket, always with you by heart-breaking necessity. When the man stands up and turns towards you, you recognize him and your heartbeat resumes its normal pace.

Slowly, you walk up to him, gaze cast down.

”Have you eaten?” you ask when you reach him. He regards you in silence and when he raises his hand, you shrink back.

His fingers are coarse and callused on your chin as he raises your face for a closer inspection. You want to turn away, hide the purple flower surrounding your eye, the laceration on your cheekbone, the crack in your lip, but you find yourself unable to.

He stares intently at you, his thumb ghosting over your lower lip without really touching it.

”Who did this to you?”

You finally raise your gaze to meet his, the burning fury in the pit of his dark brown eyes rendering you eerily calm.

”No one from around here. They’re far away by now.”

You take a step back so that he has to release you.

”Come in and eat.”

You don’t want to talk about it. It is not the first time you’ve been harassed by men. Your secluded lifestyle comes with a certain degree of respect and fear, but some men are provoked by your independence and liberty. Usually you can fight them off, or just show them the knife and they decide it's not worth the trouble. The ones you can't fend off, you curse under your breath but don’t give them the satisfaction of your tears.

He follows you inside the cottage, where you put another log on the fire before you start supper. This time of year, your root cellar and pantry are full of vegetables, berries, and meat. Sharing comes easily. Your body relaxes as the warmth of the fire seeps into your muscles and joints. The stranger sits by your kitchen table and watches you move between pantry and stove and table. When supper is laid out, you sit down opposite him and gesture towards the food.

“Please, eat.”

He immediately starts to fill his plate, the food only landing there for a brief break on the way to his mouth. His stare is fixed on the plate in front of him and he offers no conversation. It suits you fine, but you are growing curious about this strange man who smells of danger and death yet will not lay a hand on you except to inquire about your well-being.

The memory of firm yet gentle hold of your chin takes your appetite away and yet, not a scrap of food remains when the meal is over. The man leans back in his seat and burps before draining his mug of ale. He raises his gaze to you and once again, it is like he is pinning you to the wall with those obsidian eyes of his. But this time he does not make you uncomfortable. You look back at him, unyielding yet unchallenging, until he clears his throat.

“Water?” he asks, and it takes you a moment to understand that he wishes the wash himself. You get up, busy yourself with the heating of water and clearing of the table. When you lift the heavy cauldron of water from the stove, he gets up and takes the holders from you. You are fully capable of lifting the cauldron yourself, having done it countless times before, but the gesture fills you with a different kind of warmth than the kitchen fire. When he starts to undress, you excuse yourselfand take your refuge in the cowshed. When the animals have been fed, you linger for a while, unwilling to walk in on the man in a state of undress. His battle-scarred body is so different to what you are used to, so lean and strong from a hard life. It sings to you a yearning for soft, healing touches.

Eventually, you find yourself returning. The man is seated, breeches and shirt on, armour on the floor by the door. He is cleaning his swords.

You avoid looking at the sharp steel and instead check on the fire before excusing yourself to go to bed. This time you strip to your chemise and crawl underneath the covers, confident that the man in your kitchen will not turn on you.

You don’t even know his name, you realize as you lie in bed. You know nothing about him, not even his name, but you already trust him more than anybody else in this world. He has done nothing but show up at your door and eat your food, but he has done that without demands or covetous stares.

You roll over and stick your hands underneath the pillow, sighing softly. Since your home was invaded by two stray men you have not been able to sleep much. Every little sound disturbs your slumber and makes you reach for the knife next to you in bed.

You realize suddenly that the kitchen is completely silent. You hear no snoring, no sounds of blades being sharpened. It is unnerving. Every night – the two nights – that he has spent in your home, you have heard this man snore. What is he doing? Is the chair too uncomfortable for him? Why didn’t you ask him how his injury had healed?

You sit up and throw the covers to the side. The floor feels a little cold against the hardened soles of your feet, yet the wood gives softly. You steal to the door and open it to find the kitchen dark except for a few glowing embers of the dying fire in the stove.

The dark shape of him in the chair is turned towards you, as if expecting you to appear. Or maybe in terror, thinking you are a spirit of some kind in your white chemise. It is impossible to say in the dark. Knowing each step by heart since childhood, you walk across the floor. When you are in front of him, you take his hand. He stands up without a word and follows you to bed, where you lie down, inviting him to do the same. The darkness washes out all details, but you can see the outline of him, sense the hesitation in how his hand grows slack in yours. You pull a little, beckoning him to lie down beside you, and when he does, he breathes a sigh of relief. You wrap his arm around your waist, your nose finds the little hollow between his collarbones, and you are asleep.

His name, you learn, is Pero Tovar, and he is a sword for hire.

He talks more when relaxed and stripped of both outer and inner armour. You keep your questions simple, not interested in hearing too much, but you do wish to know his name, and the reason for his travels. His answers are short and concise.

He asks you your name and why it is that you live here, alone, outside the village. You tell him about your grandmother who brought you up, the things she taught you. She had powers beyond the world and even if you lack the same powers, you possess an understanding of the world that other people do not seem to share. You see the little things, know how to interpret them. Your hands may not be able to heal but you instinctively know which plants will. When your grandmother died you stayed in the cottage with your garden, your cows, hens, a couple of sheep. There was never anything else in the stars for you, and you are happy like this. Whenever you go into the village to buy what you yourself cannot produce, or sell what you have too much of, you see other women, how weary and weighed down they are by countless children, drunken husbands, never-ending chores that seem to circle around production. Their voices are rarely heard in the village except in the stalls of the marketplace, from where the stench of gossip follows you halfway through the forest on your way home.

Pero seems to understand this. Maybe he has had his share of it, passing through town after town, village after similar village, hearing the whispers behind his back, seeing the fear in people’s eyes when they look upon his hardened face. You had that same fear in you once, but it is barely a memory now when you brush your lips over Pero’s, very softly, asking him with no words to accept your gift of intimacy.

He kisses you back, rough around the edges, clearly not used to being gentle, but when you push up against him, your leg lifting up to hook around his hip, he shakes his head. Disappointed and rejected, you scramble out of bed and retreat to the kitchen, a dull heat throbbing between your legs, tears burning in your eyes.

”I won’t take advantage.”

You turn around to find Pero at the bedchamber door, and you shake your head.

”I offered out of my free will.”

”You offered because you want to forget what was done to you.”

”What would a man know?” you scoff. His eyes narrow.

”I know that I am a man who has done the same to women.” His voice is toneless, his words brutally honest. ”I do not know how to be gentle, and you should be with someone gentle.”

You weigh his words, see his reason.

”You are more gentle than you might think, Pero Tovar,” you tell him quietly before turning your back to him and lighting a fire to make breakfast. He leaves after he has eaten, leaving behind a barked thank you and a few coins.

[marvel-and-mischief]

❄️ December Writing Challenge ❄️

Day 23. Wedding

Pairing: Pero Tovar x gn!Reader Words: 949 Warnings: food (meat), reader has a sister, can be read as Pero and reader are friends

December Writing Challenge masterlist

Pero didn’t want to be here. The flower petals being thrown over the happy couple were irritating his allergies, the smart tunic he was forced to wear was itching his arms, and he was getting glared at by the bride’s father from across the church for no reason he could think of. He hadn’t even met the man before today so who knows what his problem was. He was having a terrible time. His best friend had found the love of his life and the only thing he was looking forward to (the food) wasn’t being presented until they made their way to the bride’s father’s house after the wedding. And now he didn’t want to go because chances are the father was going to make it known what the issue was and he’d be kicked out before he even got a whiff of whatever animal was being roasted on the spit. 

He had been told to sit on the grooms side of the chapel, at the very front where he could feel the eyes of everyone on the back of his head, probably watching where he placed his thieving hands, judging his unruly hair that frames the harsh scars on his face. He sat stoically, only smiling in support whenever William looked his way. He was here for his best friend, nobody else.

-

Pero wanted to be left alone. He’d spoken to William when he entered the manor house, given him his congratulations, then headed straight to the food table in the dining room. He piled a plate high and shuffled into the drawing room to be left in peace. Except you insisted on bugging him like a fly around rotting meat. Did your father send you? The man who had spent more time watching him than his own daughter, your sister, getting married had probably sent you to make sure the silverware stayed out of his pockets. 

“Do you want a drink to go with that?” you asked kindly, already moving towards a set of decanters on a shelf.

“I want to be left in peace,” Pero grumbled around a mouthful of food. You poured a bottle of strong port into two cups, holding one out for Pero to take. He took it reluctantly, suspiciously watching you take a seat opposite him.

“Do you not like my sister?”

That gives Pero pause, halfway to trying his drink. Your smile shows your amusement as you calmly stare him down.

“Is that why you’re grumpy? Because everyone loves a wedding, but you’re here sulking all on your own.”

“Except you are here too. Is that because you do not like William?” Pero grunts, quick to defend his best friend.

“William’s lovely. I only wonder what he sees in you.” You tilt your head inquisitively, attempting to work out how it came to be that friendly, sweet-talking William is best friends with tightly wound, waspish Pero Tovar. It didn’t make sense. 

“Leave me alone,” Pero said, taking a gulp of his drink as a signal that he was done talking.

You didn’t leave him alone. But you did stay quiet, sipping your drink, adding a log to the fire when it burned low, and ordering anyone that tried to enter the room to leave immediately. Pero was at least thankful for that if nothing else.

-

The wedding guests took their leave, bidding farewell to the newly wedded couple, allowing Pero to sneak out through the kitchen and out the back door.

“I feel as though we got off on the wrong foot.” Pero spun around and, somewhere amongst the low light of the evening, found you leaning against the stable doors, bundled up in a woolly coat and half hidden by a thick scarf to combat the cold. Neither moved; Pero waited for an explanation and you wanted more of a reaction. 

“You were alone. And I wanted to keep you company, but I don’t think that was welcome.” You shuffled away from the door, not expecting Pero to respond. So you were rooted to the spot when he cleared his throat.

“I don’t like weddings. And people don’t like me. This is the worst day of my life, and I say that when I have had countless attempts on my life in battle.” Pero gave a ghost of a smile, heart a little lighter now he’d said his piece. You laughed. It’s the most you’ve heard Pero speak, and he was funny. This guy was full of surprises.

“I’m not much of a fan either. Especially when it’s my sister getting married. It takes all the attention off me, it simply won’t do.” You grinned, walked slowly towards Pero so as not to startle him, arms crossed as a chill ran through you.

“Would you like to start again?”

Pero frowned, then realised what you meant when you introduced yourself for the first time. 

“Pero Tovar,” he replied. “You should go inside before you catch your death.”

“Come back in. We can finish the port?”

Pero seems to think it over, eyes flicking between you and the back door he’d just walked through.

“What about your father?” he asked, remembering his judgmental stare at the church.

“He’ll have retired to his room by now.”

Pero’s been in sticky situations before, and he’s been found in places he shouldn’t more times than he can count. But he’s always come out of it fairly unscathed. And you seem like you genuinely want to befriend him, however stupid that may be.

And Pero doesn’t turn down a free drink. Ever.

“Lead the way.” He decided if he’s going to attend one good wedding in his life, why can’t it be this one. 

[pedrito-friskito]

✨kay’s ultimate pedro ranking✨

ok ok ok ok @mandosmistress did this a while back (like a few days lmao what is time) and tagged me and I HAVE BEEN T H I N K I N G let me tell you.

so without further ado, under the cut is my (not so definitive) pedro pascal character ranking…..! (based mainly on attraction/how much I enjoy writing them)

FRANKIE MORALES. frankie. frankie frankie frankie. my man. sunshine of my life (haha see what I did there). there is just something about this character that really crawled into my chest, wrapped himself around my heart and said ”hi I live here now” and I’m cool with it. handsome in that rugged way, a little bit damaged, and good with his hands? done. hook, line, and sinker.

DIN DJARIN. oh the sweet soft-spoken tin can space man. in all honesty, him and Frankie fight for the top spot on a daily basis and sometimes the beskar-covered bounty hunter wins, and he truly was my pedro gateway drug so he’s gotta be high on my list.

JAVIER PEÑA. ohhhhhh mama I love me some Javi. (do I mainly blame my gargantuan crush on @the-ginger-hedge-witch and her brilliant Crush series YES AS A MATTER OF FACT I DO) something about those tight fuckin’ jeans and the stache and the aviators like yep honey take me I’m yours

JAVIER GUTIERREZ. sunshine baby angel too good for this world I just wanna give him a little kiss and carry him around in my pocket and make sure no harm every comes to him (no I haven’t written anything for him yet but I been thinkin’ thots okay)

DIETER BRAVO. ✨the trash man✨ another one I just wanna carry around in my pocket, also the hair does things for me (same with Javi G) like just let me run my fingers through it and I’ll die a happy gal. questionable life choices maybe, but we’ve all been there, right?

OBERYN MARTELL. oh my HEART. *cue adele* we could have had it AAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL. I would say spoilers but it was legitimately 8 years ago but he was so CLOSE and then so SQUISHED. tbh oberyn is the most intimidating to me to even think of writing but maybe someday….

MARCUS PIKE. I do really like Marcus. cheesy as hell? check. bit overboard sometimes? double check. BUT I really like the history of the character we got in limited scenes AND I have a fic idea for him I’ve been sitting on FOREVER and I def have to use it soon!

PERO TOVAR. okay I love me a grungy fantasy man okay like that’s my bread and butter. add in the grouchiness and the obvious way to his heart through his stomach? it’s go time, baby, I got plans for him too!

JACK DANIELS. oh darlin’, he hits the middle of my list for the sole reason that pedro and that whip awoken something in me that hasn’t shut up since I watched that movie and if you don’t think I’ve watched that clip where he pushes his jacket back and it’s a crystal-clear shot of his ass you are WRONG

EZRA PROSPECT. fits the grungy, violent thing pedro seems to work with half the time, and honestly, the linguistics of this man make my head spin (the main reason I haven’t written much for him because it’s a looooot of effort to try and think up dialogue for him!!!) BUT I do love that little moon-touched spot and the scar and the smile and just ugh yum

THE THIEF. full disclosure: I haven’t read a lot of fics about the thief (if anyone has recs let me at ‘em) buuuuuut I really like the whole vibe he has and the outfit? spectacular.

MARCUS MORENO. the glasses definitely do it for me but idk something about him I just…meh. have definitely read some fab fics about daddy moreno (maybe I’ll revisit him at some point). still hot, still delicious, just not my number one fav.

MAX PHILLIPS. maybe not the biggest asshole pedro’s played but definitely up there? I sat through the movie just for him, honestly the scene of him on the couch made it worth it and the smarminess is something else, but idk if I could ever write him! (kudos to all that do!)

DAVE YORK. ok ok ok ok OKAYYYYYYY. listen. he’s the baddie (and like a really bad baddie) so I gotta put him low on my list as far as attraction goes (plus I have mixed emotions about P without facial hair but I digress…) BUT I do have ideas. they are on the horizon. keep your eyes OPEN.

MAX LORD. I haven’t even watched wonder woman 1984 and I know he needs to be down here. maybe I’ll get some form of intoxicated this weekend and power through it, just for shits and giggles!

well KUDOS if you made it this far, this was actually so fun to do!

tagging a few pals just because, no pressure 😇

@prolix-yuy @pedropascalsx @mandoblowmybackout @mindidjarin @allfoolsinluv @iamskyereads and obvi anyone else who wants to play!!!

[yespolkadotkitty]

Wolfe in Sheep's Clothing - part 14

Thank you to everyone still reading this!

Masterlist of all chapters

Words: 1500 ~ Pairing: OFC Bea Wolfe x Pero Tovar ~ Content: fluffy angst. A lil' dry humping, one amazing kiss.

Bea tried to hide her yawns at breakfast. After she and William had snuck back into the manor, without being seen - or, without being seen as far as she knew - she had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, but she must have dropped off to sleep, because she’d jerked awake to the play of sunlight on her eyelids.

“I know what you have been up to,” her father commented, after buttering himself a slice of the cook’s thick, soft bread.

Bea’s spoon clattered to the wooden table. “I - I don’t know what you mean.”

“Beatrix. You can tell me. I might be a man, but I am not a fool.”

Bea swallowed nervously. The porridge in her mouth had turned dry as dust.

Her father took a bite of the bread, chewed, swallowed. “You must confide in your maid, I assume. But, Bea… if you have questions about what you read in those lurid… pamphlets your mother left behind, you can ask me.”

It took all Bea’s power of will to suppress a hysterical laugh. Here she was, panicking that her father was about to reveal that he knew she’d secretly met with Pero, and he wanted to talk to her about… novels?

“I know,” he went on, “that it is unusual for women to read. I tried to reason with your mother, but she was determined to teach you, and I cannot argue that it will be a skill that will assist you well as the new Lady Wolfe one day. But please. You can confide in me.”

Bea managed to paste what she hoped was an expression of gentle happiness on her face. “Thankyou, father.”

He folded his heavy cloth napkin and patted it on to the table, as if signifying that he was done with the conversation. He was about to stand when a footman appeared in the doorway of the large room.

“A missive for you, my Lord.”

“Very good.” Lord Wolfe held out his hand and the footman delivered the note, on fine paperstock.

Her father unfolded it, absently brushing at crumbs on his lap as he did so. “Excellent news. Baron Fitton has invited me to a hunting party on his land, a week hence. I should like you to come. He has a son about your age.”

Bea sighed internally. “Yes, of course.”

“It’s settled, then.” He offered the letter to the footman. “Send a messenger to tell Fitton we shall attend.”

Clearing her throat, Bea added, hoping not to sound too excited, “I should like to get a dress made. To… meet the Baron’s son.”

Her father’s gaze softened. “Very well. Have William take you to the tailor’s.”

“Thankyou, father.” Bea returned to her porridge. She was excited - it would be an opportunity to see her beloved children and perhaps to see Pero - but she couldn’t let it show.

*** 

“We’re not truly going to the haberdashery, are we?” William asked, sitting back in the carriage.

Bea hid a smile. “Am I so transparent?”

The Irishman firmed his lips to, Bea thought, hide a smile of his own. “Did I say that?”

“You didn’t need to.”

The carriage rolled along the cobblestones. Bea looked out of the window, fingers playing over the coins in her pocket. Enough for three pies. Perhaps four.

When they reached the corner so familiar to her, she rapped on the ceiling of the carriage.

If the footman thought it was unusual for her to stop in such a ragtag part of town, he said nothing, just opened the door for her. William got out first.

“Wait in our usual place, please,” she instructed the driver. “Perhaps you might get yourself something nice to eat whilst you wait.” She pressed a coin into his hand.

He nodded once, smiled, climbed back into his seat.

“He doesn’t mind that you visit the children?” William asked. “Tovar told me.”

Bea shook her head. “Jon used to be one such child himself. He worked on the land my mother grew up on, was the same age as her. As part of her agreement to marry my father, she insisted she bring as many of the peasants with her as he could afford.”

William was stunned into silence for a moment.

“You, Lady Wolfe, are unlike any noblewoman I have ever known.”

“I take that as the highest compliment.” She paused, smiled up mischievously up at him as they turned a corner into a slum-like alleyway. “I’ve seen the way you look at Matilda. I’ve been thinking - oh my goodness!”

William drew his bow in a heartbeat, only to stop when he followed Bea’s line of sight.

There, atop a pile of rocks and rags, surrounded by scrawny, dirty urchin children, sat Pero Tovar.

And he was sharing food with them. Laid out on his lap atop his cloak was a veritable smorgasbord of olive-studded bread, heavy with oil and butter, thick slices of offal pie, and triangles of sweet dough, shiny with honey and littered with almond slivers,

The children were feasting. Eating as fast as their little hands could convey food to their cherub mouths.

Bea must have made some sound, because Agnes - ever the brightest of this merry little band - looked up.

“Bea!”

Pero’s head jerked up from where he had been whispering with the smallest of the urchins - Gavin. His gaze warmed, and the yearning in Bea’s heart almost became too much to bear.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, after Agnes had tugged her over to the sweet little scene, heartwarming despite the filthy surroundings.

“Making friends, si? He drawled. “You wanted me to be amiable like William, so, here I am.”

He played it off like it didn’t matter, but the gentle way he broke up the bread for Gavin, who had lost some teeth recently, belied his lazily spoken words.

Bea just melted. If she hadn’t been in love with him before, she was now. And hopelessly.

The three of them played with the children for an hour. Bea spent the coins she’d saved for pies on fresh milk from a nearby farmer’s cart, which the six urchins drank greedy. They were quite sleepy by the close of Bea’s visit, Agnes curling up against Bea, her little face warm against the older woman’s chest. As she dozed, the girl played with the soft tassels of Bea’s shawl. When Jon, the driver, came to suggest that perhaps it was time to go and buy a dress, and get back for the noon meal, Bea slipped off the fine shawl and pressed it into the girl’s hands. “Use it to keep warm, or sell it for food. You decide.”

Agnes clutched it tight, her eyes sad and bright at the same time.

The visit to the haberdashery, for measuring, seemed to take an age. Bea would much rather be in the company of the children. She was anxious about them, Gavin in particular. 

When they finally left, William looked between Bea and Pero, and announced, “I think I’d ride up top with you, my good man. If you’ve no problem with it.”

Jon nodded. If he caught William’s meaning, he didn’t show it, but then, he had a fine mistress in Bea, and perhaps knew he would be a fool to spoil a good thing.

And then Bea and Pero were alone, finally, within the carriage.

Bea waited three heartbeats - and considered that very reserved - before she fell on him like a woman starved.

He tasted of sunny olives and rich honey. She speared her hands into his hair, and he banded his arms around her and tugged her on to his lap. The carriage bumped along, pushing his hips up into hers, and Bea gasped at the feel of him, hard and aching, against where she needed him most. She whisper-gasped his name as he bucked up against her as he claimed her mouth, their tongues dancing in the age-old courtship of desire.

She never wanted it to end. Never wanted to be separated from him as long as blood ran hot in her veins.

“You will be the end of me,” Pero rasped against her kiss-swollen lips. “But, by God, will death be sweet in your arms.”

Bea burrowed her face into his neck, and didn’t tell him about the hunt and the Baron’s son. She should have, but she didn’t want to spoil this moment. Didn’t want anything to intrude on her time with Pero. The man who had stolen her heart, completely. 

And when he left, he was going to take it with him. What need would she have for it, if he was gone, anyway?

----------

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[fierceawakening]

Yeah, Tumblr gets very hung up on bad.

Where I personally, like. A big part of my work in therapy is my therapist going “you can say not just that that isn’t right for you but that you straight up think it’s bad! You’re allowed not to qualify your opinions by thinking of every exception! It’s okay! You’re allowed to think some things just suck!”

Then I go on here again, and ring around the Rosie about what bad means. It means my ass don’t like it. Go from there.

So I think for me there’s two questions:

Are PEOPLE who eat junk food bad?

No. That’s everybody.

Is junk food bad?

Well… yeah? Probably?

It’s made by companies under capitalism, and it’s designed principally as a way of transmitting flavors and textures rather than nutrients (though it does, as someone is sure to shout in a reply if I fail to mention this, have some.)

It’s to the benefit of the people making it, who want money, to encourage you to consume a lot of it, because the more of it you buy and the more often you do so the more you line their pockets.

THEY may well not even be fat! THEY may be skinny men in suits who think of you as a stupid pig with all the fatphobia you hate, but they make bank off you, and that’s all they need you for.

This is in contrast to… like… a piece of broccoli. Which is just… kind of… There?

I mean, it’s also grown by agribusiness, so there’s not the same kind of shady shit but surely there’s some. Mostly it’s just being a living dude and growing and getting harvested though.

Farmers will like it if you eat more, but there’s no chemical analysis going on to make sure you take another bite, not in the same way.

Similarly:

Are cutters bad?

No. They’re in pain.

Is cutting bad?

Yeah, probably. Lots of people who do it feel ashamed and not helped by it, and this is especially rough if you end up with visible scars.

Is it possible for someone to do either or both of these things in ways that acknowledge and accept risk? Would that make those instances clearly not bad?

Yes and probably.

Is it highly likely everyone does?

No, or at least, society isn’t very good at treating the decision as autonomous and giving everybody judgment free information. When society is bad at those sorts of things, people tend to be similarly bad at doing things with heavy potential downsides in informed and fully considered ways.

And you might find said judgment free information in a support group for cutters (though you can also find copycatting and feeding each other’s bad shit ummmm less productive?habits, depending) but it at least seems to me you’re not likely to find said judgment free information about junk food in a community of people who celebrate eating it.

At least here on tumblr, what you find seems to be “all foods are here to nourish you, even the ones that are only a step up from cardboard with spices on it because they have to technically be edible, and pleasure is good. Eat, my lovelies, EEEEEAT!”

Which just… again, since if I’m at risk of anything it would be binging without purging, I look at those posts and just bewilderedly wonder why they don’t at least specify their target audience.

That could well be harm reduction for some people (and I’m probably pissing off the ones for whom it is), but it’s actually not for others.

Especially especially when “indulgence is good” is ITSELF an advertising slogan, used to sell particularly rich junk food as ~naughty sinful~.

Like, when I watch Virgie Tovar I don’t get the feeling I’m not hearing that food is a moral issue. I get the feeling the moral judgments are all still there but just flipped.

I’m not hearing “cake is morally neutral” at ALL. I’m hearing “if you don’t want a big piece of cake you’re a no fun Puritan and probably even a handmaiden of the patriarchy.”

[kiwisbell]

The Devil Right Beside Me: Chapter 1

Someone very stupid has put a price on your head. Three very dangerous men intend to keep it on your shoulders.

chapter 1 | chapter 2

my masterlist!

pairing: pero tovar/dave york/frankie morales x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

chapter tags/warnings: reverse harem, married fluff, wife-sharing, ex-military men, evil corporations, fingering, pero tovar is a munch, brief girl-on-girl slut shaming, frankie and dave are down bad for pero's wife, extremely protective pero/dave/frankie, biting, squirting, foursome activities (f/m/m/m)

word count: ~ 10.6k

read on ao3!

a/n: this is yet another fic from ao3 that i'm bringing to tumblr (i will post part two soon)! i hope you enjoy my loves 🫶 she's a filthy one xoxo

chapter one: killer instincts

Dave is slicing an apple with a knife when a wallet-sized image slides under his nose. 

He almost nicks his thumb when his eyes shift to the picture, lifting his feet off the desk and leaning in to examine your face a little closer. He’s always knocked a little askew by the brilliance of your smile; he feels like he needs to punch his heart back into place. You’re wearing the sweetest little white dress, your left hand shielding your eyes from the sun. A generous diamond ring shimmers on your finger. 

“What the fuck is this?”

Kovac blinks across the desk at Dave. “It’s a contract.”

“No. No, it’s not. This is an insult.” Dave glares at his colleague and slides the picture across the desk. 

Kovac pushes it back toward him. “It’s a good cut, Dave. It’d be easy, too. She’s just some chick.”

Dave’s ears are ringing. “How long?”

Kovac scratches his bushy beard. He’s a good killer with excellent trigger discipline. But he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he’s done by placing this picture in front of Dave York.

“Went live a couple hours ago.”

That’s too long. Way too fucking long. 

There’s red mist clouding Dave’s vision. He white-knuckles the hilt of the knife. “I’m a fucking assassin, Kovac.” He scoffs at the picture. How could someone look at your pretty, smiling, sun-kissed face and want you dead? “I don't kill civilians.”

Kovac clearly doesn't give a fuck about your death. “You can get the job done. You know it; you’re the best out there.”

Dave is going to make him give a fuck. He brings the knife down into the table and splinters the wood. The handle jiggles back and forth. “I don't kill civilians,” he says, “and I will not kill this woman.”

Kovac, to his credit, isn't scared of a stab wound to the mahogany. “She's a fucking nobody, Dave. And nobody’s gonna miss her. Do you know how much they're offering?”

“You want me to repeat myself again?” Dave isn't known for patience. “Who put out the contract?”

“Orlov.” 

“I expect every single employee on my payroll to know that nobody accepts this contract or goes near this woman unless they want to find themselves out of a job and a goddamn life.” Dave rises to his feet, tucks the picture into his breast pocket, and doesn’t bother looking Kovac’s way as he bursts out of his office. He doesn’t even let himself breathe until he throws open the front doors of his home and squints in the sunshine. He presses two buttons on his cell phone and is grateful for the fact he doesn’t need to dial a number. He doesn’t think he could clear the red in his eyes for long enough.

“York,” answers a growling voice on the other end of the line. It’s a voice that’s coiled tight, poised to strike.

Dave’s jaw ticks. “You know.”

“Yes,” says Tovar. Dave can practically hear him grinding his teeth. “I know.”

“Is she with you?”

“At work.”

“Fuck.” Dave pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s been hours since the contract went live. “Someone could have—”

“¡Bastardo, me cago en tus muertos, que te jodan!” The unmistakable roar of Tovar’s Aston Martin DB11 is only suppressed by the equally unmistakable sound of his palm slamming hard against the steering wheel. “Callaté coño. She’s alive. She’s fine. Don’t fucking finish your sentence, amigo, or so help me—”

Dave slips into his Range Rover and hastily punches in the code for the garage. Pero has a volatile temper on the best of days and it’s a stark miracle how the mere sight of you can ease the tension he carries in his face, shoulders, back, everywhere. Take you away from him, however, and…

Oh, yes. Dave understands. 

Someone very, very stupid has laid a bet on the table. The winner takes the lucrative spoils, and all it costs is one pretty head for proof. It’s a good deal. 

If they have to toss every contender on a pile of kindling at your feet and light a match, so be it. You’ll look so beautiful up there on the pyre, flames dancing in your eyes.

THREE DAYS EARLIER

“Thanks for coming tonight, man. It means a lot to Frank, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

Pero Tovar grunts in response, hiding a smile in a swig of his bottle. Francisco Morales has plenty of friends, most of whom are sitting at their typical table in the corner of the bar. He certainly doesn’t need Pero to be here. Still, the beer is decent, and the company isn’t horrid. He’s got his eyes on the beautiful woman sitting with the men in the corner, singing “Happy Birthday” to Frankie with a pink cocktail held high in the air. 

Dave York watches the way Pero’s eyes soften a little at the sight of you. It’s a look meant for nobody else in the world. Pero Tovar hates the world, for Christ’s sake. Dave doesn’t know where he’d be if he never met you all those years ago. Maybe a little more surly than usual. Maybe a little more dead.

The horrendous rendition of the song ends with a loud cheer erupting throughout the bar as Frankie flushes crimson under his dirty cap. Pero and Dave lift their beer bottles in solidarity. His Delta buddies are shoving each other around in a rowdy, good-natured pissing match, which makes you roll your eyes. “One hell of a singing voice, hermosa,” says Frankie in your ear. 

“That’s all you’re getting until the next birthday, smartass.” You kiss him fondly on the cheek.

Frankie pats your hip as you shift off him to make your way across the bar. Dave turns to Pero. “You going through with that meeting tomorrow?”

“I have no reason not to, amigo.” Pero takes another drink, his eyes on you the whole time. One of Frankie’s friends, Will something-or-other, stops you for conversation, and you entertain him happily with a tale Pero cannot hear. “Orlov will meet me with me no matter whether I want to or not. This way, I decide the terms.”

Dave clicks his tongue. “You ever wonder why a mob boss wants to meet with you so badly?”

“I would hardly call him the boss of anything. He has no reason to pick a fight with me. What is there to lose?”

Sometimes, Dave wants to smack Pero upside the head for his arrogance. He hates himself so much it makes him go blind to the fact he has so many good things to live for. 

“You know damn well what you have to lose,” says Dave. 

“Pero.”

Your sweet voice could scrub thoughts of violence from the minds of the most malicious men. Pero is no different. He offers his hand to you only to tug you toward him. You land sideways in his lap with his rough hands sliding and squeezing up your thighs until they settle comfortably on your ass. 

You nearly drop your drink in his eagerness. “Greedy,” you whisper in his ear. 

He just nudges your cheek with his nose so he can kiss you. “Hmm. There will never be enough of you in this world to make it good enough.” 

“Just for that…” You pluck the maraschino cherry from your Tequila Sunrise and dangle it in front of Pero’s mouth. He chases it with his pouty lips until it’s between his teeth. You lean down, cupping his face in your palm, and kiss him. 

He would eat anything you tell him to, even those horrid candied cherries. But he passes it from his mouth to yours and takes advantage of your sweet parted lips, slipping his tongue along yours. He knows you like them best, anyway. 

Dave watches, his cock stiffening in his pants, taking a sip of bourbon to feel something light up in his nerves. Jesus, you're beautiful. You're the very vision of sunlight; you can make a man go blind with your shine. And you're a siren all the same, sultry and swaying in that black scrap of a dress, drawing every eye in the bar to your body only for them to find you’re perfectly happy where you are. 

Sometimes—most times—Dave doesn't understand how you fell in love with Pero Tovar. If he hadn't been friends with the pair of you since his, Frankie's, and Pero’s Army years, he would've laughed in the face of anyone who told him the infamous asshole Tovar managed to fall in love. With someone as beautiful as you, no less. 

But he is in love. It’s so sickeningly clear to anyone who looks your way. For one, he actually smiles when you look at him. It’s jarring to see Pero’s brutal scar scrunch up with his eyes when he gazes at you the way he does. Fuck. Dave understands. He knows Frankie does, too. It’s all you. It’s always been you. 

Frankie approaches Dave’s side and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Lovebirds over there won't let each other breathe long enough to give you the time of day, huh?”

Dave snorts. He certainly doesn't mind watching the way your body shifts and rolls subtly under your husband’s touch as he devours your mouth. “Why, you want in?” he asks Frankie. 

Frankie pouts. “Well, it's my fuckin’ birthday.”

When Pero finally lets you pull away from his mouth, you grin at Dave, looking a little dishevelled. Your pretty lips are swollen with the force of Pero’s kissing. “Hi, Dave. Enjoying the party?” you ask. 

“Always fun to see Frank get publicly humiliated in song form,” says Dave good-naturedly. Frankie tosses a muttered curse at him. “Are you having fun, pretty girl?”

“Very much so.” You nip at Pero’s jaw and earn a smack to the side of your thigh. 

Dave’s cock is growing insistently hard against his zipper. He looks to Pero, who nods imperceptibly. No one else would see it save for him and Frankie. They've all since perfected each other’s language. 

“Wanna come over here and show me how much fun you're having?”

Your eyes meet Pero's, and he gently pats your ass. You slip off the stool and stretch out your hand, which Dave takes eagerly. He pulls you close and wraps his arms around your waist until his hands rest just above your ass. Your nipples are visible through your little dress, piquing yet more interest from his cock. “Pretty,” he whispers, mostly to himself, indulging in the warmth of your body against his. 

You take a sip of your drink before you stand on your toes to kiss him. Dave can taste the sweetness of the Sunrise on your tongue and the intoxicating softness of your skin under his hands when you lift your arms up around his neck. His erection prods your belly and it makes you giggle into his mouth. Dave just takes the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours, asserting his need. 

Pero orders another beer and places his hand just above your ass at the same time Frankie lifts a hand to your face and gently brushes your hair behind your ear. You pull away from Dave, who pouts when he loses your mouth. Of course, he knows never to complain. Pero would put a broken bottle through Dave’s neck if he got greedy with you. 

“Is it a good party, Frank?” Your eyes are wide and vulnerable, seeking any indication of real discomfort in his eyes. You're so attentive and so damn sweet it makes Frankie’s chest ache. “Be honest.”

He squeezes your side. “Don't love being reminded how old I am—”

“Frank, you are not—”

“—but this is great, hermosa. I mean it.” He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gives you a gentle shake. “You did great.”

You grin, happily inviting Frankie’s kiss. He's gentler than his friends. He likes to cup your face when he kisses you, his beard scratchy and his soft hair tickling your nose. Faint whoops bombard them from the corner of the bar as the Delta guys cheer you on. You break the kiss just to laugh, hiding your blush behind your hand. 

Pero tugs you back toward him and nuzzles his strong nose against your temple. “Star of the show,” he whispers, “mi estrellita. Such a beautiful girl.”

A higher-pitched voice to your left isn’t so encouraging. The pretty blonde woman has her eyes set on Frankie. “I hear it's your birthday. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Frankie flushes a little with the attention, but he's polite as ever when he lets her down. “No, thanks,” he says, indicating his half-full bottle. “I’m set.”

“Aw, c’mon,” presses the woman, giving her best flirtatious smile. “I’m sure she's got enough on her hands.” Her eyes flick toward you impassively. 

Pero’s hand tightens on your hip when you frown. It's you who speaks up first. “He said no,” you remind the woman. “You should find somebody else.”

The woman turns to look at you, that fake smile still plastered on her face, and says, “Don’t you get enough attention, sweetie? I’m sure you can spare one.”

You blink, startled by her brashness. “Excuse me?”

“You had better leave,” comes Pero’s growling voice by your side. “Now.”

You take his hand instinctively and he brushes his thumb over your wedding and engagement rings. The intruder notices. “You like passing around your wife like she’s a trophy?”

Pero scowls, stepping around your body. Dave jumps between him and the woman as Frankie slaps his hand on Pero’s chest, restraining him. He would never harm a lady. But he’s certainly willing to give her a piece of his fucking mind for insinuating you’re a whore. “We’re all friends,” says Dave, keeping his tone even despite the heavy-set press of rage on his spine. He directs his attention toward the woman. “This is a big city. You’ll have to find someone else. Sorry.”

He is not sorry. Not when he caught a glimpse of the hurt look in your eye at her comment. But the woman seems to realise she needs to pick her battles, backing away and exiting the bar. Around the four of you, the party continues, the other patrons unaware of the thickening tension in the dimly-lit room. Pero’s hand is around your waist, squeezing in rhythmic pulses as if he’s kneading out his stress. Dave and Frankie can both see it: the feathering in his jaw, the squint of his eyes, the possessive grip he keeps on you. Neither of them are particularly cheery anymore, either. You’re the first to speak.

“What a… vindictive woman.” You shrug your shoulders and thread your fingers through your husband’s. “There’s still a party going on, you grumps.”

You drag Pero toward the bathrooms while Frankie and Dave rejoin the group, ordering more beers for the sake of it. This is Frankie’s night. One sour encounter won't spoil it. 

Pero shoves you up against the bathroom door once you've locked yourselves inside and sinks to his knees, shucking down your panties on the descent. “Pero,” you gasp, grinning as your head falls back against the door with a soft thunk. “So greedy.”

He’s always been a man who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. It's why he roughly grabs your thigh and hoists it onto his shoulder, scrunching up the fabric above your hips. He allows himself to take in the sight of your glistening cunt in the dim bathroom, squeezing the flesh of your thighs as he tilts his head up to look into your darkening eyes. 

In moments like these, neither of you need to speak. You gently brush some of his short hair away from his face and trace the scar on his cheek. He eases his head between your thighs, kissing his way along the soft, ticklish flesh. You giggle and squirm, letting him indulge in your body because you know he's tense. The leather of his jacket rubs relentlessly against your thighs. Music and more poor, drunken renditions of “Happy Birthday” are muffled between you and the door. You wouldn't be able to hear them clearly either way. Your head is swimming with the climbing arousal, your ears ringing with need as you try not to rush your husband in his exploration of you. He needs this.

Two fingers slide languidly through your slick folds and part them to make way for the aching drag of his tongue. You moan softly, fighting the urge to shut your eyes. He likes it when you look at him while he's going down on you, because he's always looking up at you. Those eyes of his are an intimidation tactic: dark and hungry, they dare you to break away. For a moment, you imagine you can see the blood on those hands that knead your soft flesh. For a moment, you see the predator he refuses to let you see. It strikes flint upon rock in your core and you burn. 

“Please,” you whimper, looking down past your own heaving chest to his black eyes. 

His mouth is suctioned to you; he couldn't speak if he wanted to. He just hums, easing the vibrations through you until your eyes are rolling back into your head and language flees your tangible capabilities. 

Pero licks your clit, slathering his saliva all over your cunt like he owns it. But he does. He owns you, and he knows it. Intimate moments like these do well to make you remember it. Your husband is the only person in the world who can understand you this way, love you this way. 

He trusts Frankie and Dave to treat you like you deserve, but they will never have this: the lacing of your fingers through Pero’s over your belly, the glint of metal wedding bands under the illumination of the single pot light. You’re his wife. His job is to make you happy. His job is to keep you safe. 

He has never been a good man. Dave and Frankie can—and would happily—corroborate that fact. He’s done terrible things. He’s slept restlessly and woke up screaming. His scar still twinges when it rains. 

You like to bake. It helps you relax when your husband is out late, hunting. You can’t sleep without him, and God knows he needs you practically wrapped around him to get a decent six hours. It nearly scared him away all those years ago: how deeply you worried for him. He couldn’t live with himself knowing you made yourself sick with fright on those long nights and weekends away. Long before you asked him on that first date, Pero made a habit of creating examples of those who upset you. He hated being the one who made you frown. 

The thing about your smile, though, is that it can make a man forget his own name. It’s especially adept at making him forget all his selfless self-loathing in favour of selfishly chasing the feeling that smile gives him. 

“Pero!”

You threw open the door and flung yourself into his arms, beaming so fucking brightly that he could feel your smile buried in his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, dropping all his training and his caution just to inhale the scent of you. 

“You’re okay,” you whispered, your voice breaking in a small cry. It punched him right in the chest. His breath shuddered out of him, his hands (stained with blood that was not his own; he couldn’t waste time scrubbing it away when he itched to see you so badly) pressing against your back and pulling you close. 

“I’m okay, amor. I’m all right.” He walked you both back inside your door and kicked it shut behind him. “Let me look at you.”

Your teary smile had all his tension fluttering away. It was all so fucking insignificant when he looked down at you and realised how rare it was to have someone love him this much. Pero cupped your face in his hands and frowned. “You’re tired, my love.”

“You’ve got blood on your hands,” you retorted. Pero huffed, undeterred by your whip-quick mouth. 

“It’s not mine.” 

“And you’re okay?” Your hands prodded him beneath his jacket, his shirt, giving him the distinct impression of a frisking. 

“I’m unharmed.” He pressed a kiss to your nose. “My beautiful girl. So worried for me.”

“You mock my misery, Pero Tovar.”

He swiped a small splotch of white powder from your nose. “This is how we’re choosing to stay awake now?”

You pushed him gently in the chest, but he just crowded you again, the need to be close trumping the temptation to tease. “It’s flour. I made cookies.”

Pero grinned. “You know, you shouldn’t open your door so carelessly.”

Your smile turned wicked—the sort of wicked that had his entire body humming for you. “But I’ve got a big, strong man to keep me safe.”

Pero growled playfully, nipping your jaw. You shrieked with laughter when he lifted you up onto the counter and kissed you hard. “Mi alma. You will always be safe with me. Siempre.”

You sigh happily as your husband lavishes his attention on your clit, licking and sucking with so much fervour and precision it isn’t surprising that your thighs are already shaking. “Pero,” you whisper, the word a prayer that hovers between two pairs of locked eyes. 

He makes you come with a few more gentle pulls of your clit between his lips, your cry hoarse and your chest heaving. Your eyes finally squeeze shut, your head falling back against the door, as Pero licks you through your orgasm like a cat after milk. He groans at the feeling of you soaking his chin, the vibrations making your hips buck uselessly against him. He’s strong. He holds you down easily.

“Come back to me, amor,” he urges, pressing warm, melty kisses all over your inner thighs and your belly. You blink open your teary eyes and rake your fingers through his hair, smiling fondly at your husband. 

“You okay?” you ask softly, your thumb tracing his taut jaw. He can get in his head sometimes, and the nasty woman in the bar made him mad. He doesn’t like it when people look at you the wrong way—he hates knowing he can’t always stop people from saying the wrong things. 

Pero rests his chin against your belly and looks up at you. “You are no whore,” he says fiercely.

“I know, baby.”

“You are my wife,” he continues, squeezing your hips. As he rises to his feet, Pero cradles the back of your head and smooths the fabric of your dress back down over your ass. “You are the most beautiful creature to ever walk this Earth, y eres la diosa a la que rezo todas las mañanas (and you are the goddess I pray to every morning).”

“Pero.” You press a kiss against the stubble on his jaw, making a path to his mouth. “She couldn’t hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I’m with you, baby, and I’ll be in love with you no matter how many times some nobody tries to tell me I married an asshole.”

Pero huffs, burying his face in your neck as his arms wrap around your waist in a tight, uncompromising hug. “Te casaste con un pendejo (You did marry an asshole),” he grumbles.

You laugh, and the sound is an upper straight to his bloodstream. “And ten years later, I’m still happy as a clam.”

Alexander Orlov’s office is on the penthouse floor of Orlov Plaza. His father owned the building, as did his father before. And all that corny bullshit. 

Pero punches the Close Door button on the elevator to ensure he doesn’t have to speak to another living soul on the ride up. And it’s a long ride. Muzak crackles in his ears and makes him grind his teeth. Everything about this perfectly polished building sets him on edge. There are stone gargoyles on the roof, for fuck’s sake. He isn’t an interior decorator—he lets you make every decision when it comes to your home—but he knows white marble and cracked stone don’t mix. It’s like walking a tightrope between two different centuries.

Sometimes, he misses the days before he went legitimate. Before he had a certain obligation to carry out business dealings with superficial handshakes and contracts. Before his old Army buddy Dave York approached him with an offer to put his skills to good use. 

Orlov’s assistant, some young kid wearing a too-big suit (probably a nephew), ushers Pero through a set of double doors into an obnoxious fucking office. One wall is entirely windows, allowing one to peer down onto the street and observe those in the lower tax brackets. The room is decorated with animal skins and too many globes and glass furniture. It’s not meant to be lived in. Pero thinks of his own home, with its many houseplants (you don’t let him look at them for too long because you’re convinced his frown will kill them), its pops of colour, and warm tones. You’re smarter than this man and Pero hasn’t even met him yet. 

But, then again, you’re better than most people. 

“Have a seat,” says the man standing at the windows, adjusting his watch on his wrist. A douchebag move, as you would call it. He’s wearing a nice suit, sure, but it’s the cold, faraway look in his eye that makes Pero itch. No good. A man whose smile does not reach his eyes. Never good. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet with you, Señor Tovar.” Orlov sits behind his desk, which is also obnoxiously large, and it is only then that Pero sits, too. “How was your trip?”

“Temperate,” says Pero, spinning the globe on the desk and stopping it over Spain. He doesn’t meet the other man’s eye. “I like your windows. Very… clear.”

Orlov smiles again, and it’s calculated. “With that small talk over, I suppose you’re wondering why I contacted you.”

“You want a contract,” says Pero. “If you believe I pondered the reason for your phone call for even a second, señor, you’d be mistaken. You should just tell me who you want dead and stop wasting our precious time. I’m sure we both have places we would rather be.”

Like at home, between his wife’s thighs. Sipping coffee and trading sleepy smiles. It’s too fucking early to be trading fake words with a mobster.

Orlov laces his fingers together and lets the façade fall. Now, Pero can see a businessman. “What I want, Mr. Tovar,” he says, “are your skills. Exclusively.”

Pero lifts a scarred brow. That, he can admit, is a surprise. “And why me? Surely there are more ideal options.”

“There are always more ideal options.” The slight is meant to sting, but it breezes past Pero. It's not like he's considering the offer, anyway. “But you are a capable man. And we can pay you well. You and your wife can live in luxury.”

Pero Tovar is an easy man to anger. It's something he has been trying to work on. Therapy is a no-go, but he meditates sometimes. It helps. Not nearly as many things can set him off nowadays. But some things still do. Unfailingly. 

Like, for example, the fact that Alexander Orlov knows about you, when Pero (with Dave’s help) does everything in his power to ensure very few people even know he's married.  

His ears are ringing, but Orlov keeps talking. “If you choose to sign our contract, we will pay you a handsome salary. We will give you benefits.” No retirement option, Pero guesses. “We will ensure you and your family can thrive.”

“We,” Pero echoes with a chuckle. “Who is we? You and your father? You and the little voices?”

Orlov’s steely eyes narrow minutely. “As I’m sure you know, I will take over my father’s business when he retires. I plan to expand his endeavours.”

“Ah, yes. Beyond stealing from the poor to give to the rich.” Pero checks his watch. You’ll be leaving for work now, and the potential for a lazy morning has been thoroughly wasted. He spins the globe again. “Very noble, amigo.”

“Have you considered how many pools my family have dipped our toes into?” Orlov leans over his desk and calmly stops the globe. “Have you considered how beneficial it would be to work for a company who can provide everything you need? I think you should consider it, Mr. Tovar. I think you should ask yourself if you truly want to live the rest of your life from contract to contract.”

“If I take your offer,” says Pero, “I will still be living contract-to-contract. Only, I will not be able to choose whether or not I agree to carry out a particular service. I value my freedom.”

Freedom is something he never used to have when he was with the Army. Now, as a mercenary, he picks and chooses his battles. Orlov smiles politely, though Pero sees a touch of venom in it. 

“With us,” he says, “we can protect you. We can offer you amnesty. We can ensure your wife is safe from any harm that may come to her.”

Pero’s eye twitches, and his old scar burns. It's a double-edged sword. Orlov is making it known how easily he can go after you. Decline, and we can do whatever we want to her. 

Pero Tovar does not respond well to threats. Especially not when they involve the one person he cannot live without. 

He can protect you himself. He's made it his life’s divine purpose. He cannot ensure your safety if he's under the thumb of a notorious gang. They'll use you as leverage with no remorse. 

Images flash on his eyelids, the same violent visions he used to see when he’d returned home: your pretty eyes filled with tears, your mouth trapped behind a meaty palm or a piece of duct tape, your limbs strapped to a chair. A cut on your face, because they always want to hurt you a little bit before they send the message. 

We have your wife. 

He cannot let it happen. He’ll die for you, certainly, but he’ll happily kill for you, too. And you will not be used like a pawn in a game you have no role in. 

Pero stands swiftly from the chair and plants his fingers on the desk, leering at Orlov. “I appreciate your offer, amigo, but I must respectfully decline.”

Orlov laces his fingers together, places them over his stomach, and leans back in his chair. That cold smile is back on his face. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Tovar. This has been enlightening.”

It's a deliberate choice of words, as is everything in this godforsaken world. Pero does not shake his hand before he leaves. 

Instead, he says, “You’re a sadistic bastard who thrives off suffering. I hope you manage to make your father proud. I’m sure he hopes the same.”

Alexander can hear Tovar call his wife the second he exits the office. “Buenos dias, amor,” he says, no longer the killer but the husband. “How was your drive? Lo siento, mi cielo, I wish I could have stayed for breakfast…”

The voice fades soon. Alexander chuckles, spinning the globe back around so he faces home. His nephew Ricky knocks on the door, and Alexander waves him inside. 

It was a good offer. Tovar should have taken it. Orlov, Inc. would have benefited from a strong worker like him. Most times, he takes contracts through York, and a couple freelance on the side. It pays well, judging from the looks of his house. Most of its curb appeal comes from his lovely wife, of course. 

She's a vision. No wonder Tovar keeps her under wraps—at least, to those without the resources to dig deeper. Alexander’s family has resources. And they tell him that you spend plenty of time with Tovar’s longtime Army friends, too. York is one of them. The other, a Morales who flies tourists around for a living. Dull. No wonder he used to snort powder. 

It's a shame not to have the talent of such a killer. But Tovar didn't understand that it was never a choice. 

“Ricky,” he answers. 

“He said no.”

“As I figured he would.” Ricky watches his uncle twirl a pen around his fingers. A generational habit: spinning things. 

“So… what, then?” asks Ricky. “You just let him go?”

“I let him go,” says Alexander. “But he decided to insult me, Ricky. I’m not in the habit of letting insults against my family slide.”

Alexander looks down at his computer screen. On it is Mrs. Tovar’s smiling face, squinting in the sunlight with that gleaming rock on her finger. “The contract will be live in an hour,” he tells his nephew, turning the screen around so he can see. 

“She's got a pretty face,” says Ricky. 

“Yes. It’s a real shame.”

Ricky starts when he sees how much her body is worth. “Three million is—”

“Pocket change, if it means Tovar will learn.”

“Learn what?”

“Learn not to slight me.” Alexander sneers. 

“You know there's no going back once the contract goes live,” says Ricky. “She’s his life.”

Alexander hums. “What happens when you take a man’s life, Ricky?”

“He… dies?”

“He loses.” Alexander turns the screen back toward him and admires Mrs. Tovar’s face once more. “He loses everything.”

NOW

“Irene?”

“Yes?” replies your assistant, her nose stuck in the pages of a romance novel as she hurries along beside you. 

“Is there something on my face?”

She doesn’t look up from her novel. “Beautiful as always, ma’am.”

“I just feel like…” Irene clearly isn’t listening, but you say it anyway. Maybe you aren’t crazy. Maybe others have noticed. “People are watching me.”

You pick up your pace a little bit as you walk through the lobby of Viva headquarters. Normally, you find your employees scurrying back and forth in a whirlwind to accomplish their tasks. As COO, it’s your job to make sure they don't spin out. But today feels different. 

There are loiterers in your lobby as usual, some waiting for an appointment in the cushy pink chairs and others taking advantage of the free coffee station. You don't recognise most of the clients in the lounge, but eyes keep sliding your way as if they're expecting you to bolt out of the building. Their gazes make you want to run. 

“Irene, do I have any meetings scheduled today?”

“No, ma’am.”

Something cloudy and dark rolls in your gut. An oncoming storm. 

Trust your instincts, my darling. 

“Please call my husband. Let him know I’ll be home early today. Tell him it’s vegetarian tonight.” 

Code for trouble . You don't look at Irene. Your eyes are on a swivel between all the people looking your way. You're cornered: a caged bird, peered in at by hungry cats. “Take the rest of the day off.”

Irene scampers off to make the call. You’ll pay her for her lost hours, of course. But—

If you feel you need to run, run. Your instincts are never wrong. 

And what if they are? you asked him one night. 

Then you're still safe, if not mildly paranoid. I like your head attached to your shoulders, mi amor. 

You back toward the elevator and punch in the parking garage before repeatedly pressing the Close Door button. There isn't another soul in the elevator with you, so you scramble for your keys on your lanyard. There's a switchblade in the desk in your office, but you're closer to the one in your car. If you aren't being paranoid, and you really are in danger, you need to get the hell out of this building. Down is better than up. 

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can only back farther into the car as a huge man wielding a handgun blocks your way out. 

“Ma’am,” he greets. It’s almost polite, almost pitiful. The gun in his meaty hand looks like a toy. He could kill you with a flick of his wrist, let alone a bullet. Fear is a tangible rope that slips around your throat and ties a knot at the nape of your neck.

“Hi,” you manage, your breaths coming in jagged. “I suppose someone wants me dead. Any chance you know who?”

The man shrugs his huge shoulders. “Last I heard, your husband made a bad business move.”

You lift your brows. The elevator doors stay open with his body blocking your only exit. “This is about the Orlov contract? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He doesn't answer, but it makes sense. Your husband refused to sign a contract that would sign away his skills to the Orlov mob’s poster boy, Alexander. It was the right choice, of course: Orlov would own his life. Sadistic bastard, you distinctly remember him calling Orlov. To his face. It was evidently a mistake. Now, it looks like they want to take a life in retribution. 

If you try to fight him off, he’ll kill you. Your husband has taught you many things about self-defence, but this man in front of you is twice your size. So, you wield the best bargaining chip you have: your husband’s wrath. 

“I could persuade him to forgive you, but if you kill me, nothing will stop him from extending the courtesy to you.”

It's bland and it's only half-true. Pero will track this man down and murder him just for threatening your life. But your only chance is to offer an out. 

The man shrugs. “I’ll take my chances. Three million can buy me a nice hideaway.”

Your mouth goes dry. 

Three million fucking dollars?

“That's…” You swallow thickly. “That's a lot of money.”

“Yeah,” says the man. “You seem like a nice lady. I’m sorry, for what it's worth.”

“I appreciate your apology,” you tell him, “but I can promise you: it will not be worth it.”

He just lifts the gun to your head. “I’ll be quick about it.”

The man collapses to the ground at the same time you lift your arms over your head to protect yourself from the imminent blow. Someone has come to claim the prize instead. Someone else will take a knife to your throat. If they fail, someone else will aim the barrel of a gun between your eyes. It won’t end until you’re dead. It won’t—

“Hey, hey, look at me. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

The gunshot never comes, you realise. You slowly lower your arms at the sound of your rescuer’s voice.

“Frankie!” you cry, throwing yourself at him and winding your arms around his neck. “Oh, God. Oh, God, I thought… How did you…?”

“Shh, shh.” Frankie holds you tight, his hands cupping your face when he pulls away to examine your face. His jaw ticks with loosening tension when he finds you unharmed. “Pero and Dave called me. They knew I was the closest to you. We’re meeting them at the safe house. Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, holding onto his hand so tightly you could hurt him if he wasn’t so familiar with stress and pain. “My car’s close.”

“We’re taking mine.” His tone leaves no room for argument. You guess the bounty contract lists your exact make, model, and license plate.

Frankie has entered soldier mode now that he’s confirmed you’re not in any pain. He's tactical in the way he guards your body with his, eyes sweeping every potential entry point and hiding spot. The weight of his arm across your body is heavy and reassuring. The two of you hurry across the parking garage until you can climb up into Frankie’s beat-up truck. He places his hand on your knee, which bounces anxiously, and meets your eyes. “You with me?” he asks. 

“I’m with you, Frankie.” You squeeze his hand. “You got me. I’m safe.”

“You're safe,” he repeats to himself. 

He peels out of his parking spot and makes for the light of the exit. You ground yourself with your fingers caressing the worn leather of the seat. “Frankie, it's three million dollars.”

“I know,” he says gruffly. 

You stare at him, wide-eyed, but he's got his own eyes on the road, his jaw firmly clenched and his curls peeking out from under his cap. “That's a lot of money. What does Orlov want with me?”

“Pero pissed him off,” says Frankie plainly, white-knuckling the wheel. “Other than that… he doesn't need a reason. It’s a hit to his pride if word gets out that a standard contract killer insulted him by rejecting his job offer.”

“I think the rejection and the insults came separately.”

“Knowing the dickhead you married, probably.” Frankie shakes his head. “He’s sorry, honey. We're all sorry. We should've known.”

“You couldn't have known. Normal people don't call hits on civilians when their husbands make them mad.” You tuck a curl behind Frankie’s ear. “You did beautifully, Frank. He would've killed me.”

Frankie blows out air from his nose like a charging bull. “Dave is working on getting the word out to his contacts that you're off-limits. Pero is too fucking angry to move, let alone think. He's wound up tight.”

You shake your head fondly. “Whenever I get the flu, he thinks that's it for me. He doesn't do well when he’s not in control.”

“No, baby. He doesn't do well because it's you.” Frankie lifts your hand and kisses your palm, his thumb stroking your skin just because he needs to. It reminds him that you're all right, for now. “If he's not in control, he gets control. If you're in trouble…”

“I know,” you finish, letting silence settle between you. 

Pero has been wearing a hole in the hardwood with all his pacing. He's counted each of the slats in the floor ten times and debated all the most satisfying ways he's going to murder Alexander Orlov. Better yet, his whole family. 

Yes, that'll send the right message. 

“Will you sit the fuck down?” says Dave, rubbing his thumb over his mouth. Pero just growls, turning to pace again. Dave has stripped out of his jacket and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. “Frankie sent the message. She’s with him. She's—”

“Ay coño, malo, puta,” curses Pero. “Do not say she's safe. She's not safe, not until this ends.” He shakes his head, refusing to lift his eyes from the floor. “I’ll take off his skin.”

Dave keeps eyeing the driveway for signs of Frankie’s vehicle. It won't be long now. “Flaying sounds great,” he says diplomatically, “but you need to sit down, man. You need to relax. She’s safe with Frank. You know it's true.”

Of the three of them, Pero certainly isn't the smartest. He wouldn't have taunted a mobster if he were. But he's smart enough to know that Dave—who is the smartest—is right. “I want him dead,” he says, sitting down next to Dave at the kitchen table. “And I want it to fucking hurt.”

The sound of an engine shutting off has them briefly exchanging glances. The sputtering of Frankie’s truck. 

Pero stands up from the chair so fast it clatters to the floor. You climb out of Frankie’s truck and hold yourself a bit more reserved than usual as he escorts you up the driveway. Pero throws open the front door and you're running toward him with tears in your eyes before he can take a step out the door. 

You throw yourself at him and wrap your arms around his neck, choking the life out of him. He's not even sure you're real until he closes his eyes and tangles his fingers in your hair, memorising its softness and its distinct scent of coconut. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and finally, finally, lets himself breathe. 

“Pero,” you cry, squeezing your thighs around his waist. He carries you inside the house, not once considering setting you down. “I was so scared, Pero.”

“I know, I know,” he whispers, his arm firm around your waist. He kisses you from your neck to your cheek to your mouth, where you lean into him desperately, grabbing his jaw to keep him against you. “You’re safe, my love. You’re with me.”

You whimper against his lips when he pulls away to inspect you closely, setting you carefully on your feet. “Mi alma.” His thumb traces your unharmed cheek. “You’re okay? No one hurt you?”

He cannot stomach the thought. He does not think he's capable of letting go of you for one second. He will track down every single person who even considered hunting you down and string their guts for decoration outside your home. 

You shake your head, cupping his face in your hands. “Frankie saved me,” you tell him. “That man would’ve… he would’ve…”

“Shhh, my beautiful girl.” He kisses your forehead and rests his against it, swiping away a tear that slips down your cheek. “Lo siento. I never should have taunted him.”

You shake your head. “He should have known not to fuck with you. He’s the idiot.”

Pero nudges your cheek with his nose. “So forgiving,” he murmurs. “How did I find you?”

“Luck.” You seek another kiss and hear the door click shut behind Frankie. “I love you.”

“Amor de mi vida,” he whispers, tucking you under his chin as he brings you into his side. 

Frankie claps him on the shoulder. “Got there as fast as I could.”

“Right on time, it seems, amigo.” Pero clasps his arm. “Thank you, Francisco.”

Frankie squeezes your hand. “You know I’d do anything.”

“We know,” you say softly. “You saved my life.”

Dave enters the foyer and zeroes in on you right away, stroking his thumb over your cheek with his brows pulled taut. “You're okay?

“I’m okay.”

He shuts his eyes for a moment and drops his hand to the back of your neck. “Good,” he rasps. “Kovac wanted me to take the contract.”

“What?” growls Pero. 

“Puta,” says Frankie, scratching at his beard. 

“He'll be dealt with. But it means he doesn't know who you are,” says Dave, his eyes sliding to Pero, “or who she is to you.”

“Orlov and his family have fingers everywhere,” you supply.

Pero nods gravely. “His father holds stock in her company.”

“And probably employees on my payroll,” you add, the realisation striking you. “That's probably how he was able to get so much information about me.”

“What about online articles?” says Frankie. “Interviews, magazines?”

“Pero and I agreed I would keep my personal life confidential,” you tell him, rubbing your hand up and down your husband’s arm. “All the public knows is that Viva ’s COO is a woman, and her last name isn't Tovar. Our CEO Jade handles public relations.”

“Her wife isn't a hired killer,” says Pero, idly kissing your temple. “She gets to live a life of safety.”

You brush your fingertips over the scar on his face. “She's also probably bored,” you say lightly, giving him a gentle kiss on the jaw. 

Pero looks down at you with gooey brown eyes. “Don't say a thing like that, mi amor. Not until we can get you safe.”

A muscle in Dave’s jaw flickers. “Kovac and the rest know not to go for you. I’ve reached out personally to other agencies who I can trust.”

“You can't trust anyone, man,” says Frankie. “The guy who put a gun to her forehead may have worked for one of those agencies, for all we fuckin’ know.”

Pero curses in Spanish. You chew on your bottom lip. “And someone will let slip that I’m married to Pero. That he turned down Orlov. The public will know.”

“The public will sympathise,” says Dave. “But the public doesn't matter. This is all underground.”

“But I’m a civilian.”

“And going after a civilian breaches etiquette,” agrees Dave, “but it's not illegal.”

“But,” you interject, “it might make him more vulnerable to double-crossing. If underworld criminals don't like other criminals breaking rules of engagement, they may sway to your side. Help you take down Orlov.”

“She's right,” says Frankie. 

“Of course she is,” murmurs Pero, kissing the crown of your head. “York, make some calls. Let it be known that my wife is innocent in all this.”

“I’ll lay it on thick,” says Dave, winking at you even though he isn't smiling, still gravely rubbing his fingers over his mouth in habit. 

“We need to stay on the move,” says Frankie. “Someone is bound to have seen one of us come here. Baby, I can get you somewhere safer, outside the city.”

Pero sighs. “Francisco’s right. You cannot stay.”

“I know that,” you say, “and I’ll stay out of the way. But baby, you’re all walking right into Orlov’s trap. He knows you'll want revenge. He’ll kill you.”

“He doesn't have the skill,” says Dave. “He's a figurehead at best. And he doesn't have the motivation.”

You pin him and your husband with stern glares. “Do not get cocky. He may not have the skill, but he has the money to hire the skill. And you two are not dying for me.”

“No, my love,” says Pero. “We are going to kill for you.”

“I’m not saying the asshole doesn't deserve it”—you recall the clash of terror and helplessness as the man held a gun to your head—“but the three of you need to seriously consider the odds.”

“I have considered,” Pero says fiercely, “and there is nothing in this world I will not face to keep you alive. ¿Claro?”

It's hard to ignore the spark of excitement in your core. Your husband may be a killer, but you aren't perfect, either. Case in point: the way your body reacts when he gets angry. And judging from the way his eyes turn black, he can see the shift in you. 

“Mi cielo,” he says, his voice like gravel. 

You hook your thumbs in his belt loops. “Mmm?”

His hand gently strokes your hair, cupping the back of your head. “You know we must go.” 

“I know,” you muse, tugging him a little closer, “but does that have to be right this second?”

Pero makes eye contact with Frankie over your shoulder and inclines his head. Behind you, hands gently come to rest on your hips, bunching the fabric of your blouse. Frankie’s mouth ghosts warm air over your neck, his plush lips and soft moustache finding the spot below your ear. 

“My beautiful girl,” says Pero, watching your head roll back against Frankie’s shoulder. Your husband frees the top button of your blouse and shucks it open to reveal the lacy bra underneath. His jaw ticks. “Did you wear this for us, mi amor?”

Frankie’s hands untuck the blouse from your skirt and his warm, rough hands are a balm to the tension in your stomach. He pulls you back against his chest, keeping your ass firm to his growing erection. Pero shifts to your side, and Dave takes his place in front of you, helping unbutton the rest of your blouse as your husband tilts your chin up and kisses you. 

“Yeah, she did,” says Dave, answering in your place since you're having trouble forming words with Pero’s tongue down your throat. He slides the blouse off your shoulders and lets it pool on the floor. “Such a pretty girl.”

“So beautiful,” murmurs Frankie, whose mouth hasn't left your throat. Hands unclip your bra and fling it aside, and you don't realise whose they are through the haze of pheromones and cologne and the tang of cigarette smoke. It sticks to your ribs and thrums in your blood like triple heartbeats. You're so wet that you're dripping in your panties, unable to lift your arms long enough to touch one of them. 

They're in control when they have you like this. They're using your body to assure themselves that you're unharmed. 

Pero smells of leather and the cologne you always buy him for his birthday. He kisses like he's starved, as he always does. It’s aggressive and biting and commanding. You melt under his kiss, under Frankie’s mouth, under Dave’s hands on your waist. 

Frankie unzips your skirt and shucks it down, leaving you in your panties. You feel your cheeks warm as Dave goes to his knees in front of you, kissing his way from your sternum to your navel. 

“Such soft skin, hmm, hermano?” coos Pero, his face nuzzled in the right curve of your throat as Frankie continues to occupy the left. “It will never see so much as a cut again.”

Dave hums against your body, taking his panties down so you're exposed to the three of them. Frankie reaches around you and palms your breasts, forcing your back to curve into Dave’s grasp. 

“What do you want him to do, amor?” asks Pero, nipping your earlobe. His voice makes your ribs tremble. Dave presses gentle kisses to your inner thighs while Frankie rolls your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

Your head lolls around your shoulders, supported by Pero’s hand fisting your hair. It's hands and lips and teeth. It's the warm, wet sensation of Frankie’s mouth sucking greedy little marks into your neck and Dave’s murderous hands, so gentle on your hips. “I… ngh…”

Pero nudges his nose against a ticklish spot in your neck, making you shiver. “He won't do a thing until you let him,” he says. As a confirmation, Dave gently nips your thigh. The corded muscle of their arms keeps you in place, ensuring you won't fall, letting you feel without fear. 

“I want to come,” you manage, meeting your husband's eyes beneath your lashes. 

Pero nudges his nose against your cheek. “Do you want their fingers, my love?”

“God, yes,” you whine, your body keening as Dave runs two fingers through your slit. “Please, yes.”

“We got you, baby,” says Frankie, squeezing your tits. 

“You heard my wife. Make her feel good.”

Dave nudges your thighs farther apart and licks a bold stripe through your slit. You yelp, tangling your fingers in his hair. “I said fingers, York,” warns Pero. “No seas codicioso (Don't be greedy).”

“It's okay, Dave,” you say breathlessly. “Just surprised me. It feels good.”

“Relax, baby,” says Frankie, letting you rest your head back on his shoulder. The stretch of your throat gives Pero better access, and he takes advantage: making his own marks on his side of your neck, tracing his path with his nose as Dave sinks two fingers deep inside your cunt. 

“Ah!” you moan, your chest heaving and your eyes rolling back. “Fuck, Dave!”

Groans vibrate through your body. They like hearing you. They get off on knowing you feel good. Dave curls his fingers against your front wall and you see spots, your other hand curling around Frankie’s wrist. “Oh my—” 

Even though your legs are trembling as Dave repeatedly presses up against your g-spot, Frankie’s hand glides down your body and, his teeth nipping at your jaw, finds your clit. 

“Ohhh, Frank— ie!”

He huffs into your skin, refraining from bucking his hips against you because he knows it's greedy. He rubs your clit in slow circles as Dave works his fingers inside you. “So good for us, sweet girl,” he says, admiring the deep flush of arousal on your body. You're warm and inviting and spread open for them, your eyes struggling to stay open. 

Pero sucks on the spot beneath your ear that he knows drives you mad, and you moan long and loud, squirming in the men’s grasp while pleasure burns through you. 

“Bésame,” says Pero. You're overwhelmed by the attention, close to coming apart under their hands, and you need an anchor. So you turn your head to the side and kiss him again. 

The need to come is cataclysmic. Your pleasure mounts from the efforts of the men around you, their limbs and their souls fine-tuned to your body. Your stomach tightens, your nerve endings bursting with white-hot sensation, your thighs trembling as you climb toward your high. 

“She's coming,” says Dave, curling his fingers forward. You cry out, unable to form words.

“Yeah, she is,” says Frankie, watching your chest heave with every breath. 

“Record time,” says Pero, grinning into your neck. 

“I’m— I’m—!”

You feel teeth sinking into your throat. Frankie, if you have any sense left. He likes to bite. You lose the ability to support your head and crush your face in Pero’s chest, grasping Dave’s hair and choking on a sob. 

Your entire body stiffens, and though you cannot hear through the ringing in your ears, the three men around you can see the surge of wetness spray out around Dave’s fingers, splashing onto his tie. “Jesus Christ,” he says. 

“That's it, baby,” says Frankie, soothing the bite mark he left with his tongue. 

You whimper, held down by their strong arms, your orgasm devastating you. Pero mumbles soft Spanish in your ears. Dave gently withdraws his soaked fingers as Frankie removes his hand from your clit, letting you come down slowly. You're dizzy, covered in a faint sheen of sweat, and all you can see, taste, smell is the presence of the men around you. They help you come back to Earth with gentle kisses and soft touches. In the field, they’re killers. Here, they know nothing but keeping you safe and happy. 

Compared to the afternoon you've had, you feel really fucking happy now. 

“You with us?” asks Dave, patting your hip with his dry hand. You nod, because your mouth can only produce a faint squeak. Dave rises to his feet and, after exchanging a look with Pero, lifts his slick-soaked fingers to your lips. “Then you can open up for me, hmm?”

You do, letting him place his fingers on your tongue. You swirl it around his digits, tasting your own tang, watching him through bleary eyes. “ Thaaat’s it,” he says warmly. “Now you know why we're all fucking starved for you. You taste good. Don’t you?”

You nod again and close your lips around his fingers. Pero holds your jaw, keeping your head in place, while Frankie kneads your tits. “Made a mess of Dave, honey,” says the latter. 

Dave pops his fingers out of your mouth to let you speak, though your voice is hoarse. “Didn’t… didn’t mean to.”

“It's okay, sweet girl,” says Dave, his hand skating up and down the curve of your waist. “My tie looks better this way.”

You feel yourself flush, but Dave is kissing you, his chest pressed up against yours, forcing Frankie to keep you from stumbling. Pero steps back, relishing in the sight: you, unharmed and satiated, in the arms of two men he knows can keep you safe. Frankie kisses along your jawline as Dave claims your mouth, both of them drawing soft moans from you and seeping the tension from your bones. 

Dave pulls away and brushes the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “Thank you, baby,” he says softly. “I have to make some calls before Frankie takes you out of the city. You gonna be okay?”

You smile up at him and fix his tousled hair. “I am okay. Thank you, Dave.”

He kisses your forehead and makes for the basement, where he and Frankie once fashioned a makeshift ammunition store. You turn in Frankie’s arms and adjust his cap over his head. His shirt is rumpled and his hair is a mess, his erection still achingly obvious in his jeans. “Knocked you all askew,” you say regretfully. You know how much he likes his order. 

“Don't mind when it's you,” he says, cupping the right side of your face. His thumb strokes your jaw, his dark eyes soft and buttery. “You did good. You did everything right today.”

You glance at Pero, who moves closer with your clothes in his hands. “It doesn't feel like it,” you say as your husband shrugs your blouse back over your shoulders for a modicum of warmth. He'll have a change of clothes for you upstairs, anyway; this house is stocked with everything a person could need. 

“You did everything right,” Pero repeats, his lips at your temple. “I could have lost you today, mi amor. Staying alive is all I ask of you.”

“Well, you can thank Frankie for that.” You send the man in question a wry smile. “I certainly will.”

You want to bite that pout right off his mouth. “I’ll get thanks when I deserve it.” He presses a kiss to your nose. 

That's a certainty about these men: they never make you feel used. Frankie follows Dave into the basement, leaving you alone with your husband. He takes your hand, pulling you against him. You hold onto the lapels of his leather jacket and kiss him deeply. “I’m sorry about all this,” you whisper. 

Pero blinks. “Why are you apologising to me?”

“You're in your head, baby.” Your fingers trace his old scar and disappear into his thick locks, combing them back from his forehead. He closes his eyes, damn near purring at your attentive touch. “You can't dive headfirst into a plan when you’re overthinking everything. I’ll lose you, and I refuse to lose you. You know this is not your fault, right?”

“It is.” He grabs your waist and kneads your soft flesh. “He would never have sought revenge if I hadn't insulted him.”

“You were right to insult him,” you say fiercely. “He and his family trample over the less fortunate. They look down on the poor from their skyscrapers and renege on their promises of providing low-income housing. They're leeches, Pero, and you were right to take Alexander down a peg. His pride is hurt, which means he's vulnerable. Putting a price on my head shows it.”

Instinctively, he sneers at your words, grasping you tighter. You only admire the changing planes of his beautiful face, the scrunch of his white scar and the regret in his dark eyes. “He will pay,” promises Pero. “He will pay for thinking you were ever an option.”

“I know he will.” You scratch your nails through the hair at the nape of his neck and watch his expression soften. “But you’ll promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don't think about me,” you tell him. “Treat it like a standard mission. I’ll be sitting in a house somewhere, far away from danger, waiting anxiously for my husband to come home to me. And he will. Come. Home.” You pin him with your best wifely glare. “So do not think about me. It will only distract you. ¿Claro?”

Pero nods, zealously grasping your head in his hands and kissing you all over: your lips and cheeks and nose and eyelids. “I love you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I love when you smile and laugh and get angry. I love when you boss me around. I love when you use my words. I love your heart. I've never seen a thing like it. And I will never, ever drop it. I will come home to you, amor.”

You sniffle, grinning at him through your tears. “Promise me,” you say firmly, “please, mi esposo.”

“I promise,” says Pero, “I will not think about you. Not even once. Not your laugh or your smile. Not the sight of you naked and panting, not the sounds you make when—”

“That's enough promising,” you laugh, leaping onto him to kiss him again. 

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