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absurdthirst · 2 months

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The Irish Escape {Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.9k

Warnings: Rudeness, Pero being an asshole, prejudice against Americans, hypothermia, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, rough sex

Comments: Freshly arrived in Ireland to visit the cottage your estranged grandmother has willed you, you run into a rude Spaniard. Unsure of why he hates Americans and why you seemingly can't stop running into him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Pero Tovar 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.

It’s raining when you arrive in Dingle, County Kerry. You curse your suitcase as you try to drag it along the garden path that leads up to the small cottage known as Fairy Lodge. You fumble to find the key under the mat and work quickly to unlock the door, shivering as you step into the entrance, dragging your case behind you. You shut the door and shrug off your coat, wiping your boots on the mat. The cottage - tiny and cute - was left to you by your grandmother. She recently passed but you hadn’t seen her since you were ten after she decided to follow her dream and buy a house in Ireland. She left it to you in her will with the note, “always follow your dreams” and you decided to take a vacation and check the place out. It’s beautiful, even in the rain, and you are looking forward to exploring the area your grandma loved so much. After drying off and opening up the cottage. It’s quaint in the best way and you check the cupboards to find nothing, not even a pack of cookies. With a sigh, you look out of the window to find the rain has stopped so you put your coat on and make your way out onto the damp streets. You aren’t sure where to go but you googled a small pub nearby so you make your way over to it, hungry and desperate for a drink after traveling.

“Come on, mate.” William rolls his eyes and shakes his head, putting his pint down to slap his friend on his shoulder. “You should stay and drink. The rain’s gonna start again and it’s not like you can work.” He chuckles, imagining how much the Spaniard would curse working out in the rain. When Pero had shown up at his door nearly a year ago, angry and adrift with no plan for his life, he had taken in his old friend. Let him live with him until he had purchased a cottage down the road from the Garin farm. “Nothin’ better to do than drink.” Pero grumbles, shaking his head as he stands up, pushing his chair back. “No.” He huffs, pulling his coat off the back of the chair and shrugging into it before jamming his flat billed hat onto his head. “I’m not paying for your beers.” He glares at the Irishman, knowing that if he stays, he will be left paying the tab. He turns and strides towards the door, not noticing the woman turning away from the counter with a hot coffee in her hands.

You gasp as the man knocks into you and your coffee spills over his front, soaking his jeans, and you immediately bounce back. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I- shit.” You place the cup down on the counter and you reach for the napkins, turning back to try and help the man mop up the mess you made of him.

The accent makes him immediately seeth in rage, barely even paying attention to your remorseful expression as you shove the napkins at his crotch. Pero slaps your hands away, hissing at the heat of the coffee. “Fucking Americans.” He spits, shooting you a deadly glare. “Ruining fucking everything.” Shoving past you, he slams out of the door and out of sight.

Your jaw drops and you stare at the door as he swings on the hinges. You can’t believe what he spat at you and you turn to look at the men gathered around the bar. “I- I didn’t see him behind me.” You choke and the blonde man shakes his head, “don’t mind the miserable Spanish bastard. He’s just not a fan of Yankees at the moment.” He chuckles and gulps down the rest of his pint. “Not your fault, lass.” He tells you and you sigh, “he made that crystal clear.”

The bartender shakes his head, “Garin, that Spanish git needs to apologize to the lady.”

William scoffs, “you tell him that.”

You huff, “doesn’t matter. Can I get another cup?” You ask the bartender who nods. You sigh as you finally sit down in the corner, your annoyance at the rude Spaniard fading as you relax.

William decides that he needs to make up for his friend’s rude behavior. He stands up and groans, carrying his pint back to the bar for a refill. He nods to the bartender and slides it down to where he’s pouring you another coffee. “So.” He leans against the rubbed worn wood and shoots you what he knows is a charming grin. “Tourin’ Ireland, are ya?” He asks, making his accent slightly thicker. “Passin’ through, or will ya be stayin’ awhile?”

“Actually, I - my grandma had a cottage down the road. Fairy Lodge? She left it to me after she recently died and I needed to get away so I came to check on the house.” You explain.

William nods, “oh that tiny little place on the corner? I remember the old lady who owned it.” He nods, “sweet old gal.” He takes the pint from the bartender and comes over, sitting down opposite you. “How long you plannin’ on being here?” He asks you and you shrug, “not sure. I can work remotely so I’ll probably be here a couple of weeks before I head home. I’m going to put the home on the market. I won’t be able to get out here to maintain the home so I think I’ll sell it.” You confess, setting your mug down.

“Oh, you should stay awhile for sure.” William advises. “Make sure the land doesn’t grow on you.” He has to admit, having a younger, attractive woman in the village would be a good thing. But he also doesn’t want the home sold to someone who would not respect the land, or the people. He can’t imagine your granny raising anyone who would disrespect the lady she had adopted as her own. “Besides, ye can always ask your neighbor to check on things. We take care of each other ‘round here.”

You offer him a soft smile, “yeah…except for ‘fucking Americans’” You scoff softly as you quote his companion.

William shakes his head, “ignore Tovar. He’s a grumpy fucker.”

You tap your fingers against the mug, “well, he clearly doesn’t like Americans so maybe it’s best that I sell up.” You hum and William sighs, “well, see how ya feel. You might turn out to love it here. I know I do. I served in Iraq and all I wanted to do was come home.” He confesses and you smile again, “it is a beautiful place. I’ll see how things go.”

He nods, reaching for the beer that has been put in front of him. “Well, if you’re needing anything, I’m at the Garin farm. Ask anyone and they’ll point you in my direction.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” You offer William a smile and he makes his way back over to his friends. You settle in to continue reading your book and you thank the landlady for your meal as she brings it over to you. You eat and thankfully the rain has stopped when you decide to make your way back to Fairy Lodge. Tomorrow, you’ll get some groceries but for now, you’re exhausted. You quickly get ready for bed and settle in, falling asleep within minutes.

The next morning, Pero grumbles to himself as he walks up the lane towards the village. Needing some groceries, he wants to see if old man Sawyer had gotten in those wines that he had asked for. It was hard to make some of his dishes without the Spanish wines and he was looking forward to getting them.

You carry your basket around the small grocery store and you gasp when you walk around the corner to see the asshole from last night nearly walk into you again. "Do you make a habit of walking into people?" He growls and you huff, "only rude bastards who don't notice anyone in their peripheral." You hiss back, stomach twisting with annoyance at the man.

He purses his lips at you and narrows his eyes. “What’s an American like you doing in a grocery store like this?” He demands, annoyed that your mere presence makes him feel guilty for yesterday and it just irritates him more. “They don’t have all the fancy shit you would want here. Best go to Dublin and take your demanding, childish ways with you.”

You narrow your eyes and grip the basket in your hand a little tighter. "Listen, I don't know what the fuck I did to you yesterday that makes you act like a rude prick but I accidentally spilled my coffee over you and you act like I just pissed in your cornflakes. I am here because my grandma left me her house so you'll be seeing more of me around the village. Get used to it, asshole." You growl, spinning on your heel to find the ground coffee.

The news that you will be here even longer than he would like puts Pero in a mood. “Hijo de puta.” He spits, his own basket handle nearly broken as he grips it tight in his fist. The last thing he needs is some stuck up, American bitch hanging around and causing trouble. Old man Sawyer comes into view and he stomps over to him to see if the wine came in.

You don’t notice the man has left when you go to pay for your groceries and the old man starts to ring everything up. “I noticed there’s a bit of tension between you and Tovar.” He says softly and looks up at you. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in a small town - the gossiping and everyone knowing each other - but you sigh, holding your wallet. “I accidentally spilled my coffee over him in the pub last night and he seems to hate me without even knowing my name.” You huff, “I’m not the kind of woman that’s gonna bow over and beg for forgiveness when I already apologized.” You explain and Sawyer nods, “he’s a grumpy git. He, uh, has had a lot going on from what I have heard.” You snort, “haven’t we all? Still not enough of a reason for him to be a prick.” You say and Sawyer chuckles, “you’re fiery. You’ll fit in just fine around here.” He winks and hands you your change. “Thanks.” You say and make your way back to Fairy Lodge, wondering what happened to make Tovar such an asshole.

Pero is passing by the gate to William’s house, his own groceries in a bag on his arm and lost in his thoughts when his friend calls out to him. “Missed a bit of gossip after pouting off into the night.” He looks over at where William is pushing his best sheep, Nell, out of the way and walking towards the stone wall. He rolls his eyes.

“What, did she manage to spill a beer on you?” He huffs, smirking slightly in amusement at the idea.

“No, but she did tell me that she’s going to be in town.”

His smirk slides away and he scowls. “Sí, I know that.” He grumbles, sighing as he walks off the road and towards the wall to talk. The lane was narrow and lorries love to careen around the corners recklessly.

“How did you find out?” William is grinning, about to tease Pero for being interested in the American. “She nearly ran me over in Sawyer’s.” He snorts. “Woman - women - are menaces. Especially stuck-up, American bitches.”

“Now mate, you and I both know that’s not fair. She’s not your ex wife.” William shakes his head, “not all Americans are stuck up bitches…or cheaters.” He raises his eyebrows at his Spanish friend who came to him years ago after finding his wife in bed with their neighbor. “Besides, you always told me you wanted to move from Seville. Said you felt trapped. So you came here to bother my ass.”

“I can always kill you so you aren’t bothered anymore.” Pero threatens, only making William laugh. He knows the Spaniard won’t actually kill him and therein lies the problem. They had been in the military together, serving on the same military bases in Iraq and somehow had become friends. Or as close to friends as Pero could have. Knowing the Irishman wouldn’t pity him like so many he had known would, he had decided to sulk in the Irishman’s home village and ended up staying. “She’s just like her.” He predicts. “All pretty smiles and batting eyelashes to get her way and then she shoves the knife in your ribs. She’ll sell the cottage to some developer who will want to put some god awful monstrosity where her granny’s cottage is. Only hope it's far away from my own.”

William snorts, “she doesn’t seem money hungry to me, mate. She’s not like her. From what you’ve told me, she was charming and drew you in with a fake personality. This one seems real. She doesn’t seem to be faking anything.” William observes, “she’s not your ex wife. She just happens to be American.”

Pero rolls his eyes, knowing that William won’t understand. He’s not been betrayed like he has and had his heart ripped out. Even more to find that the baby she had just told him about wasn’t his. She had just been planning on using him. “I’ve got better things to do than to argue with you, amigo.” He grumbles, pushing away from the wall and walking towards the road.

“All I’m saying is to just give her a chance.” William shouts at Pero’s retreating form and he sighs, looking down at Nell. “He really is a stubborn bastard.”

****

You decide to spend the day in the cottage, checking out things that your grandma left here and cleaning it up. You look through the photos she left there of your family. You haven’t seen her for years but she had an album of photos your parents must have sent her over the years. You caress the book, wishing you’d known her more and you wonder why she left you the cottage. She didn’t even leave you a note in her will when you got the keys.

There’s movement in the Fairy Cottage. Pero had noticed it when he was moving some more kindling under the lean-to on the back of the cottage. The sweet older lady that had lived there had been an American, but he hadn’t held it against the feisty old woman. A light comes on and he narrows his eyes in anger. People need to respect that a house is empty without molesting it. He grabs the crowbar he had been pulling old boards off the interior walls to redo. Ready to go confront the thief and make sure they don’t walk away with anything.

You hear the back door open with a creak and you inhale sharply, unable to believe that someone is breaking into the tiny cottage in the tiny village that you believed was as safe as could be. Everyone knows each other for fucks sake. You pick up the nearest thing - a book - and make your way down the stairs to confront the invader. When you get to the bottom step, you see the shadow and throw the book, a scream escaping your lips.

Pero curses when the book comes out of nowhere and hits him on the head. Turning and swinging the crowbar threateningly. “You had better make your peace with God if you think you are stealing anything from this house!” He shouts, lunging forward to grab the criminal who has broken into the cottage. “Got you!”

You scream as he grabs the back of your sweater and you try to hit him. “Get the fuck off of me!” You tell, slapping anywhere you can reach. “Get off!”

He drops the crowbar just as soon as he hears that accent, immediately aware that he has a woman and despite everything, he couldn’t hurt one. “Ow! Ow!” He yelps, throwing his arm up to block the jarringly accurate slaps as they strike his skin. “Stop your hitting, woman!” He growls, finally grabbing your arm so you can stop slapping his face.

You can’t believe it’s him. “Oh my God, it’s you. You bastard!” You growl, trying to wrench your arm from his grip. “What the hell are you breaking into my cottage?” You demand to know, “what the fuck, Tovar?”

He would be surprised you know his name, but that bastard William has a big mouth. “Your cottage?” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know it was your cottage. The old gal that lived here died just two months….” He trails off, remembering you had said you inherited a cottage from your grandmother. That sweet old woman was your granny? He lets go of your arm and grunts. “Thought you were a thief.” He tells you. “Wanted to run them off before they could steal anything.”

You are slightly touched that he’d put himself in danger to protect your grandmother’s cottage but you are also annoyed that he broke in without any warning. “Well, it’s just me. Although I’m surprised you didn’t take the opportunity to whack me.” You scoff as he lets go of your arm and you reach up to rub it.

He snorts, bending down to pick up the crowbar and glares at you. Hating that it was you that he had run into again. No doubt you will be telling everyone what a fool he is, or perhaps calling the police on him for entering your cottage. “Might should have.” He grunts at you. “How do I know you even own this property?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at you again. “Wouldn’t be the first con artist American I’ve run into.”

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Wow. You’re a grade A prick.” You scoff, “my grandma left it for me and you - I don’t have to explain anything to you.” You huff, staring at him and you get a proper look at him for the first time. He’s handsome, even with that scar on his eye, and you hate that he’s handsome. “Did you, uh, did you know my grandma well?” You ask softly after a moment. The curiosity gets the better of you.

Pero stares at you for a moment before nodding. “I fixed her roof the first year she was here.” He tells you. “Delivered her peat moss to burn and made sure that she was okay when bad weather rolled in.” He rocks his jaw, having to admit to himself that he could see the family resemblance and thinks that he had seen a picture of you when you were younger. “I-” he swallows. “I’m the one who- who found her.” Sadness fills his eyes as he remembers that day. At least she had passed peacefully in her sleep.

You inhale sharply, tears stinging in your eyes for the grandmother you didn’t get to know properly. “I- I hadn’t seen her since I was ten. My parents divorced and my mom…she didn’t let my dad take me to see her when she moved here. I- I wish I could’ve known her better.” You sigh, stepping back from Tovar. “Anyway…you must be sick of me by now. The ironic thing is you don’t even know my name.”

Pero recalls the stories she had told him about her family, producing your name with an ease that startled him. “She talked about you.” He tells you. “Never stopped loving you and talking about when you were young.” The least he can do is not let you think the old woman didn’t care about you. “Maybe that’s why she left you the cottage.” He offers.

You nod, biting your lip as tears sting in your eyes when you think about your grandmother. “Thanks for telling me that.” You say, sniffing as you try to not cry. “I - I appreciate it. Do you, uh, I really am sorry about spilling my coffee over you.”

He can’t snap at you when your eyes are watering and you look like you are about to cry. “Don’t worry about it.” He tells you. “I’m sorry for breaking into your cottage.” He tells you as he shuffles uncomfortably. He’s never been good at apologies, but he owes you that. “I’ll leave you to your day then.” He tells you.

You nod, uncrossing your arms as you escort Pero to the back door. “That - I’ll fix that.” You say, not even sure of where to start to fix the door he had broken when trying to protect the cottage from faux thieves.

Shaking his head, he opens the door and bends down to examine it. “I’ll have the door fixed in an hour.” He tells you. “Need to go get some things from my tool shed and I’ll have it sturdier than it’s ever been.” He looks up and shrugs. “My fault anyway.”

You accept his offer, knowing you won’t be able to fix the door, especially not tonight, so you let him go grab his tool box and when he comes back, you’re preparing some tea. “You want some tea?” You ask, knowing the nights are turning colder here.

“Do you know how to make it?” He asks seriously. “American tea is very sweet….and cold.” He grimaces, remembering when his ex would try to make tea and he had to drink it in order to make her happy. He had hated it.

You chuckle, “I can make hot tea. Iced tea is for hot days. Or I can make some coffee?” You offer, not sure what he wants and you wonder when he had iced tea. It’s not something you’ve encountered so far in Ireland.

“Hot tea.” Pero nods. “I don’t understand how someone drinks tea that is thick like syrup.” He chuckles and then thinks to add, “thank you. I’ll get your door fixed, I’ve got another one that will fit.” He promises, opening the door and examining the frame. He had been about to replace his own door but he could always go get another one.

You nod, getting to work on boiling the water on the stove. Your hatred of Pero fades a little since you’ve managed to talk to him and you still don’t understand his apparent dislike of anyone and anything American. When he comes back, you are a little chilly and you pour the brewed tea. “Do you like milk or no?” You ask, wondering how the Spaniard likes his tea.

His nose curls and he shakes his head. “No milk.” He insists. “I cannot have it.” His sensitive stomach was something that made William laugh but milk curdled on him. It was not pleasant and he didn’t want to risk it. “Please.” He adds when he remembers that manners are important to Americans.

You nod, setting the cup of tea down on the kitchen counter for him. "It's not poisoned." You tease, "although it was tempting." Tovar scoffs and picks up the cup, taking a sip. "So...what brought you to Ireland?" You ask, curious and nosey despite knowing you risk him shutting down on you.

“My friend.” He shrugs, looking down at the cup and then back up at you. “You can actually make a cup of tea that's not shit.” He grunts, knowing that is a compliment from him. “He lived here and I wanted a change so I came and decided to stay.”

You don't push him, sensing there's more to it and you don't want to risk your newfound ceasefire. "Fair enough. I wanted a change too." You confess and lean against the counter with your cup. "I got tired of the hustle bustle living in the city...it was exhausting."

“You won’t find that here.” Pero promises, pulling his hammer out to start prying the broken piece of wood off the frame. “Unless you count when Garvin’s sheep get out and run amok in your vegetable garden.” He snorts. “Nell, his favorite, never fails to end up walking into the pub like she’s gonna order a pint.”

You chuckle, "she sounds like a riot." Pero snorts, "a handful." You watch him work, his broad back muscles moving and you bite your lip, suddenly attracted to him. He's been an asshole but you think he's sexy in a mysterious asshole way. "You like it here." You observe, a statement more than a question.

“It’s quiet.” He shrugs slightly, not willing to admit that he’s found more peace here than he had when he returned to his ‘home’ in Spain. “I like quiet. Most are bored to death by it, but there's a tranquility in a slower pace of life.”

"Sounds like a little piece of heaven." You sigh, cradling the cup of tea in your palms. "Quiet is underrated. People want to live fast but I want to stop and smell the roses...take my time with life. Sorry...too many goddamn cliches." You scoff at yourself.

“People say that, but then they get pissed when there’s no new clubs to go to or activities that aren’t for ‘old people’.” He rolls his eyes and grunts as he measures the wood. “I should go get a piece to replace this and grab that door.”

You nod, “sure.” You don’t question him anymore or ask anymore questions, deciding to focus on starting a fire to ward off the chilly fall air especially since the door is open. You’re bending over the fireplace when Pero comes back in but you don’t hear him as you remain bent over as you poke the kindling.

Pero frowns, watching you poke at the fire. “You-” He huffs and sets the wood down and walks over to the fireplace. “You’re smothering the fire.” He tells you, taking the poker out of your hand. “It’s not like a wood fire. Peat is finicky, but it burns longer.”

You want to roll your eyes at him as he tries to tell you how to start the fire. Tired of men explaining shit to you at work, you stand up and let him take over with a huff. “I know how to start a fire. Did it enough times back home. God, you really can’t let people make mistakes, can you?” You ask, confused about why he’s so critical all the time.

Pero snorts and shakes his head. “If you want your cottage to be full of smoke, be my guest.” He snarks back at you, waiting to see if you will take over again. When you don’t, he kneels down and reaches into the fireplace. Pulling out the kindling and the hunks of peat to restack them and pulling his lighter out of his pocket.

You watch him with intrigue, noticing his strong jawline as he clenches his jaw in concentration. You observe what he does and you take notes for when you start another fire. The hearth is soon full of warmth and Tovar stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Thank you.” You tell him, placing your hand on his arm, “sorry I- I’m not good at not being good at things.” You admit softly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He huffs out a small laugh. “Took your grandmother nearly a month of freezing to accept my offer to help her with the chimney.” He has to admit that you seem like you are self-sufficient. Strong-willed.

You chuckle, “she was stubborn. My dad got that from her. Guess I did too.” You sigh and bite your lip as you lower your hand from his arm. “It’s too damn cold to mess around being that stubborn.” You confess, “even I can admit that.”

“Well, the new door will keep out the wind better and with a good peat fire, your cottage will be nice and cozy.” He promises. “Irish winters aren’t warm, but there is a beauty to them.”

“So I’ve heard. I’m not sure if I’ll be here long enough to see its full beauty. I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do.” You confess and cross your arms, watching as Tovar continues working on the door. “You’re from Spain?” You guess from his accent.

“Sí.” He frowns as he fits the wood in and marks it with the pencil he tucked behind his ear to trim a small sliver off. He grabs his hacksaw and looks up at you. “Seville originally.”

“I’ve never been to Spain. I’ve heard it’s gorgeous. And I think they used Seville for some Game of Thrones locations. There’s so many places I haven’t been that I want to go to.” You sigh, leaning back against the counter. “You must’ve been a lot of places, having such easy access to Europe.”

“It is not hard to travel.” He admits. “But your country is larger than all of Europe combined.” He had been amazed when he had come over to meet his ex’s family. “The flights are short if you want to go on a holiday.”

You shrug, “and expensive as hell. Two hundred bucks average for a flight to another state and nothing as old as what Europe has to offer. I am thinking I might travel to Germany or Austria. Check out the Christmas markets.” You admit, “I miss home but I needed a change.”

“Sounds like more than an inherited house brings you over the pond.” Pero finishes cutting the piece and fits it back into the frame, grunting happily when it fits snugly. He nails it in place as he waits for you to answer him.

You sigh, “I wasn’t happy. I was working twelve hour days. Going on endless first and second dates but couldn’t find a man ready to commit. I was working hard to pay my rent but had nothing left to enjoy myself and I- I got sick of the rat race. I needed to leave the city before it killed me. That kind of life…it gets to you eventually. The loneliness.” You mutter, glancing over at the fire.

He snorts, having no problem being alone himself, but that was after the betrayal. Before then, he had imagined spending the rest of his life with his ex. “If you're alone, only you can disappoint yourself.” He tells you, knocking the last nail in place and starting to take the door off the hinges.

You sense there’s more to his words than he’s letting on but you ignore it, sipping your tea while he works on the door. It doesn’t take him long to get the new one swinging and he adjusts the lock. “There you go, señorita. A new door.” He announces and you snort, “least you could do since you’re the one who tore it off its hinges.”

“It was a shit door.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck before he bends down and picks up his tool box. “Next time I’ll knock to scare away potential thieves.” He tells you before he nods. “Thanks for the tea.” He murmurs before stepping out and closing the door behind him. He had lost a few hours of work fixing your door and now he needs to get back to it.

You huff as he shuts the door behind him, not even saying goodbye and you glance over at the fire. Just when you thought he could be a decent person to talk to, he shuts up again. “Whatever.” You mutter to yourself and get ready to settle in on the sofa to read before you go to bed. You’re not here to be friends with Tovar. You’re here to find yourself.

****

Over the next few days, Pero keeps busy. His home is still a work in progress, the addition done poorly so he’s having to redo a lot of it. Helping William out on his farm when he needs. Keeping busy and keeping his mind off the neighbor. Sure, he’s checked on the cottage when he’s outside or looking out those windows, but he doesn’t make any effort to speak to you again, knowing that you’re nothing but trouble.

Your days are filled with exploring the village and then working remotely in the afternoon. You’ve actually never felt so at peace. You don’t see Tovar, which is a blessing in disguise. The man still rubs you the wrong way but you find yourself thinking about those brown eyes…even when they are narrowed in hatred towards you. You close your laptop, glancing out at the beautiful sky. It’s cloudy today but still gorgeous so you decide to go for a walk, explore the area some more. After putting on your boots and coat, you lock up the cottage and get started on your exploration.

Pero grumbles at the sky, loading his truck to go help William with the roof of his barn. Wanting to get it done before the rains came again. He gets behind the wheel and starts down the road towards his farm. Traveling about a mile before he sees a figure walking along the wrong side of the road. He scoffs and shakes his head, knowing exactly who it is. Slowing down, he rolls down his window and sticks his head out. “You’re gonna get wet.” He shouts. “Go home.”

You turn your head to see Tovar and you shake your head, looking up at the sky. “Only woman to get wet around you in a while, huh?” You tease with a smirk and he huffs, gripping the steering wheel. “Fine. If you want to get rained on.” You nod, “all part of the experience.” You tell him, “the Irish way of life.”

Pero snorts. “Crazy Americans.” He huffs, handing his hand out the window as he drives past you. You’ll learn. Your coat isn’t enough for the rain that is coming and you will look like a drowned rat if you get caught out in it.

You are stubborn. Something your mother told you was just like your father. Much to her annoyance. You continue walking after Tovar drives off and the wind starts to pick up. You shiver, pulling your coat tighter around you and you look up at the sky as the rain clouds come in. "Bastard." You curse Tovar for being right as you decide to head back to the village.

The last piece of roofing was being nailed into place when the first splatters of rain hit Tovar’s back. “Mierda.” He hisses, glancing up and wincing when a droplet hits him in the eye.

“Good thing we finished. It’s gonna be a blustery one for sure.” William agrees, wiping his forehead and shoving his hammer back into his tool belt. “You should go home. The sheep will come back and file into their barn quickly and I’m gonna shower and build my fire up.” He tells his friend. “You should do the same.”

You shiver as the rain comes down and you struggle to get back to cottage. The wind is strong and pushing you back as you try to get back as the rain pelts at your face. You curse Tovar for being right. You wish you had gotten a ride.

The rain is coming down in sheets, making it nearly impossible to see in front of the truck as Pero makes his way back to his cottage. He has to admit that he had gotten busy and didn’t look for you like he had thought to. Surely you had turned back and was cozy and warm in your cottage. He believes that until he damn near hits you. Swerving and nearly running off the road to keep from killing you because you’re walking in the damn middle. Cursing, Pero slams out of the truck, instantly drenched by the downpour. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” He yells, running up and grabbing your arms.

Your teeth are chattering so hard you can barely speak as Tovar grabs you and drags you into his van. You shake so hard your vision is blurry as the windscreen wipers work overtime. He slams the door shut and drives towards the village, cursing that he's soaking wet and you know you're both going to get sick from this chill.

The heater in his little lorry barely works, but Tovar blasts it, pointing the vents towards you. “Idiot.” He hisses. “You should have your pants pulled down and your ass whipped until you cannot sit.” He wipes his face and presses the gas, needing to get you home and out of those soaked clothes. “I told you to go home, but you’re too fucking pig-headed to listen.”

Your teeth chatter but you manage to say “fu-fuck you. I- I was on the way home.” You tell him and place your hands closer to his air vents. You desperately want the heat to seep into your bones and you shiver as Tovar races to your cottage.

“You would have already been home if you had listened to me.” He reminds you, taking one hand off the wheel to start shrugging out of his coat. It’s damp, but it has to be warmer than what you have on. “Stubborn Americans who think they know it all.”

You gasp, inhaling the warm air from the heater. "Wha- what th- the hell is wrong with - why the fu- fuck do you hate Am- Americans?" You ask him, still shaking. You watch as he hands his coat to you. "Put this on." He growls and you don't argue, wrapping his coat around you.

Pero whips his van into the small spot that is closest to your cottage and hisses a curse as he jumps out to run around to your door. Knowing that he needs to get you inside as quickly as possible. Get a fire started and get you stripped out of those clothes. Yanking your door open, he drags you out of the seat and tries to shield you from the rain as much as possible. You are shaking violently and he knows you’re close to, if not already, hypothermic. “Inside.”

You nod, letting him take you inside. You didn’t lock the cottage - having heard from the villagers that nothing happens - so Pero shuffles you inside and immediately starts to strip off the coats. You should be embarrassed and angry that he’s stripping clothes off of you but you’re so freezing you don’t care. You shiver and he helps you out of your boots. “Wh-why are you doing this?” You ask, watching him as he leaves you in your soaking wet jeans to work on getting the fire going.

“You could die.” He spits, his hands working quick and steady as he stacks the peat and kindling to light. He needs to get you warm and dry as fast as he can. The damp chill could have you sick with pneumonia within a day if you aren’t careful. As soon as the tender starts to smoke, he turns towards you and unbuttons his flannel shirt. Body head is needed. Stomping off towards your bedroom, he strips the quilts and blankets off of it before coming back into the main room. “Can you take your clothes off, or do I need to do it?”

Your eyes widen at his broad chest as he comes back into the living room with the blankets. You nod, teeth still shattering as you work on removing your wet clothes until you are in your underwear, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Sur-surprised you - you care so much.” You choke out, still freezing cold.

He grunts, rolling his eyes and nearly tells you that he doesn’t care but that wouldn’t be truthful. He doesn’t want to find another member of your family dead. He spreads a blanket on the floor in front of the fire and pushes you towards it. “Lay down.” He orders, immediately starting to strip off the rest of his clothes, including his underwear. He knows you might be prudish like most Americans, but when you are trying to warm up, you can't wear any wet clothes and your panties look soaked. He ignores your gasp and drops to his knees, gathering the rest of the blankets at his back and reaches for your panties, pulling at them to take them off and they shred apart in his hands.

You gasp, knowing you should push him away but when he pulls you close, into his body, into his warmth, you shudder and inhale deeply. Feeling the sensations come back into your body as you give in and curl around him. Breathing him in, you lift your leg over his, trying to get even closer to him, seeking his warmth.

His hands start rubbing, massaging heat and feeling back into your body. He thinks about anything but the softness of your breasts pressed against him. Knowing that if it weren’t for this serious situation, you would not be naked in his arms. “You’ll get warm.” He promises, feeling you shake and your teeth chatter. Your body is like ice and he shudders slightly as he transfers his heat to you under the weight of the blankets.

You breathe him in, thankful for him showing up to save you even if you’ve not gotten along so far. His hands rubbing all over your back and you eventually relax, the shivering stopping as you warm up. You kiss his chest, silently thanking him for finding you even if you can’t vocalize that right now as you curl around him, seeking his warmth.

He knows you will get sleepy, it’s your body’s way to try to recover from the energy it had expelled to try to keep you warm. “Go to sleep, espléndida.” He murmurs quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.” He knows that he can’t pull away right now. Even though you are warmer, you still need more of his body heat to fully warm up.

You mumble into his chest, listening to his beating heart as you fall asleep in his grip, feeling safe despite the man curled around you being insufferable in every interaction you’ve had. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been asleep when you wake up alone, the blankets wrapped around you, the fire roaring and you hear noise coming from the tiny kitchen. “What - Tovar?” You croak, wondering where he went.

His boxers on his hips, Pero appears in the doorway as soon as you call him. “Wait.” He orders, not wanting you to get up. Disappearing again and within seconds, he is coming back into the room with a tray. It was one your grandmother had often served him tea on, so he was familiar with it. Your cup of tea is in addition to a mug of soup. You need something warm in you. The hearty stew was one that your grandmother had canned two years ago, so he knew the rich broth would be good.

You sit up, keeping the blanket tight to your chest as he carries the tray over and he has his boxers on. Shit, he’s attractive. More than that…he’s hot. Really hot. You swallow harshly, throat dry as he sets the tray down in front of you. “Thank you.” You tell him, looking at him as he sits down next to you. “This is - you poison it?” You tease softly, voice a little raw from the cold wind you breathed in earlier.

He snorts and shakes his head. “Not poisoned.” He huffs. “I just saved your life, why would I poison you?” He asks, picking up the tea and handing it to you. “It’s got honey and lemon in it, your throat will be raw.” He murmurs, blowing on the steaming liquid slightly before he hands it off.

You take it, your fingers brushing his, and you moan softly as the tea soothes your sore throat. “I- I don’t really know how to start saying thank you for saving my life. I would’ve frozen out there. I didn’t think the storm would come in so quick.” You confess, watching him as the flames and shadows flicker over his face. “I guess I can start by saying thank you.” You say after taking another sip.

“You’re welcome.” Pero is slightly surprised that there’s no sarcasm in your statement. “Almost ran to my house to get some whiskey to pour in it, but it’s still raining outside.” He tells you, the rain beating against the windows. “So, it’s not quite as good as it could be. But I made you some stew.”

You set the tea down and pick up the mug of broth, taking a sip and you groan. “You made this?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Your grandmother. She made it. Canned it a couple of years ago. She gave me some jars.” He reveals and your eyes widen as you look down at the cup in your hands, “I wish I could’ve known her better.” You sigh, “she seemed like a great woman. I- I’m writing a book about her. That’s why I came here. She fell in love with Ireland and I’m writing a romance novel based on her life.” You confess, “her grand escape to Ireland after divorcing her husband.”

He’s surprised by that, lifting his brows and humming. “A romance?” He should scoff, but he can’t manage the sound to come out of his throat. “I guess Ireland would be a romantic place to escape. If you’re looking for that.”

You sip your broth before you look at him. “I must admit I had my wild fantasies dreaming about meeting a handsome man in Ireland and shacking up in a cottage to love our lives away but I- I know that’s - it’s silly.” You shake your head, “especially when I literally bumped into you and you hate Americans.”

“You would hate Spaniards if your ex was one.” Pero tells you. “Especially if he had cheated on you. Even though he would be an idiot to cheat.”

You frown, setting the broth mug down. “You think…your ex was American?�� You ask, confused and curious. “And she - shit - she cheated on you?”

Pero sighs, looking out the window. “Sí.” He murmurs. “We were- I met her when we were both stationed on the same base in Iraq. She was with the Americans, I was with …anyway,” he shakes his head. “We got married. She was pregnant. They made her leave her military position and we went to Spain.” He blows out a sigh. “And I found out later that she was cheating on me and the baby wasn’t even mine.”

You inhale sharply, “shit. I- I'm so sorry. That's - Wow. What a shitty thing to do. It’s - that’s monstrous. I’m so sorry Tovar-” You ramble and he cuts you off. “Pero. My first name is Pero.” He says and you nod, “Pero.” You say softly, “I’m sorry that happened to you. No one deserves that. Is that why…why you hate me? Because of my accent? My homeland?”

“She was just as stubborn as you are. Always right and having to have her way.” He shrugs. “I guess that I just don’t like women right now.” He admits after a moment. “I gave my heart to that woman and she tried to pass off the proof of her infidelity as my child.” He growls.

You shake your head, shifting closer to him to reach for his hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Pero. No one deserves that. I - I can understand why I triggered that anger in you. That’s unforgivable and I’m sorry someone did that to you.”

That bastard William had told him that you weren’t his ex. Pero rubs his cheek. “It’s not your fault.” He admits quietly. “You aren’t her and I shouldn’t have been an asshole to you,”

You sigh, letting go of his hand, “and I shouldn’t have been a bitch but I’ve never been good at people not giving me a chance.” You confess and sip your tea. “Can we start again?” You ask and he stares at you so you set your cup down, holding out your name. You introduce yourself, “and you are?” You ask, offering him a playful smile.

He grunts, watching you for a moment. “Pero Tovar.” He tells you. “Grumpy asshole from Spain.”

You chuckle, “great to meet you, grumpy asshole from Spain who saved my life.” You add and he shakes your hand. You stare at him, your smile fading as his grip on your hand is tight, reluctant to let go. You keep holding his hand, your eyes searching his as you keep the blankets close to your chest to keep you covered up until you let it drop, exposing your skin to his eyes.

Pero’s eyes widen and drop down to your breasts for a moment before he jerks his gaze back up to your face. “Hermosa….” He grunts, confused as to why you are showing him your body. “You don’t owe me anything.” He promises.

You nod, "I know. I- I'm not saying thank you. Well, I am. But not like that. I - I think you're handsome." You confess, "...sexy." You add and he frowns softly. "If you don't..." You trail off and reach to pull the blankets up your body, standing up on shaky legs. "Do you want a drink? I think my grandma had a bottle of brandy." You make your way into the kitchen, blanket wrapped around your body.

He thinks he’s embarrassed you and he doesn’t want that. He can’t deny you’re beautiful and he had been fighting an erection the entire time you were asleep once you were warm. Standing up, Pero pulls off his boxers and follows you into the kitchen to find you standing at your grandmother’s drink cabinet. “Do you want me to touch you, hermosa?” He asks, bracing his arms on the counter and trapping you against it, his lips close to your ear. “You are a beautiful woman, and I would enjoy finding out what makes you shake in pleasure.”

You whimper, unable to control the shiver that runs along your spine as he hovers behind you. You want him to touch you. He's been a bastard but you would be dead if it weren't for him. You understand now why he was antagonized by you and you forgive him for his barbs. You lean back against him after letting the blanket drop from your body. "I want you to touch me." You whisper, turning your head to look at him, your lips brushing his chin.

“I’m not gentle.” He warns, knowing that it’s been too long since he has touched anyone and he’s not a suave lover like Garin claims to be. He slides his hand up to grab your breast and squeezes the flesh.

“I don’t need gentle. I don’t want gentle.” You tell him, covering his hand over your breast and you squeeze a little harder. “I want you.” You add, kissing his jaw.

Pero growls, his hardening cock pressing against your ass. “Drop the blanket.” He orders, pulling you away from the counter and dragging you towards the main room. If he’s going to touch you, it will be in front of that fire so you stay warm.

You follow his order, nearly tripping over the blanket as he guides you into the living room and you whimper as he lays you down on the blankets you still have piled near the fire. You lay down, waiting for him to touch you as he kneels down near you. “Pero.” You whisper, biting your lip as you wait for him to make the first move.

He watches you for a moment before he lunges forward, his lips smashing against yours in a hard kiss. Covering your body with his and pushing your thighs apart with his knee to settle between them. Groaning into your mouth at the taste of you as his hands fill themselves with your breasts and hips.

You moan into his mouth, your hands caressing his back as he kneels over you, his hands squeezing your flesh. His tongue slides into your mouth and you eagerly grant him access with a low groan of his name muffled against your lips. Your hands slide down to his ass, squeezing and bringing him closer so his cock is pressing against your thigh.

Pero rocks against your thigh, groaning and pinching your nipple harshly. Kissing down your throat and biting down on your shoulder before he ducks his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth to bite.

"Fuck." You hiss in pleasure as he grinds against you and sucks on your nipple, paying it attention until you are swapping over to suck on the neglected one. "Shit baby." You pant, reaching between you to wrap your fingers around his thick cock.

Pero groans at the feel of your hand. It’s been so long since he’s felt any touch but his own. His cock twitches and his hips buck into your grip. He lavishes attention on you, loving the way you moan.

You twist your arm, trying to jerk him off as he surrounds you, the spicy scent of his skin combined with the smoke from the fire he started. Your free hand slides through his hair as he kisses the skin below your breast and you whimper, getting wetter with each kiss.

Pero is a harsh lover, he bites and scratches and fucks hard, but he’s also attentive. He wants his partner to feel good. To drown in him. Scattering bites over your skin, he works his way south, nipping your hip bone. “When was the last time you were devoured, hermosa?” He demands, cutting his dark gaze back up to your face.

Your chest heaves as you look into his dark eyes, hungry with desire for you and you don't remember the last time you were devoured. You shake your head, "I- too long ago. My ex...he didn't - he didn't do that." You confess breathlessly.

Pero snorts, shaking his head at your worthless ex. “Then you will remember this.” He promises. His tongue slides around your hip bone, dragging across your stomach as he settles his broad shoulders between your thighs and pushes them up to rest there. Making a show of settling in to look down at you glistening cunt. “Such a pretty cunt too.” He smirks, looking up at you again as he lowers his mouth to your folds and winking right before he dives in.

"Shit!" You squeak, thighs clenching against his head in surprise as he licks into you like a man starved. "Pero." You gasp as he flattens his tongue against your clit until he decides to suck it between his lips. Your hands tangle in his hair as you slump back to look up at the wooden beams on the ceiling.

He loves eating a woman out. Loves her taste and the way she responds to his touch and effort to make her scream. His fingers slide around your entrance for a moment and then he buries two down to the knuckle and curls up inside you.

You cry out as his thick fingers curl inside of you. Making you moan his name loud enough for the entire village to hear as you buck your hips into his face. His free hand slides up to squeeze your breast and your hand covers his, eyes squeezed shut as he laps at your clit.

Groaning into your cunt, he samples you. Tastes you like you are the finest whiskey or his precious Spanish wines. Pumping his fingers inside you to find the spot that makes your body spasm in pleasure and growling when he finds it

"Fuck. Oh shit!" You hiss, walls fluttering around his digits as he curls them to find that spot that makes you moan. Your chest heaving as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing him further into your cunt. "So- yes. There. Cl-close." You pant, stomach clenching.

He growls, sucking your clit in his mouth and pulling on it harshly, before he twirls his tongue around it and starts to flick his tongue over the little bundle of nerves. Pumping his fingers into you faster and harder, wanting to see how hard you break.

You fall apart within seconds. “Oh my fuck - fuck!” You squeal as you clamp down on his fingers, soaking them as you cum for the first time in a long time. Nearly pulling his hair out as you cry out.

He snarls, lapping at you faster and pushing his fingers deeper when you start to cum. Feeling you soak his face as his cock throbs against the blanket on the floor. Working and pushing you through your orgasm with the determination of a man possessed.

He pushes you higher until you have to push his head away, overstimulated, and you feel like your body is on fire from his attentions. “Fuck, I- Pero. I need you.” You beg, “let me - I need you inside of me.”

He grunts, smirking as he crawls up your body. Aching to push inside you and feel those tight walls squeezing his cock like they had his fingers.

You grab the back of his neck when he’s hovering over you to drag him down to kiss him. Your tongue slides against his to taste yourself on his mouth. You reach down to grip his cock again, pumping him as you kiss him.

Pero groans your name into your mouth, almost like a plea. Rocking his hips into your hand and lowering down so you can guide him in. When you notch him at your entrance, he bites your bottom lip as he drills his cock deep into your wet cunt.

You moan into each other’s mouth as he pushes deep in one thrust, making you cling to him as he stretches you out. He’s thick and you are certain you’ll feel him tomorrow if he’s as rough as he claims to be. You wrap your legs around him, the blankets crumpling up beneath you as he starts to move.

Pero doesn’t hesitate. Bracing his hands on the floor beside you, he starts pounding into you at a rough, hard pace. Feeling your walls giving with every deep thrust as he drives himself into you over and over, groaning over how well you are taking him. “Mierda.”

He’s rough and takes what he wants but fuck, you love it. You whine, throwing your head back and he wastes no time leaning in to bite down on the skin above your pulse. Your walls clench around him every time he pushes deep and hits something devastating inside you that no one else has found. “Pero. Shit. Oh God. I- it’s so good.” You almost vibrate as you speak, shaken by his thrusts.

Hissing, he tries to hang onto his control. Feeling it slip as he continues to rock into you. You're so fucking good and it has been the best sex he's had in ....ever. Not even his ex felt like you do. Dropping down to his elbows, he shoves his hands under your back and starts biting along your shoulder, leaving imprints of his teeth with every piercing thrust of his cock.

Each bite on your skin has you clenching around him and you struggle to maintain control until you give in. Whines escape your lips as his pelvis drops into just the right position that he’s grinding against your clit and your heels dig into his ass. “I’m gonna - oh fuck. Pero. Pero!” You cry out, clamping down on his cock and practically shaking beneath him as you soak him with your orgasm.

The shout Pero lets out is hoarse and rough, pushing deep and grinding even deeper for a split second before he is ripping free of your cunt. Panting as he realized he had not spoken with you about birth control and he could not risk filling you up. Coating your belly, breasts and thighs with ropes of his hot seed as he spits out another curse.

You pant, watching him as he pumps his cock to paint you with every drop of seed that drips from his body. His chest heaving and you stare up at him in awe. He’s incredible and you know that all your previous fighting means nothing compared to this perfect moment of bliss. “You- you could’ve cum inside me. I’m on birth control.” You tell him breathlessly, knowing it’s too late now.

“Shit.” Pero hisses, huffing slightly and dropping his head against your shoulder. “I didn’t- we hadn’t- fuck.” He grumbles, rolling off to the side and onto his back to reach off his undershirt to wipe your skin clean.

You watch him clean you up and you turn onto your side to look at him, “it’s okay. Maybe next time you could…?” You trail off, biting your lip as you wait for his reaction. Unsure if there will be a next time.

Pero smirks and nods. “Next time.” He agrees, tossing the shirt off to the side and rubs a hand down your side. “How are you feeling?”

You hum, closing your eyes with a smile on your face. “Better. A lot better. I’m warm and satisfied and - thank you again for rescuing me.” You say as you open one eye to look at him, “you’re not too bad for a grumpy asshole.” You smirk, closing your eyes again.

He snorts, rolling his eyes and sighing, “you’re not bad.” He admits. “For an American.” He adds, smirking himself as he moves his arm and nudges you slightly, seeing if you want to curl against him.

You take the hint, shifting to curl into his side and he quickly pulls the blanket over you. You sigh, breathing him in and kiss his chest, exhausted again after his rigorous fucking. You’ve turned a corner with the Spaniard and you’re interested to see how things go from now on.

****

The sunlight starts to shine through the windows of the cottage, the gap in the curtains letting in light that makes you wince as you wake up. “Pero.” You murmur, shifting to sit up and you pat the space beside you only to find the man you fell asleep with is gone. You frown, calling his name again and when there’s no response, you huff. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, you stand on shaky legs and head upstairs to get ready for the day. Perhaps he had an early start.

“You slipped out of the house like a thief?” William shakes his head and frowns at his friend. “Why would you do that? She deserves better.”

Pero huffs and rolls his eyes, shuffling guiltily as he looks up the road towards your cottage. “She’ll be going back to America.” He reminds the Irishman. “I don’t need to be getting myself involved in that mess.”

William snorts, eyeing Pero suspiciously. “I’ve never known you to turn down pleasure. A fling of some kind. Unless you like her more than you are admitting.” Pero scowls again and shuffles, not answering.

It’s been a couple of days since you’ve seen him, which is an accomplishment in the tiny village. You are in the grocery store when old man Sawyer tells you about the village fete. “It’s the harvest festival. In the church hall. There’ll be food and booze of course.” He winks and you chuckle, wondering if Pero would be there. It’s unlikely as he doesn’t like people. “Maybe I’ll see you there.” You tell the older man as you pay for your groceries. “See you there.” He says with a chuckle and you take your bags, pondering if you’ll go to the fete.

You decide later that you won’t hide away so you get dressed and make your way over to the church hall, shrugging off your coat once you’re inside and there’s music from the local band of teenagers and various tables with food and drinks. You immediately feel eager to mingle. That is until you look around to see Pero standing there with William, his dark eyes focused on you.

“Go talk to her.” William shoves at Pero’s arm, making him stumble.

Turning, he glares at his best friend. “Amigo….” He growls, warning him not to mess with him tonight. He’s been busy trying to avoid you and here you are, looking prettier than ever.

“If you don’t, someone else will.” William warns him.

You avert your eyes, pissed off he didn’t even come to see you after he slept with you. You walk over to the drinks table, greeting Gladys who lives down the road from you and she hands you a cup of hot cider. “How are you dearie?” She asks and you sigh, “confused.” You confess and she frowns, “what?” You shake your head, “I’m good, Gladys.” You tell her and she smiles at you, nodding until her gaze shifts to behind you. You turn your head to look and your eyes meet Pero’s. “Hi.” You murmur, fingers flexing around the cup.

Pero looks at you for a moment, studying the anger in your eyes and he feels guilty, guilty for avoiding you. “You’re still here.” That’s what he comes up with to answer you. Hating it the moment it comes out of his mouth, but he won’t take it back.

You stare at him for a second, “I’m still here.” You observe, glancing around the room until your eyes meet his again. “So…you've been busy?” You ask, a little sarcastic but you’ve never been known to be timid, especially when it comes to men who run away from your bed.

“Busy enough.” He grunts, not sure why he even came over. You don’t seem happy to see him at all, not that he can blame you. It’s not like he’s gone out of his way to check in after the other day. He had convinced himself that you still hated him, and had run with it.

You nod, "busy enough to not even stay for a cup of coffee?" You ask, raising your eyebrows at him, "or was it just pity? You felt sorry that I nearly froze to death and you decided to fuck me...or was it so you could brag to William? Tell him you tamed the bitch in Fairy Lodge?" You snort, keeping your eyes on his, refusing to look away.

Eyes widening, he glances over at Gladys to see if she is listening. Shame making his face burn, and in turn, pissing him off. “Nothing could tame you.” He snorts. “I’m not a magician.”

You chuckle, “clearly you are since you made yourself disappear.” You huff, taking a sip of the cider. “If you regretted it, you could’ve just come to see me and tell me that instead of leaving me to think I did something wrong or…or I wasn’t good enough.” You finish quietly.

The sound of your voice is what makes his anger deflate. “I- you’re leaving.” He murmurs quietly. “I - I’m not a casual lover. I don’t sleep around anymore.”

“I’m not gonna stick around and be treated like shit.” You snort, “I could go back to America and deal with American men if I wanted that.” You tell him, setting down the cup of cider just as the band starts to play.

Pero narrows his eyes, hating that you are comparing him to American men. He’s not a boy who plays games, but apparently that’s what he’s been doing with you. “Fine.” He grunts, grabbing your hand. “Let’s dance.”

You let him drag you onto the makeshift dance floor and there's a few elderly couples dancing but everyone has their eyes on you and Pero. "Everyone is looking at us." You murmur and he stares at you, not looking around.

"Let them." He says, pulling you closer and you don't push him away.

"You don't care?" You ask, keeping your eyes on him.

“Why would I?” He asks. “People stare because of my scar. They stare because I’m a mean looking bastard.” He shrugs, used to the looks. “Or they stare because I’m holding the prettiest girl here.”

You offer him a soft smile as he looks at you and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. "Your scar makes you look dangerous...and sexy. And you look grumpy...not mean. And you think you are not good enough but you are...and I- I wish you would let people in to see that." You finish, cutting your gaze across the room to see Gladys smiling at you and Pero dancing.

“I'm not the man you think I am.” Pero grumbles. “I have done a lot of shitty things, even to you.” He reminds you. He doesn’t want you to think he’s some white knight when he’s not.

You look at him again, “no one is perfect. Hell, you know I’m not. I know you’re not. But…but I think you are good deep down. You’re just hurt.” You murmur, “and I know why but I didn’t - we started off on the wrong foot. We were both mean to the other.”

“We should not fight.” Pero agrees, nodding. Even if he doesn’t feel like you know him enough to make that judgment, it’s nice to have someone besides William believe in him.

“I- I’m supposed to go back to America on Monday.” You tell him quietly, wondering if he will pack your bags for you to get you out of Ireland and away from him, from his mistake of rescuing you…sleeping with you.

“Oh.” Pero frowns and swallows harshly. Knowing that he’s wasted time that he could have been spending with you and quite possibly made this better than it had been. “Big plans back there?” He asks.

“Just work and…and I don’t have to go back. I can change my return flight…or cancel it…” You trail off, “unless you don’t want an American living here full time?” You test him, wondering what his reaction will be.

“You still don’t know how to make a fire worth a damn.” Pero tells you, watching your brows pull together in confusion. “It would be hard for you to learn over there. Bet you don’t even have a fireplace.”

You shake your head as he rocks you both to the beat. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be able to make a fire…I’d definitely forget. So…I think I need to stay to make sure I learn properly. Perhaps you could teach me?” You ask him quietly, preparing yourself for him to practically escort you back to the airport.

“It’ll take a long time.” He cautions, pulling you closer to him. “I’d probably need to check on the fires during the night. Make sure you don’t burn down your granny’s cottage.”

“What a gentleman.” You smile, tilting your head towards his, “I definitely think you’d need to check on them nightly. I don’t think anyone in the village wants a fire. So…it looks like I’m staying - for fire starting purposes only.” You tease, taking a chance to kiss his neck as you lean closer.

Pero groans at the light contact of your lips, turning his head and capturing your mouth in a kiss for everyone here to see. Not caring if they do and telling them all that he wants you. Claiming you in front of them so that there are no misconceptions about what he wants. You.

You cup his cheek, responding to the kiss, and you let everyone see that you are with him. The parishioners all stare and you smile against his mouth. “Come home with me.” You murmur when he pulls back but keeps his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure, hermosa?” He asks quietly, knowing that he had hurt you the last time he had slept with you.

You nod, “I’m sure. I want you to come home with me and show me how to start a fire.” You murmur, stopping as the song comes to an end and you let go of Pero to clap your hands, waiting for his answer.

Pero smirks, willing to take a risk with you when you are also taking a risk on him. Nodding, he motions towards your cottage. “Let’s go, I need to show you a lot of things if you’re going to live in Ireland.” He grunts. “Starting with how to properly leave a party.” It’s all the warning he gives you before he bends down, scooping you over his shoulder before marching off the dance floor with you like a medieval mercenary carrying off his kidnapped bride.

You squeal, giggling as he carries you out of the hall and you cling to him as he strides down the hall. “Where are we going?” You ask as you tilt your head and notice he’s not carrying you to your cottage. “My place.” He says and you are surprised but let him continue his journey, the wind whipping cool on your skin.

You've never been to his cottage, he's well aware of that. Marching down the road and not slowing down a bit. "Best place to start teaching you is where I am comfortable." He admits, slapping your ass. "Kept expecting your granny to come out and catch me with my ass showing."

You chuckle as he sets you down so he can unlock his door. You lean against the wall as he fumbles with his keys, “she definitely would’ve told you to put some pants on.” You tease and he finally opens the door, “and what’s my next lesson?” You inquire as he guides you inside and you see the masculine but cozy cottage he lives in.

He hadn't really thought much beyond taking you home. Getting you here. He hums, his own fire slowly smoldering and the inside of the cottage warm. "Temperature control." He decides. "What to do when it's too hot."

You smirk, licking your lips as you look at him, “and what do you do when it’s too hot.” He smirks back at you, “get naked.” You nod, slipping off your shoes and you work on the buttons of your dress. “I think that’s a smart idea.”

"It is." He grunts, taking off his jacket and then lifting his shirt over his head. "Getting too hot is just as bad as being too cold." He rolls his eyes towards you. "And you know how that feels."

You glare at him playfully and you shrug your dress off, letting it fall to the floor and you move to push your tights down but Pero scoops you into his arms. “I’m still hot.” You tell him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

"Yes, you are." He won't deny that, arms coming around you and sliding down your sides to your hips. "Your panties and bra are what's keeping you hot." He murmurs.

You giggle, “yes. They are.” You let him reach behind you to unclasp your bra as you caress his chest and you lean in to kiss his clavicle as he slides the bra down your arms. You squeal when he grabs your ass, lifting you over to his sofa and he lays you down on it. “Fuck. These need to go.” He growls, pushing your legs apart so he can grab the thin material of your pantyhose and he rips them, making you gasp and wet your panties in arousal.

"Oops." Pero snorts, not even slightly sorry about ripping your pantyhose. He never understands why women wear them, although he can understand under your dress since you are unused to the chill of the Irish weather. He grins and pulls them off your feed and tosses them aside. "Need to teach you to quit wearing that shit." He grunts. "Harder to get to you."

You giggle as he drags your panties down your legs and you spread your legs further apart once he tosses them over his shoulder to expose you to his hungry eyes. “Need to see you too.” You tell him, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

"Yeah?" He lets you undo his belt, feeling like you want him and it's a thing to savor. It might be a fling, but the look in your eyes is telling him that he should trust that it will be more. "Taken with me?"

You scoff, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, Tovar.” You tell him, working on unbuttoning his pants after you toss the belt aside. You reach into his pants to pull his hard cock out, groaning as you get to see him properly. “I want to suck you off.” You tell him, meeting those dark eyes.

"You don't have to do that." Every blow job he's had in the last few years has been begrudgingly given. Complaints about sore jaws or him always wanting head. He had stopped asking for them, stopped her from giving them if she tried to initiate and it's almost like a reflex. Nothing that can be held over his head, until he takes your wrist and realizes what he's doing. "Uh...my ex..." he bites his lips. "She would always complain about it. Or use it to guilt me into something."

You scoff, “she sounds…wow. Lay down.” You order, pushing on his chest and he nods, shifting to lay down on the sofa and you straddle him. “Too Goddamn sexy for your own good. Definitely for my good.” You chuckle, leaning down to kiss him. You slide your tongue against his until you are kissing along his jaw, down his neck, and down his stomach until you reach his cock resting against his stomach. “I want to give you a blowjob. I want to make you feel good. For nothing in return.” You promise and take him into your hand, squeezing him as you look into his eyes as you press your tongue against the slit, tasting his pre-cum.

"Shit." Pero hisses, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he opens them again. Needing to see you touch him. To see how eagerly you want to touch him. It's not all Americans that are horrible, it was his ex. She was a bad apple. He reaches down and cups your cheek. "Fuck baby," he pants, "So fucking pretty and sweet."

You hum around him as you take him deeper. Loving the way he groans and reaches down to caress your cheek. You love the way his jaw clenches and his cock twitches inside of you as you widen your jaw to take more of his length until he’s hitting the back of your throat and you gag, unused to giving head to a long cock like his.

"Pull off, hermosa." He urges, pulling your cheek up but you shake your head and continue to bob up and down on him. Making him groan as he feels the exquisite bliss of your mouth around him.

You want to make him feel good, look after him like he did looking after you when you nearly froze to death. You moan around him, caressing his chest and you bob your head a little faster.

"Hermosa...." he groans, feeling you starting to pull his orgasm out of him and he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to make sure that you cum first. "Ride me." He begs quietly, twitching in your throat at the thought.

You won’t deny him. You pull off of his cock, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and you straddle him. His cock pressing between your folds and you are soaking wet. You look down at him and his hands immediately find your tits. You lift up to position him at your entrance and you slowly sink down onto his cock.

"Mierda." He hisses, rocking his hips up to thrust up into you. Bouncing you slightly and sinking deeper into your tight cunt. "You are so pretty sitting on my cock."

“Not bad for an American?” You tease, starting to rock your hips on top of him. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look down at him and you know you couldn’t leave. Not with this unspoken thing between you. It’s not quite love but it feels like it could easily evolve into it. You lean down to kiss him, bracing your hands on the arm of the sofa behind his head.

He doesn't answer because he wouldn't even know how to answer. It's not because you are an American, but because you are just you. His hands slide up your sides and he holds the back of your head, deepening the kiss as you start to slide your tongue against his.

You rock back onto his cock, your tongue sliding against his and your hands tangle in his hair, moaning into his mouth as you find an angle that makes the head of his cock rub against your g-spot.

“Shiiiiiiiit.” His moan is muffled and he throbs inside you. Loving how you clench down around him and he squeezes your hip with his free hand.

You moan into his mouth, rocking back onto him and he slips out of you. You whine at the loss of pleasure but he reaches down to push himself back into you and you swivel your hips to find the same angle. You soon find it and rock back onto him, getting closer and closer to cumming.

“That’s it, hermosa.” He grunts out, leaning in to bite your shoulder. He lets go of your head, reaching down to start rubbing your clit. Wanting you to cum for him before he spills inside of you,

You whine when his fingers rub your clit just right and you are close. Grinding back onto his cock, trapping his hand between you, you get closer and closer until you cry out his name. “Fuck!” You choke, clamping down on his cock as you soak him with your orgasm.

"Perfecto." He groans, rocking his hips up and driving his cock deeper into you as he takes over. Letting you collapse against his chest as he wraps both arms around you and fucks you through, chasing his own orgasm. Panting out your name as he thrusts one last time, burying his cock deep as he paints your walls with his cum.

You whimper, kissing his jaw as he pants into your ear. “Cum for me, Pero. Cum. Wan- wanna feel it.” You beg, grinding back to try and egg him on as his cock twitches inside of you.

You moan, loving how it feels to have him paint your walls with his hot seed, silently thanking your IUD as he pulses deep. You kiss along his jaw, “feels so good.” You pant, relaxing on top of him.

"Stay." He murmurs, panting as he tries to catch his breath. "I want you to stay, hermosa." He presses his lips to yours again. "I want to be grumpy to everyone else. Not you."

You nod, pressing your lips to his again. “I’ll stay. All you had to do was ask. I’ll stay and I want to see where this goes.” You tell him, kissing his chin. “You’re a grumpy bastard but you’re my grumpy bastard.” You tease, caressing his cheek. You never imagined you’d come to Ireland and find the man you spend the rest of your life with but you have and you don’t know it yet but you have a beautiful life ahead of you with Pero in Fairy Lodge.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar smut #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar fic #modern pero tovar #modern au

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avastrasposts · 3 months

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A Baker's Dozen - Nine

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

Pedro boy number nine is waiting in the wings but I need to add some warnings before anything else. This chapter contains mentions of blood, a small injury and fairly detailed description of cleaning said injury.

I want to dedicate this chapter to @leslie-lyman and her wonderful Stranger at my Gate fic which I absolutely love and gave me a new found love for this Pedro character. ❤❤❤

Series Master List

You’re not often scared in the bakery, even though you often work early mornings and late nights. But when you suddenly hear the rattle of the dumpster outside your back door, and a muffled gasp as if someone’s in pain, your heart flies into your throat. It’s been dark for a few hours, evening coming early as the heavy rain refused to let up. You’re clearing up after preparing for next weekend’s wedding cake, and it’s already late when you’re startled by the sound. Grabbing your rolling pin, you carefully nudge the back door open and peer out into the dim light, rain dripping down from the eaves of the building. The glow of the street lamps don’t reach too far and most of the back yard is cast in shadows, made even dimmer by the heavy rain. But you see the source of the disturbance straight away, a man is crouched down by the dumpster, his hand held tight to his chest as he curses in a low voice.

You clear your throat lightly, “Umm, are you ok?” you ask.

The man immediately snaps his eyes to you and straightens up, his hand still cradled against his chest, but his other hand drops to his hip and for a fearful second you think he’s reaching for a gun. But his hand pats his side and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for he quickly scans the ground around him and curses again, giving an exasperated sigh and briefly glancing up at the sky.

You’re not sure if you should slam the door shut and lock it, but the way he winces when the movement jostles his hand keeps you from retreating.

“Is your hand hurt? Do you need some help?” you ask, still only opening the door a little bit. The man sighs again and nods, looking up at you.

“I think I cut it when I fell,” he replies, looking down at his hand and carefully unfurling his fist.

“Ok…” you say, trying to figure out what to do, let an injured stranger into your kitchen late at night, or just call an ambulance?

“How bad is it?” you ask, “Can I see it?”

The man nods and cautiously holds out his hand, but doesn’t make a move to come closer, and you suddenly realize that he looks a lot more hesitant than you feel, his eyebrows are bunched together, and mistrust is written across his dark features.

“Uhm…could you maybe come over here, the light’s better,” you say gently, opening the door a little more and, in a sudden decision, put the rolling pin on the shelf behind you. The action seems to earn you a bit of trust and the man takes a few tentative steps forward into the light. He holds out his hand and you step down on to the stairs and look at it.

“There’s quite a bit of blood,” you say, carefully nudging his fingers tips back so that he opens his palm a bit more.

“Hands always bleed a lot,” the man says curtly, “It’s not my first injury, and I can move my fingers, I just need to clean it.”

He has an accent that makes you look up at his face as he speaks, his voice low and rough but not unpleasant. The scar that cuts across his left eye draws your attention, and when he catches you looking at his face he meets your eyes, his eyebrows still bunched together as he points with his good hand to the scar.

“Does it scare you?” he asks, scowling, and you pull back from where your fingers were gently touching his injured hand.

“Should I be scared?” you ask in return, challenging him a little with your tone.

“No, not if you don’t intend to steal from me,” he says, and you can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips. He’s a sorry sight, wet to the bone by the looks of it, injured and bleeding, and he’s worried you’ll steal from him?

“I promise I won’t steal from you,” you smile softly, taking a step back and opening your door wider, letting him in, “C’mon in, you look soaked.”

He hesitates for a few moments, glancing around him and then back at you.

“Thank you,” he nods, not smiling, the scowl a permanent fixture on his face, as you lead him through the back room and into the kitchen.

He looks around the space with cautious eyes as you go to the sink, and as you turn, you notice his clothes for the first time. He’s dressed head to toe in faded black, an old fashioned shirt billows half way down his thighs. Underneath you can see dirty trousers and well worn leather boots with an intricate pattern in the leather. He looks very much out of place, especially as he widens his eyes and seems to stare at the water running from the tap into your sink.

“Are you ok?” you ask for the second time of the night, tilting your head and giving him a worried look. Maybe he’s hit his head too, he looks dazed when you motion him over to the sink.

He gives a curt nod, still looking at the streaming water as he takes a few tentative steps forward.

“It might sting a bit but rinse it out and I’ll get my first aid kit,” you tell him, handing him a roll of paper towels, “And I think I have an old hoodie that might fit you, if you want to change out of that wet shirt?”

Confusion flits across his face again as you speak, his guarded eyes moving between the water and you, but eventually he carefully puts his hand under the stream. As you fetch the first aid kit and the hoodie, you hear him wince and mutter low curses in a language you can’t make out.

You put the hoodie on the bench next to the sink and open up the first aid kit, pulling out the disinfectant and motioning the man to sit on the stool you’ve rolled over.

“Do you know what you cut yourself on?” you ask as the stranger watches blood drip from the gash on his palm into the sink.

“Broken glass, I think,” he mutters, “it was too dark to see but the cut looks sharp and clean.”

“It does, it should be fairly easy to patch up as long as we get it clean,” you reply, unscrewing the disinfectant, “Do you want to clean it yourself, or do you want me to do it?”

He looks up at you then, the scowl on his face softening into what you think might be surprise. He hesitates, but then he holds out his hand to you.

“Please.”

“Ok then,” you reply, “this shouldn’t sting too much but let me know if it hurts.”

“I’ve had worse injuries,” he replies and you glance up at the scar across his eye.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, I know,” he interrupts, “but I don't want you to worry you’ll cause me pain.” His tone is low, almost hesitant, as if the sincerity in his voice is unfamiliar to him. Your eyes meet his for a few moments as you both try to find balance with the person looking back, you can feel a shift in the room. Nervously you swallow and look down at the strange man’s hand. You realize you don’t know anything about him yet, not even his name, so to distract him from what you need to do, you start talking again.

“You have an accent I can’t place,” you say as you gently make him open his hand, water still streaming over the cut, “but it’s very beautiful,” you give him a small smile as you glance up and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “It is,” you giggle at his dismay, “I like your accent.”

“Thank you,” he mutters, looking almost ashamed and you change the subject.

“What’s your name?” you ask instead, turning off the water and starting to drizzle disinfectant over his hand.

“Pero Tovar,” he replies, and the way he rolls the r’s in his name sends a little shiver of pleasure down your back.

“Pero Tovar,” you repeat, trying to roll the r the way he does, but you can tell from his small chuckle that you’re not successful.

“Almost,” he says and when you look up, you catch the smallest of smiles on his face.

A sharp hiss from Pero pulls your attention back to his hand. He’s opened the hand flat to let the liquid rinse his injury, but the movement has revealed a small shard of glass still pressed in at the edge of the cut.

You quickly reach into the first aid kit for the tweezers and take hold of his wrist, bending down to grasp at the edge of the shard.

“This might sting, but I’ll try to be quick,” you say and Pero grunts in response as you pull the sliver of glass out of the cut, dropping it in the sink.

“I think that’s all, how does it feel?” you ask him and Pero gingerly moves his fingers as you drizzle more disinfectant over his hand.

“Better,” he nods as you turn to take out what you need to close the cut from the first aid kit.

“You’re lucky you ended up at front of my door, Pero,” you say, “I’m an expert at cutting my fingers, and therefore, an expert at taking care of them too.”

The man only grunts in response, tugging at his shirt and you suddenly hear it rip, as he pulls a strip from the hem.

“Tie this around my hand, it will stop the bleeding and then I’ll leave,” he says, “Thank you for your help.”

“Pero, that’s dirty, you can’t put that around your hand,” you exclaim as he holds out the rag to you.

“It will do,” he scowls, “it’s what I usually do.”

“You’ll get an infection, please, let me put a proper bandage on it,” you point to the sterile compress and Pero’s eyes narrow as if he’s considering a potential risk, before he glances back at the door where the heavy rain can still be heard. Then he nods, looking at you again, dropping the dirty strip from his shirt on the edge of the sink.

It doesn’t take you long to bandage up his hand, wrapping surgical tape around the back to keep the compress in place. As you turn his hand over and press down the tape you can’t help but notice the many faded scars that marr his skin, and you run your finger lightly over a long one.

“A knife,” Pero mutters, and you look up at him. “A thief tried to take my coins and he had a hidden blade. It was a nasty fight.”

“It looks like you’ve been in a lot of fights, Pero,” you say, touching an uneven scar from something slashed across his wrist.

He doesn’t reply to that, just grunts again and pulls his hand back, getting back up from the stool. But he doesn’t get far, on unsteady legs he stumbles across the floor and puts his uninjured hand out to balance himself, briefly closing his eyes.

“Careful,” you say, reaching out to steady him, your hands on his wet shirt, as he suddenly sinks down to the floor, his back against one of the shelves, “you’re very pale, maybe you need a few minutes rest?”

Pero shakes his head with another grunt, “No, I should..” he tries to stand up again but sinks back down, his eyes closing as he tips his head to his chest, breathing hard through his nose.

“At least change your wet shirt, please,” you say, grabbing the dry hoodie from the bench and holding it out to him and Pero opens his eyes, “you’ll feel better if you’re dry.”

He regards the hoodie for a few seconds before giving in, taking it from you. You turn your back to give him some privacy and you hear him tug the shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor with a wet sound.

“Thank you,” comes his rough voice from behind a few seconds later and you glance over your shoulder. The navy hoodie fits him and he’s leaned back against the wall again with his eyes closed, his skin still paler than you suspect that it should be.

You open one of your storage cupboards and pull out a container, bringing it over to Pero together with a bottle of water. Kneeling down in front of him you peel open the lid and hold it out to him.

“Here, your blood sugar is probably low, maybe a bit of shock, have a couple of these,” you offer him and Pero opens his eyes enough to see the cookies that are starting to spread their chocolate scent. They widen further when he sees them clearly, darting up to look at you before he tentatively takes one and flips it over in his hand. He smells it and then takes a careful bite.

His reaction flips a switch in your head, a light bulb moment, as his eyebrows furrow at the flavor. His tongue comes out, almost as if he’s about to spit the cookie out, before he grimaces and swallows, eyeing the rest of the cookie with suspicion.

“Pero…” you ask hesitantly, “where are you from?”

He looks up at you for a beat before he answers, running his tongue over his lips.

“Asturias,” he says, “but I haven’t been back in many years.”

“In Spain?”

“España, sí,” he nods, eyeing the cookie in his hand, “This…this food is very…sweet?” He looks up at you again and almost looks apologetic as he brings it to his mouth again.

“You don’t like it?” you ask, “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it, maybe it’s too sweet for your palate.”

“I’ve never tasted something so sweet before, I’m not sure…” he trails off, taking a small bite again.

The penny drops, impossible as it may seem, but his clothes, his wide eyed reactions to your kitchen, the fear and mistrust, the pieces seem to fit together, and you sink down on the floor in front of Pero, the container of cookies forgotten next to you.

“Pero…” you begin again and he tilts his head as you seem to study the pattern on his well worn leather boots, “A-are you…do you…w-where…- “

“I’m not from your time,” he interrupts your stuttering question, holding your eyes as you meet his gaze, your eyes are the ones that widen this time.

“How?” is all you manage and he shrugs.

“I do not know, a curse, a blessing, just chance?” he shrugs again, “All I remember is darkness and then bright lights, as bright as the sun, but much closer, a terrible noise, and then I ran.”

“Here?”

He shakes his head, “Not first, I think that was yesterday, or maybe two days ago, I found somewhere to hide, a small tunnel, but the rain made the water rise too high so I was forced to leave.”

“You must be hungry, Pero,” you suddenly realize, “how long has it been since you last ate properly?”

“Two days, maybe three,” he says, rubbing his good hand over his belly that rumbles at the mention of proper food.

“I haven’t got anything but hang on, I’ll order something,” you go to stand up when you realize he won’t understand what that means. Your head suddenly reels with the implication of having Pero in your kitchen.

“I mean, I’ll make someone bring food, but don’t worry, I won’t say anything about you,” you hurry to add as you see him shake his head.

“Thank you,” he sighs, looking relieved, “I don’t know what dark forces brought me here, but it doesn’t feel safe.”

“Just wait here, I’ll be right back,” you say to him, leaving him sitting on the floor, “You’re safe here, I promise.”

You hurry out to the shop and pull out your phone to place an order through the delivery app when you’re suddenly stumped, what the hell would Pero be most comfortable eating? A stew maybe? Meat, veggies and bread seems like something people have eaten through the centuries, so you quickly scroll through the options and find a local place that offers Boeuf Bourguignon. A rich, hearty stew must be something Pero will be familiar with even if it’s not exactly something he’s eaten before. You quickly place the order and hurry back to the kitchen to find Pero getting to his feet, holding on to the shelf for support.

“Someone is coming over with a meat stew, how does that sound?” you ask and Pero nods.

“Thank you,” he replies, letting go of the shelf and standing a big steadier this time.

“I have some bread and butter for you while we wait, it’s stale bread, but it might make you feel a bit better.”

“Thank you”, he says again and you go to your big walk-in fridge and pull it open. Pero follows you cautiously and peers into the large space.

“It’s cold?” he says, taking a tentative step into the fridge.

“It’s a special cold storage,” you explain, “it stays cold even though it’s warm outside, the food stays fresh longer in here.”

Pero nods as if he understands exactly what you mean but you can tell by the way his eyes scan the shelves that he’s distracted by the produce that lines them.

“Would you like to try something?” you ask, “Maybe some fruit?”

He looks over at you and nods carefully, as if he’s uncertain if he should say yes and you’re suddenly hit by how much mistrust he holds on to. Even though he’s a little bit more relaxed now than when he first arrived, it’s clear that he’s not a man used to trusting people easily, and just the simple gesture of accepting the apple you hold out to him seems to test his instinctual reaction to say no.

You take the butter from the shelf, fish one of yesterday’s loaves from the bread basket and slice it up on the counter while Pero slowly walks around your kitchen, the apple you notice, is already gone.

“Here, eat this, slowly, it should help you feel better.”

“Thank you,” he replies again, taking the thick piece of bread and carefully smelling it just like he had with the cookie. You cut yourself a slice and spread butter on it before biting in to it and jumping up on the work bench surface.

“It’s not poison, I promise,” you wink at Pero and he scowls back at you, but it’s not intimidating this time, there’s a slight smirk to it as he realizes you’re teasing him.

“I’ve never seen bread this white,” he says, coming over to the bench and heaving himself on to it too, “Bread where I come from is much rougher, this is like something a king would eat I think.”

“It’s just the way the flour is milled and sifted,” you explain, “we make bread the same way now as we’ve always done. Water, flour and salt.”

Pero takes a large bite as you speak and he hums as he chews, “It tastes almost the same,” he says, “I like it.” He takes another big bite and the whole slice disappears within a minute.

“I’m glad you like it,” you smile at him, “I made it, I’m a baker.”

“You’re a baker?” Pero asks, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“We still have bakers in our time,” you laugh but Pero shakes his head.

“I thought it would be your husband who baked, I have never met a woman baker.”

“Oh, yeah, I suppose that would’ve been pretty unusual back in your time,” you say, smiling at Pero’s surprise, “Many of the jobs only men did in your days are now done by women too, a lot has changed that way. And I have no husband.”

Pero seems to consider this for a few moments while he eyes the loaf sitting on the counter across the kitchen.

“Do you want another slice?” you ask him and he nods.

“Yes, it was very good bread.”

“Go on then, but remember there’s meat stew on the way so don’t eat too much or you might be sick,” you say and he slides off the workbench and grabs the knife.

“It’s good that you can be a baker too,” he says as he slices the bread, “I’ve seen women be warriors, generals even, why should women not be able to have the same professions as men?”

“You’re pretty progressive, Pero,” you smile, “not even all men nowadays would agree with that.”

“Fools,” he scowls, buttering the slice and coming back over to you, “I’ve seen many strange things in your time, but nothing that a woman couldn’t do as well as a man. The general I knew would scare the wits out of the men I’ve seen here so far.”

“What year are you from, Pero?” you ask and he shrugs, it seems to be his standard response when he has no answer.

“I do not know, I’m a sell-sword, a mercenary, what year the priest says it is doesn’t matter to someone like me.”

You think back to your high school history lessons, chewing your bread as you try to figure out how to pinpoint what age he might be from.

“Are there any big events you know of that happened in your time?” you ask and Pero furrows his brow for a few seconds before he shakes his head.

“I’m not educated, I can write my name, read a little, but that’s it,” he shrugs again, swallowing the last piece of bread, “I follow whoever pays my wages and don’t ask questions.”

His face softens slightly as he sees the disappointment in your face and he turns towards you, “I apologize, these things are not important to me, but I wish I’d paid more attention to them now, so that I could tell you more about where I’m from.”

“It’s alright, Pero,” you say, giving him a smile, “I’m just curious, just tell me to stop asking so many questions.”

He actually chuckles at that, only the second time you’ve heard him laugh and it makes you feel warm as his face transforms into a beautiful smile.

“Ask as many as you want, you’re feeding me, you patched me up, you’ve shown much more kindness than a broken sell-sword could ever expect. The least I can do is to feed your curious mind.”

Now it’s your turn to shrug, “It was nothing, you were hurt, I couldn’t leave you out in the rain, anyone would’ve done the same.”

Pero tilts his head to the side and regards you with wonder, “Maybe your world is very different, querida…” he says as he tentatively reaches out and carefully wraps the fingers of his good hand around yours, “but in my world, I don’t know anyone who would’ve looked at my scarred face and let me in.”

He gently lifts your hand and brings the back of it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there, before holding it to his heart.

“Thank you.”

You feel heat rush to your face as he places your hand back on the bench, letting go of it as you fumble for something to say and coming up with nothing, just biting your lip and nodding as he continues to look at you, his face unreadable but gentle.

“What do you bake, apart from bread?” he asks after what feels like an eternity and your brain still hasn’t kicked back into gear, the warm mark of his chapped lips still on the back of your hand.

“Ahh…most things,” you stumble, “cakes for weddings, for feasts, cookies and pastries, anything sweet really, if people want it.” A thought suddenly hits you, “Do you have a favorite, Pero? Maybe something I could make for you here?”

He looks taken back by the question, starting by shaking his head almost on impulse, “No, I never had cake, or sweet things, maybe just a simple fruit pie if I had coin, but it has been rare. Although….” he suddenly looks up, his words lost in thought as he looks at you as if you know the answer to what he's thinking of.

“There was a baker in my hometown, he was not from Asturias. He made sweet bread from Albion, with dried fruit and honey,” Pero licks his lips at the memory and grins, “that was the best bread I ever had, he would give me the scraps if he burnt a loaf and even burnt, it tasted like heaven.”

“Albion,” you hum, thinking out loud, “that’s the old name for Britain, so maybe he made something like barmbrack, or bara brith…” you slide off the workbench and go over to the bookshelf and run your finger along the spines of the books. “But what dried fruit would they have then? Raisins? Maybe…the Romans made wine in Britannia after all, the climate was warmer… maybe apricots? Cherries?” You pull out a well worn copy of The Love of Cooking, and take it back to the work bench as Pero regards you with a curious grin. As you flip the book open his eyes go wide as he sees the colored photographs of food, the fine print in neat rows.

“This is a book?” he asks, carefully sliding his fingertips over the page and you nod.

“They invented a machine that can make copies of what we write very fast, so they’re cheap to buy nowadays,” you explain as you flip back to the index, looking up barmbrack, “I think this recipe might be similar to what you’re familiar with,” you say, finding the right page and pointing to a dark loaf filled with dried fruit.

“Can you make it?” Pero asks, his eyes locked on the image as if he wants to chew on the paper and you smile.

“It’s a pretty fast thing to make, if I make it now it’ll be done by the time we’ve had our dinner.” Pero’s eyes are still glued to the page, a hungry expression on his face.

“I would very much like that,” he says, tearing his gaze away and grinning at you, “Put me to work, what can I do?”

“You want to help?”

“Of course, teach me how to bake, mistress baker,” he winks and again his usually scowling face is transformed, a warm smile lighting up his sharp features as his brown eyes soften. You smile back at him, marveling at how he transforms from a sourly looking soldier to a handsome man when he lets himself smile.

“Ok then, Pero,” you grin, “time to learn a new profession.”

Under your direction Pero pulls out the necessary ingredients and tools, making comments about the flimsy quality of the metal in your kitchen.

“This would not hold up in a kitchen or on a battlefield,” he remarks, holding up one of your stainless steel bowls, “It would melt over a fire and even a child’s arrow would pierces this, I’m sure.”

“It’s stronger than you think,” you laugh, setting a bag of dried cherries down on the workbench and giving one to Pero to try. He sucks on it, smiling at the familiar flavor, and nods in approval as he goes in search of a knife. He finds your custom chef knife, your name stamped along the blade, and this is the only item that gets his commendation.

“This is a good weapon, querida, if any more strange men turn up at your door. You should keep it on you at all times,” he says, effortlessly spinning the knife in his hand, testing its weight and balance.

“I hope no more strange men come tumbling into my backyard,” you laugh, “what would I do with you all?”

“If fate lets me, I’ll stay here and keep you safe, just feed me,” he grins, coming to stand next to you and placing the knife on the workbench.

“That sounds like a good deal for me, Pero,” you smile back at him and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs, a beautiful sound in your kitchen, his rough voice smoothed out by the warm vibrations.

“Querida, even if you only fed me your bread and butter, I would be the winner in that deal; a full belly and a beautiful mistress? What man could ask for more?”

He sees the way your shy smile reaches your eyes before you look down at your hands on the recipe book. Heat creeps up your neck and you have to squeeze your lips together to stop a silly grin from splitting your face open. You can feel Pero’s smiling eyes on you as he waits for your reply, and when he wraps his fingers around your hand on the book, you almost jump, his grip a gentle touch. The fingers on his other hand find your chin, softly bringing your face up to look up at him.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles, the rough pad of his thumb caressing your chin as your heart rate picks up and you part your lips.

“Now put me to work,” he smiles, “So I can have this fruit bread again.”

You draw a deep breath, your heart fluttering in your chest as you pull your eyes away from Pero and down to the recipe.

“S-so…ok, we need tea, I’ll make that if you fill this with flour and put it in the bowl. Then crack an egg in there too.”

“Your wish is my command, mistress,” Pero replies and your cheeks heat up again, but you can’t help the wide smile and it makes Pero grin as you fumble for a saucepan to fill with water.

He completes the tasks you set him, and then comes to stand next to you as you spoon tea leaves into the kettle and pour the boiling water over it.

“I visited China once,” he says, “They drank black tea, it’s strange to see it here too.”

“This tea comes from China, we started importing it a long time ago. I’m going to soak the fruit in the tea, it really should sit overnight but it works like this too, just a bit less flavor.”

What Pero said suddenly hits you, and you turn to look at him as he stirs the dried fruit through the tea, “You went to China? That must’ve been such a long journey?”

Pero nods, his face falling back to his default scowl as he pulls his eyebrows together at the memory.

“It was very long, dusty and dangerous. Both there and going home, I’ll tell you about it someday when you know me better, but you’ll still think I’m a liar, it’s a hard story to believe.”

“Sounds like it was an adventure,” you reply and Pero shrugs, shaking his head a little.

“A storyteller would call it an adventure, I would call it a terrifying nightmare,” he grumbles, taking the fruit back to the workbench and changing the subject, “I can’t read your book, what should I do now?”

You pass him a loaf tin, “Smear this with butter and I’ll mix the rest of the ingredients together.”

Pero nods and takes the butter in his good hand and gets to work while you mix the dough. You leave out some of the spices that would be too foreign to Pero you think, and reduce the sugar a bit. From the corner of your eye you see Pero watching you work, and as you mix the fruit into the dough you glance up at him and give him a small smile. He looks lost in thought for a moment, before he smiles back at you, a much softer looking man as he almost seems to be shy, handing you the prepared tin.

“You look very capable,” he says, taking a few small steps closer to look at the dough, “more capable than any baker I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Pero,” you reply, smiling to yourself as you pick up the bowl to tip the dough into the tin.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” you exclaim and put the bowl back on the counter, hurrying over to your small desk while Pero looks surprised. From a box you remove a gold ring and quickly wash it in the sink. Bringing it back to Pero you hold it up.

“It’s tradition to mix items into the barmbrack, some things for bad luck, some for good luck. But I prefer adding only things for good luck so I usually add this ring. It was my grandmother’s wedding ring and she was a baker too,” you flip the ring over and show the date written on the inside of the ring, “June sixth, nineteen forty-one, her wedding day.”

“It will bring luck?” Pero asks and you nod.

“Whoever finds it in the cake will have good luck,” you reply, “Well, as it’s a ring it’s meant to mean that you’re getting married within a year, but I prefer to think of it as good luck.”

“I’ve heard of superstitions like this one before,” Pero says, “I don’t know if I believe in them, but it’s probably not wise to ignore them.”

“My thoughts exactly,” you smile as you toss the ring into the dough and mix it again, “I’m just going to put the dough in the tin and then bake it.”

You’re interrupted by the doorbell on the front door, and you look towards the shop.

“That’s our food I think, take over here and I’ll go pick it up,” you say, handing the bowl to Pero. You hurry to the door and tip the delivery guy, bringing back a bag of food. Peros is carefully patting down the dough with serious concentration and it makes you smile to see him looking so focused on his job.

“It looks great, Pero,” you say and he looks up, giving you a quick smile. You’re struck by the difference a little bit of time with him has made, his distrust has disappeared, replaced by curious looks and grins. You realize again how handsome he is as he stands up and holds out the tin to you, his deep brown eyes warm instead of cautious, and the near permanent downward turn of his mouth has been replaced by the soft smile he gives you as you take the tin from him.

“Thanks,” you say and hand him the bag, “There’s food in there, get us set up while I put this in the oven, then we can eat.”

Pero inhales deeply as the scent reaches his nose and his stomach growls as he hastily grabs the bags and looks for a spot to sit.

The oven is ready to go so you just put the barmbrack in and turn back to Pero, grabbing cutlery as you go. He’s on the floor, leaning against the bookshelf again, and is unpacking the food. Sinking down next to him, you groan at the relief of getting off your feet and sitting down. You tip your head back against the bookshelf and let slip a deep sigh that turns into a yawn. Pero chuckles next to you as he peels the lid off one of the containers.

“You’re yawning but I’m the one who spent a night inside a cramped tunnel,” he says and you clamp your hand over your mouth, giggling.

“Sorry, it’s been a long day, I get up very early to bake every morning,” you say, stifling another yawn as Pero picks up one of the containers with stew, looking at it with hungry eyes.

“It smells incredible,” he says, taking the spoon you hand him.

“Eat, Pero, you look hungry,” you smile and he flashes you a quick grin before digging in.

The stew is good, rich and hearty, with big chunks of meat. Pero demolishes his portion and you get the rest of the loaf of bread, watching him tear chunks out of it to mop up the sauce. You’re sitting close together, his shoulder against yours, the warmth of his body a comfortable presence against your arm as you eat in silence. Pero groans as he does so, a deep moan escaping him when he scrapes up the sauce.

“Feeling better?” you ask as he swallows the last piece of bread and sets the container down on the floor. He nods and tips his head back towards the bookshelf with a contented sigh.

“Yes, much better, it was the best stew I’ve ever had,” he says, tilting his head to look over at you, “A full belly and your company, you’ve cured me.”

“Happy I could help you,” you smile at him, “you seemed a bit lost.”

“I still am,” he says, his eyes slipping down to your lips, almost as if he doesn’t notice he’s done it, until he catches himself and snaps them back up and meets your eyes, “But I feel…safe, I think, here. With you.”

His voice is low, softer than before, a quiet rasp in the silent kitchen. The rain is still rushing down outside and the white noise wraps you in a bubble as he carefully moves closer. You feel his hand, rough and calloused, come up and gently stroke your face, his eyes watching his fingers trail along the edge of your jaw, cupping your cheek and letting his thumb run over your bottom lip.

“So soft,” he whispers, his breath tickling your lips as you close your eyes.

The kiss is gentle, featherlight, but he stays close, pressing his lips against yours again and again, and you relish in the hushed words he whispers in another language, praise you can’t understand. But the way his lips never leave yours for more than a second, his reverent tone in every phrase, makes you feel cherished as his words wrap around you.

When he lingers against your lips, you bring your hand up and touch his cheek, slipping your hand around his neck, holding him close so that he knows he can stay. You hear a rumble in his chest as he pulls you in closer, pulling you over his lap, his arm coming around your waist to keep steady, the other still cupping your cheek. You test his mouth, the slight parting of his lips where his soft bottom lip has a divot, and he groans, pulling you impossibly closer. His hair is still damp when you curl your fingers into it, still dirty from two days of wherever he managed to seek shelter when he first fell into this time. But under it, he’s warm and solid, his mouth hungry as he opens up and lets his tongue taste yours.

Pero grows bolder as you guide him, pulling your leg over his lap so that you straddle him. As your hands caress his hair and explore the firm muscles of his shoulders, he seeks out the edge between your shirt and your trousers. The skin there is soft and smooth and he runs his hands over your waist, mumbling into your mouth between kisses. He pulls back a fraction and lets his hands slide high up on your back, under your shirt, pressing you into his chest.

“Hermosa…” he whispers, “you’re so soft, your skin is like silk under my rough hands, so soft, warm, I’ve never…” he trails off, reaching up to claim your mouth again and you bend down to meet him. You can feel him grow hard under you, he’s holding back from rutting up, panting harder as his fingers dig into your waist. Gently you pull back from him and lean your forehead against his.

“Pero…Pero…Pero…” you whisper, catching your breath as his grip on your loosens, his hands resuming their soft caresses up and down your back.

“Querida,” he smiles, pulling back a little so that he can look at you, his dark eyes warm now, softer than ever, as he brings up a hand to cup your cheek again.

“Come home with me tonight, I can’t send you away to sleep in a tunnel again,” you whisper, closing your eyes as his fingers trace across your lips.

“You would let me?” he asks quietly, “You trust me, a stranger?” His hand goes still on your cheek and you look at him again.

“You’re not a stranger anymore, Pero, I trust you. If you trust me to not steal from you that is,” the last thing you say with a small grin, and Pero laughs, a deep rumble as he wraps his arms around you again.

“You’ve already stolen from me, querida,” he smiles, “you think all these kisses were free?”

“I’m paying in food and more kisses,” you tease him, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose and he wrinkles it, his shoulders jumping as he laughs again.

“Steal all my kisses, hermosa, you can have every single one.”

Somewhere behind you the oven timer goes off and Pero stiffens for a second before he relaxes under you again.

“Only the oven telling us the barmbrack is done,” you smile, pushing yourself off Pero’s lap and standing up. He holds out his hand for you to grab, and you pull him to his feet too.

“Feed me,” he smiles, snaking an arm around your waist as you turn the oven off and open the door.

“It needs to cool a bit first, I’ll put it in the fridge,” you wriggle out of his arms with a giggle as he tries to hold on to your shirt. When you close the fridge door behind you, the barmbrack safely on the shelf, he’s behind you again, bending his head to your shoulder.

“Are you really letting me stay with you tonight?” he asks, his voice betraying that he still can’t quite believe that you’re trusting him.

“Pero,” you reply, turning around and taking his hand, “I was scared when I first saw you outside, you looked frightening. But you also looked scared, like you needed help, and something told me I could trust you. And you’ve done nothing to make me regret that. I trust you.”

He looks at you for a few moments, uncertainty flitting across his face, “Not since I became a man has anyone seen my face and trusted me like that. No one but you.”

“I’m sorry, Pero,” you reply but he shakes his head, suddenly crowding you, making you walk back towards the work bench.

“If you’re the only one to trust me, I think that will be enough,” he smiles, his eyes soft again, the uncertainty gone as he puts his hands on your waist and lifts you up to sit on the counter, stepping in between your thighs. You feel him push his calloused hands under your shirt again, moving over your back, softly kneading at your curves as you pull him closer, making him bend his head to yours.

“I trust you, Pero,” you mumble, tracing your fingers over his face, his short, uneven beard, the sharp curve of his nose, carefully moving up to gently caress the scar across his eye. He closes his eyes as you touch it, mapping the way something sharp has cut across his eyebrow, down onto his cheek.

Pero’s hands have gone still on your waist, warm palms gripping your flesh as you reach up and press your lips to the spot over his eyebrow where the scar begins, moving your mouth further down, a brief whisper against his eyelid and then a firm kiss at the top of his cheek, the jagged point of the old injury.

“I think whatever brought me here was a blessing,” he mumbles and you nod as he opens his eyes again to look at you.

“I’m glad you found your way here, Pero,” you reply, moving your hands up to cradle his face, finding his lips against yours again.

The rain continues outside, flashes of bright light shining in through the window split seconds before rolls of thunder move in. But neither of you notice, lost in the sensation of warm hands and soft lips exploring something new. Pero buries his face against your neck, inhaling deeply as you wrap your fingers around his curls. You can feel his lips leave small, wet kisses all along your neck, rubbing the cool tip of his nose against the soft spot under your ear where your pulse flutters.

“Pero,” you mumble, pressing a kiss against the tip of his ear, and he lifts his head, meeting your eyes with a warm smile, making you kiss his lips again, losing several more minutes as you both savor the moment.

With a giggle you finally pull away a little as he chases your lips with a protest, “Let me cut the barmbrack and then we go home,” you say and he pulls you off the counter.

“I will take it as payment for all the kisses you have stolen,” he mumbles, pressing another one to your mouth as you laugh into it.

The barmbrack still holds some warmth when you cut it, and the rich smell that it emits as the slices fall makes you salivate and Pero groans next to you, his hand shooting out to grab the thickest piece.

“Wait, we need butter on it too,” you laugh, slapping his eager hand away and he repays you by sinking his teeth into your neck instead, playfully biting the soft skin.

“It smells too good, querida,” he grumbles as you spread butter on the slice and hand it to him.

“Impatient,” you smile at him as he takes a first giant bite of the barmbrack, grinning at you around the slice. You butter your own slice and Pero hums, muttering his praise between bites until his teeth clink against the ring.

“Oh, you got the ring in the first slice!” you exclaim, “That’s really lucky!”

Pero carefully spits the gold ring into his palm, “I feel like my night has already been lucky,” he smiles at you, holding out the ring for you to take it.

“No, wash it off and then keep it, until we make a new barmbrack. It’s your lucky charm for now.”

“Are you certain?” he asks, rinsing the crumbs and butter off the heavy gold ring at the sink, and holding out to you again.

“Absolutely, you found it, it’s yours for now,” you say, finishing your own slice as Pero slips the ring into a pouch on his belt and eyes the rest of the loaf, “Do you want another slice, Pero?” you ask with a smile and he grins back at you.

“It reminds me of the one I had as a child, but it tastes much better. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he says, coming to stand behind you as you prepare a second thick slice for him and wrap the rest of the barmbrack to take home.

“Thank you, I’m glad you like it,” you smile at him and he takes the slice.

“Querida, I love it,” he says, smiling back at you, “it’s almost as good as your kisses…” he quirks his eyebrows and leans in to capture your lips with his again, making you open your mouth to his eager tongue.

“Still the best thing,” he mumbles as he pulls back a little, both you catching your breath.

“Let’s go home,” you whisper back at him, “I’m just going to make sure everything is locked up, we’ll go out the back way."

He nods and you reluctantly disentangle yourself from him and walk out to the main shop, checking the door and the alarm. When you come back, Pero is sucking on his fingers, the second slice disappeared as fast as the first and he grins back at you as he notices your look.

You flick off the main lights, Pero’s eyes widening in surprise as the kitchen is cast into darkness, and lead him to the backdoor and let him out. The rain is only a drizzle now but the thunder is still rumbling through the sky and Pero looks up as he goes down the stairs, waiting for you to set the alarm and lock the door.

A bright flash of lightning cuts across the back yard, followed by a loud clap of thunder that makes you jump and let out a yelp.

“Oh shit, that scared me,” you laugh, locking the door and turning around, pocketing the key, “the thunder must be right above us.”

But the yard in front of you is as empty as every other night. No trace of Pero, only the dim light of the street lamps and the light patter of rain drops.

Your heart clenches in your chest, you can still feel his lips on yours.

It’s not until a week later that you see the article. A patron has left a newspaper behind and as you clear the table, a headline catches your eye.

Modern ring found in 11th century grave

Archeologists at a dig in Sevilla, Spain, were surprised when excavating an 11th century grave. The site is being prepared for a new residential area and the grave is being moved to a nearby churchyard. The remains of an 11th century man was found in the grave, and around his neck was a thin gold chain, also 11th century in design. What surprised the archeologist was the modern gold wedding band hanging on the chain, with the date “June sixth, nineteen forty-one” engraved on the inside.

“The grave was undisturbed, and the chain was intact, clearly placed on the man in the grave either while he was still alive or before he was buried,” said chief archaeologist Maria Ruiz. “It’s impossible, of course, for a man from the 11th century to be in possession of a 20th century ring, but at the moment we have no explanation as to how the ring ended up in the grave with him.”

Part Ten

Some author notes here at the end too; I don't think it's canon that Pero is from Asturias, but Tovar is an Asturian name and I have a personal connection to the region so it felt right.

I have no idea if barmbrack was a thing in 11th century Europe, the earliest sources are from the 18th century. But it's bread with fruit, seems doable in any age really. If you've never had it, give it a try, it's a very easy recipe and it goes amazing with butter and a cup of tea.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fic #fluff

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flightlessangelwings · 7 months

Text

Ktober 2023 Day 1- Overstimulation

Pero Tovar x fem!reader

Word count- 1.3k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), f receiving oral, established relationship, reader wears a corset and is a waitress, no use of y/n

Notes- Starting the month off with an idea I've had in my drafts for some time so it's the perfect opportunity to use it! Prompt list made by me! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is myupdate blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!

The tavern bustled with life and laughter, and you hurriedly ran drinks to the many tables. Men eyed you up and down as your tightly fit corset accented your body perfectly, but you paid them no mind. You just filtered back enough to get them to leave you a little something extra in the way of coin when they left. No, there was only one man you wanted to share your bed with.

And he just walked through the front door.

“Señor Tovar,” you purred as you sauntered up to him, “What will it be tonight?”

He smirked as he rested a hand on your hip, “You, querida,” his tone was low as he eyed the other men who had jealousy clear on their faces.

“This way,” you set down your drinks and slid your hand in his, leading him upstairs…

“Ay… Fuck… Pero…” you moaned as the mercenary laid comfortable between your parted legs. In private, you were on a first name basis, among other things.

It took Pero no time at all to strip you of your garments, and he quickly became an expert at unlacing your corset. It was something he was particularly proud of. Pero growled as you laid bare for him, spread out on the bed with your legs parted, just the way he liked it, and he wasted no time in diving in.

There were few things Pero enjoyed more than eating you out. He spent hours between your legs, licking and sucking you until you cried for mercy and begged him to stop. The taste of you was the sweetest nectar he had ever had, and from the first moment his tongue touched your pussy, Pero was addicted.

“You taste so good, querida,” he purred in that tone he saved only for you.

Heat quickly built up in your body as your mind swam in pleasure. You arched your back and moaned loudly as Pero’s tongue flicked and licked at your clit, knowing exactly what spots drove you absolutely wild. His large hands dug into the flesh of your thighs as he kept them parted to allow him better access to your body.

“Fuck!” you cried out as you buried your hands in his hair, “Pero… I’m gonna…”

He groaned into you as you yanked at his thick locks, but he never let up. Pero ran his tongue along your clit over and over again, nodding his head as he pushed you over the edge. His cock twitched as he listened to the screams of your climax- music to his ears. He savored the way your legs shook on either side of his head and you couldn’t hold back your moans even if you wanted to.

Just as you let out a whimper, Pero pulled away with a loud pop and looked at you with dark, lust-blown eyes. He hissed a curse in Spanish as he watched your breasts rise and fall with your heavy breaths as you came down from your peak.

“Que hermosa,” Pero groaned as he waited for you to open your eyes.

When you did, you saw him staring down at you with a look you had never seen before. Sure you saw the lustful gaze in his eyes, but underneath, there was something else… something more. It was subtle, but you had known him long enough to notice slight shifts like that.

But, before you could address, Pero growled and dove back into you, licking at your pussy with renewed fervor. Your head dropped back down to the bed as you screamed even more loudly as he devoured you like a man starved.

Pero used his strong grip to push your legs apart even further, too consumed with need to care about anything other than the taste of you. He felt your legs tremble under his grasp as your second orgasm hit quickly and just as strongly as the first one.

This time, however, Pero did not break away.

He kept going, licking and sucking you as if you were his last meal on earth. He savored your cries, your moans, your whimpers, your screams as you soon came again under his expert tongue. Pero’s cock practically screamed him to fuck you, in need of his own release, but he ignored it. He was completely lost in you, in your pussy, to even think about himself.

It was the first time that had happened to him.

Pero continued his attack on your pussy as he moved one hand to push two thick fingers into you. You bucked your hips and screamed as you felt the calloused digits enter you, hitting your sweet spot inside with accuracy.

“Pero! Ah!” you cried out as you clutched into his scalp for dear life.

He groaned your name in between kissing your pussy as he thrust his fingers in and out of you at a fast and harsh pace. The long fingers hit deep inside you, making you see stars as your eyes rolled back and tears fell down your cheeks. It only took a few more thrusts for you to cum again with another loud scream.

Your body trembled uncontrollably as you came down from your peak, Pero slowing down for a moment to allow you time to catch your breath, “Pero…” you breathed as you sniffled, “I can’t…”

Pero hushed you with surprising gentleness, “Yes you can, querida,” he purred as he slowly thrust his fingers once more, “I am not finished with you yet.”

“Please…” you begged as fresh tears filled your eyes.

Pero whispered your name as he stopped all his movements. He wanted for you to meet his eyes before he spoke again, “I think you can give me one more, querida,” he paused, “Can you?”

You swallowed hard as you caught your breath. Your body felt like it was on fire, and your emotions spiraled in your head from the many consecutive climaxes. But the way Pero looked at you gave you newfound strength. You trust him, after all, and you knew that if you truly had enough, all you had to do was say so and he would stop.

You nodded.

Pero smirked, “That’s my good girl,” he cooed before he dipped back into your pussy.

Instead of a harsh and rough pace, however, Pero was slower, gentler, as if he was making love to you with his tongue. You moaned loudly, your body already trembling under the pressure of his tongue. Tears spilled down your face once more, but they were also different this time. It was overwhelming in the best way, and suddenly you craved more just as he did.

It didn’t take long for your last orgasm to build within you. “Pero…” you sighed as you arched your back, parting your legs as much as you could, offering yourself to him completely.

“That’s it querida,” he praised in between licks and sucks as you fell apart under him once more. Pero savored the taste of you as you gushed into his mouth and squeezed his fingers with your inner muscles. At the same time, you cried out his name and clung to him wherever you could grab. He liked it when you clung to him like that.

When your climax was completely ridden out, Pero finally broke away from you and trailed a line of open mouthed kissed up your body until he took your mouth with his. He swallowed the moan you let out and he wiped away any stray tears as his tongue tangled with yours.

“Thank you for the meal, querida,” Pero smirked as he crashed down onto the bed and pulled you into his arms.

You let out an exhausted laugh, but then you paused, “What about you?” you asked.

“Hush, querida,” he murmured, “You need your rest first.”

A smile lit up your face, though Pero couldn’t see it from the way he held you; underneath all the tough and gruff exterior, you knew that Pero Tovar had some kindness in him. But, what you didn’t know was just how much fondness he held for you. Perhaps someday he would tell you out loud. Until then, Pero’s actions spoke loudly enough, and that was just fine for both of you.

186 notes · View notes

perotovar · 4 months

Text

ásjá - a winter solstice story

Ásjá by Heilung (i highly recommend listening to this while reading)

Our second single release is a love song. Maria sings to the listener of love, recovery and prosperity, chasing away evil and welcoming love. The piece contains a quotation of some lines of “Hávamál”, combined with a selection of blessing words meant to provide help to the listener in a troubled time. Kai brought his vocal part of 'Asja' back to us after a month of isolation, fasting and meditation in nature. Only the spirits know the full meaning, but we do know that the context is love, prosperity and protection.

pairing: pero tovar/ofc!helga (but this is mostly a character study) rating: T word count: 7.4k (idk what happened here) warnings: minor swearing, google translated spanish (sorry), historical inaccuracies in favor of fantasy/magic, my american norse pagan perspective of these practices, if i missed anything else lemme know! dividers by @saradika-graphics beta and norwegian translations by the lovely @chloeangelic thank you, honey ♥

summary: Pero picks up a contract that leads him "somewhere up North", but what he finds instead is unlike anything he imagined for himself. Or, what would happen if Pero encountered the Vikings during their winter celebration?

this is apart of @hellishjoel's 12 days of pedro. thank you for including me, kylee, and make sure you all read the other presents!

god jól, everyone🌲❄️🌙🐺

It was fucking cold.

With shaking hands and numb limbs, Pero made his way further up the hill. The wind picked up the further he went into the trees.

The contract he’d taken up was for a man by the name of Ingvar. A strange name to Pero’s ears, but that hardly mattered to him. This Ingvar was to be taken care of, and Pero had to show proof.

Not a problem.

The problem, at least for the moment, was the fucking weather and his own lack of foresight. He was told that Ingvar was “somewhere up North”, and that was it. He didn’t exactly plan for just how cold it would be. His fingers were going numb and red, and he saw every breath that left his lungs. If William were here, he’d tell Pero to quit his “bitching” and to make camp.

The camp, he could do. The bitching? Unlikely.

Pero and William separated after the… events in China. They stayed together to do a few jobs together, but William decided to make his way back to China and meet up with Lin Mae again, possibly even settle down. Pero didn’t fancy seeing the people that had arrested and almost killed him, and black powder wasn’t worth the trouble anymore. At least not to him. He rather liked the uncertainty of his job. Found comfort in it, in fact. His future was set for him in this line of work. He would live doing the things he loved most; fighting, fucking, and drinking. And the ending was always the same. At least, that’s what he told himself.

A low whisper brought Pero out of his thoughts. He snapped his head towards the direction of the sound and furrowed his already heavy brow. The sound of a raven cawing caught his attention, making him hum skeptically to himself before deciding this was as good a spot as any for a fire.

Once settled on a fallen tree and attempting to warm his hands with his meager fire, Pero dug into his travel pack. He grumbled at the pitiful excuse for food he had left. He grabbed a piece of thick, dry bread and started ripping off chunks and eating that. Perhaps he could hunt? Find a rabbit, or something a little bigger. He remembered to make a bow this time. Swallowing the last chunk of the bread, he picked up his bow and arrows, and threw his cloak-slash-blanket over his shoulders. It was going to be dark soon, and he didn’t like the idea of starving his first night in this frozen Northern hell.

Another whisper.

Pero’s body went taut. He looked between the tall trees and the endless sea of white ahead of him. Nothing. A rabbit hopped by, distracting him. Before he could think too hard, he knocked an arrow and let fly. The arrow landed in the snow just after the rabbit hopped away.

“Mierda,” he grumbled. (Shit.)

He crouched low and slowly followed after the rabbit. He made his way toward a small clearing, which seemed to be in the center of the forest, if his tracking skills were getting any better.

There was a large stone in the middle, towards the top of the clearing. There looked to be a large blood stain in the center of it. Pero raised a brow and grunted quietly. This was none of his business, clearly.

Suddenly, the rabbit made its way to the middle of the clearing, next to the large stone. Pero sighed and lined up a shot, hoping for the best. He released a breath at the same time that the arrow left his fingers, and another whisper passed through his ears.

He gasped quietly and time seemed to stop as the arrow traveled through the cold air. A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath, trying to make himself as still as possible.

The sound of the arrow piercing the rabbit startled him out of his frozen state. He blinked a few times, the white forest coming back into view as he looked down at the dead rabbit in the clearing. He exhaled and slowly stood, settling his bow on his shoulder. He looked around again, and when he saw nothing, slowly made his way down the hill and towards the center of the clearing.

He picked up the dead rabbit and removed the arrow, tucking it into his belt to clean and use again later. Standing in the center of the clearing, he looked over at the bloodstained stone and felt that shiver go down his spine again. He looked up at the gray sky and decided it was time to go back to his camp. He hooked the rabbit’s carcass onto his belt, pulled the cloak over his shoulders tighter, and shoved his hands inside the fabric.

“Maldita nieve,” he grumbled to himself. (Fucking snow.) As he climbed back up the hill, he felt a sharp pain in his foot and lost his balance, catching himself with his hands in the snow. He hissed loudly and looked down at his boot. A small spike was poking out through the top, meaning the sharp rock was piercing through his foot. He groaned and leaned against the hill, steadying his breathing. He counted to three in his head and yanked the rock from his foot. “Fuck,” he exhaled loudly, a few drops of his own blood covering his palm as he looked at the rock. A small symbol was carved into it, making him squint his eyes, trying to decipher what it was. Pero shook his head and sighed, pocketing the strange rock to inspect later.

On his way back to his little camp, limping the whole way to not put too much pressure on his foot, he grabbed some branches to make the fire last a little longer. Once the meager fire came into view, he swore he saw someone sitting on the log he was using before. He froze in place, heavy boots landing in the snow abruptly. He squinted his eyes and grew confused. An old man? What would he be doing out here?

Pero looked around the frozen forest to see if there was anyone that could be with the old man. When he didn’t see anyone, he looked back at the campfire, and the old man was gone. He’d completely vanished. Pero grunted quietly and rubbed his eyes with frozen fingers. He shook his head to snap himself out of it and made his way over to the campfire.

After putting the rabbit on the spit and it started to cook, Pero made his bed for the night. He’d do his best to sleep, but didn’t have high hopes. Once the rabbit was cooked, he stabbed it with his knife and started eating it messily. He groaned at the taste of fresh, hot, cooked meat and enjoyed it, even if it was pretty bland. It warmed his bones a little and made him more comfortable, pulling the cloak tighter around his shoulders.

The sound of a branch snapping behind him went unnoticed by Pero’s ears, too focused on the food. He hadn’t eaten in days. The second snap, however, was heard, and it made him drop the rabbit onto the ground and grab his sword, brandishing it in front of him as he stood.

“¿Dónde estás, bastardo?” He grumbled under his breath, his heavy breaths puffing out into smoke. (Where are you, bastard?)

He sighed in frustration when he didn’t see anything. He was seriously starting to consider if this contract was even worth it. And if it wasn’t, would he be able to make it back without dying? Either from the cold, or whatever it was that was playing with him. He mumbled obscenities to himself and sat back down on his fallen tree.

He picked up the rabbit and groaned at the dirt now covering it. He blew off what he could and decided to continue eating it, dirt be damned. He was hungry.

Once full, he looked up at the moon in the sky, trying to figure out how late it was. He rubbed his hands over his arms to keep warm and added a branch or two to his fire. He grabbed a piece of spare cloth from his travel pack and quickly wrapped his foot. He laid down next to the fire and pulled the cloak up over his shoulders and shut his eyes. He didn’t feel tired, but he couldn’t help closing his eyes. He tried to fight it, to keep his guard up, but it was useless.

He started to feel lightheaded and turned onto his back, looking up at the moon again. The moon and the stars, so bright he almost didn’t need the campfire, were swirling around and moving in close and further away. The trees surrounding him looked to be moving side to side.

What was happening? Did the old man poison him somehow? Who was that old man?

His vision went blurry and he felt like he was spinning in place despite laying on the ground, completely still. He let out a weak groan and tried to move, reaching for his sword.

The last thing he saw before his vision went black, was the silhouette of a large dog, or perhaps a wolf, in the distance hidden behind the trees.

Warmth. He felt warm. And a pounding headache.

Pero slowly blinked awake and groaned at the light that hit his eyes. The smell of cooked meat and root vegetables hit his nostrils. His stomach whined in protest.

“For en merkelig fyr…” An older male voice said, somewhere behind him. (He is a strange one…)

“Kjekk, da,” A younger, female voice replied. (Handsome, though.)

He didn’t understand any of it. It wasn’t a language he’d heard before. Eyelids fluttering, he slowly opened his eyes to a small gathering of people all looking down at him. He startled and reached for his knife, and grunted when he didn’t feel it.

“Vi har våpnene dine. De er trygge.” (We have your weapons. They’re safe.)

Pero turned his head in the direction of the voice and squinted his eyes at the woman. She looked to be in her 30s, with a baby attached to her breast and drinking.

“No entiendo,” he grumbled, voice hoarse from lack of use. “¿Dónde estoy?” (I do not understand. Where am I?)

He took in his surroundings, now sitting up, and saw that he looked to be in a small room cut off from a much larger group of people. He heard laughter and song outside the cloth separating the, assumed, larger hall from where he was now. He furrowed his brows. A celebration? What for?

“¿Dónde estoy?” He repeated, voice slightly harsher. (Where am I?)

“Har ikke hørt det språket før,” one of the men said. (Haven’t heard that tongue before.) Pero looked up at him and squinted his eyes slightly. The man was large, with a full beard, and an even fuller middle. But there was no denying his strength; age hadn’t stopped this man from doing well in a fight, Pero assumed. Not that he couldn’t take him, of course. He looked at the man’s belt and saw a one-handed axe attached to his belt and thought better of it, especially without his own weapons.

Suddenly a small sting came from his foot and he snapped his head down at the young woman tending to the wound he’d gotten on his way back from the clearing. He’d almost completely forgotten about it, too cold to even really feel it. The young woman startled and blushed, keeping her head down as she cleaned the cut.

“Det er et vakkert språk, da, er det ikke?” The first younger woman’s voice came through, a slightly entranced tone to it. (It is a beautiful tongue, though, no?) He looked to his left and saw her batting her eyelashes at him. He huffed a breath in amusement. He’d had his fair share of women giving him looks like that, almost always with a payment in mind, but his thoughts were elsewhere, even if it did feel nice. And she was a tad too skinny for his own tastes.

Pero exhaled. This was clearly getting nowhere. Fine. “Where am I? You know English, yes?” He asked, exasperated, in the general direction of anyone who might be able to answer him.

The shy girl cleaning his wound lifted her head and smiled softly at him. “I know a little,” she said quietly, her voice heavily accented.

“Finally,” he sighed. “What is going on?”

“A few of our men found you in the forest, passed out. Your lips were blue.” She won’t make eye contact with him, bur her brows furrowed like she was worried for him. “We have lost some of our own men in a similar way before. It is not pretty.”

Pero hummed softly and nodded his thanks. “Did any of them see an old man? In the woods?”

The girl tilted her head and asked the man next to him, the one with the axe in his belt, if any of them had seen such a man. The man raised a brow and shook his head, looking at Pero skeptically.

“Ingvar says–”

“Yes, I understood, thank you–” Pero cut himself off and looked back at the man with the axe. This was Ingvar? Pero looked back at the girl and nodded his head as she bandaged his wound, his own cloth wrapped around his ankle. He would have to be careful if he was to carry out this contract. “Thank you,” he repeated, the words foreign on his tongue.

The girl nodded, cheeks pink, and stood to leave. As she left, the cloth covering them moved to show a large fire in the middle of the hall with an even larger feast around it. The girl came back with a tankard of something for him and he took it gratefully. As the sweet liquid hit his tongue, he coughed slightly.

“What is this?” He wheezed a little, looking at the cup like it slapped his mother.

The girl giggled before saying, “Mead. It is honey wine.”

Pero rolled the words around his tongue for a moment. “Interesante,” he hummed to himself. (Interesting.)

“Vel, han er våken. Tilby ham noe å spise, men hold øye på ham. Han ser ut som en leiesoldat, og jeg stoler ikke på ham,” Ingvar grunted, leaving the room and rejoining the festivities. (Well, he is up. Invite him to eat, but keep an eye on him. He looks like a mercenary and I do not trust him.)

Pero watched him closely as he left, and took another drink of his mead, eyes hard.

“Would you like some food, mister-”

“Tovar,” Pero grunted. “Yes. I am very hungry.” He turned on the cot and got to his feet quickly, but quickly lost his balance, a couple of the women catching him as he stood on shaky legs. He sighed in frustration and stood on his own, shrugging off their help. The girl held her arm out to him, and didn’t seem too offended when he just stared at it.

“Tovar. This way,” she smiled, her face a little pinched.

“What are you celebrating?” He asked, looking around at all the food. His stomach roared at the smells.

“It is the third night of Jól. You have heard of Jól?” She asked excitedly, turning to him as she found a place for him to sit. He slowly made his way down at a long table nearby where Ingvar sat at the head of the table. A leader. This contract was getting more difficult by the second.

“I have not,” he grumbled. “What is this… Yool?”

The girl giggled again, this time at his attempt at the word. “Jól is the celebration that welcomes back the sun from the harsh Winter. Our crops start growing as the sun comes back, and the snow melts away.”

Pero hummed as he listened, nodding his thanks when she handed him a full plate of different meats, root vegetables, bread, and cheese. “You are farmers?”

The girl nods. “Most of us. Some are warriors.”

Pero hummed again, chewing on a piece of meat. “How did you learn English?”

The girl turned a little sad, but smiled anyway. “We used to have a man that came from… Eng-land? He died last year,” she sighed. “He taught me and a few of the children how to read and speak English. How did you learn?”

Pero frowned around his food and sighed.

“I am sorry, forget–” Pero held up a hand to stop her. “Apologies. I am… unused to kindness from strangers,” he grunted, not meeting her eyes. “A dear friend of mine is from Scotland. We have separated so he could be with his woman. He taught me.”

“Scotland?”

“It is near England.”

She nodded, slowly picking at her own food. The two of them grew quiet and just ate for a while. The celebrations continued around them, and it gave Pero a chance to take it all in.

In the center of the hall was a large hearth, with an even larger tree in the middle, lighting up the hall. It looked like the one he was using earlier as a bench, so they must have gotten it from the same forest. He can’t be too far from there, then. There were candles and flames everywhere, lighting up the hall brightly, but warmly.

He looked back at the girl and found her already staring at him. She startled, cheeks going pink again, and looked down at her food. He smirked a little, but hid it well. She was amusing.

“What is your name?” He asked.

“Sigrid,” she said softly.

“It sounds strong.”

“Yes. I am more drawn to medicine, so I suppose the name is ironic.”

Pero chuckled. “Hardly.”

Sigrid smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them again before Pero asked, “Who is Ingvar? He seems like a powerful man.”

“He is our Jarl. Our leader.”

“Is this like a king?” Pero furrowed his brows. He didn’t think this contract would be finished.

“Not exactly. But no less powerful.”

“I see,” Pero grunted. As if on cue, Ingvar stood from his seat at the head of the table, a large grin on his bearded face.

“Venner! Kvelden er ung, og festen er rik. Vær så snill, nyt, for mine gamle beindekk. Jeg ser dere alle i morgen tidlig.” Everyone raised their drinks and shouted… something, but Pero didn’t catch it. Sigrid leaned over and translated what Ingvar said for him. He nodded his thanks, but he was skeptical at best. Ingvar left through a door behind the throne that sat in the center of the hall. (Friends! The night is young, and the feast bountiful. Please, enjoy, for my old bones tire. I will see you all in the morning.)

“He cannot be that old, no?”

“He has been around much longer than I,” Sigrid shrugged. Pero laughed softly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You are a child, of course he has.”

Sigrid rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. “If seventeen winters makes me a child, then yes.”

Pero choked on his mead and hit his chest to keep from coughing too hard. “Yes, it does,” he wheezed, laughing quietly. Sigrid laughed, too, eating some bread and cheese. A small child ran up to Sigrid and asked her a question as he tugged on her dress. Sigrid looked back at Pero apologetically and he waved her off, eating some more meat.

This was hardly the setting he expected for himself when he took the contract, but he couldn’t deny it, it was a pleasant one. The food was good, and the people seemed friendly enough. He couldn’t help but be confused by the contract; who was dumb enough to put a hit out on a powerful leader like Ingvar?

Sigrid mentioned that some of them were warriors. That didn’t surprise him at all. Just by looking at the people around the table, men and women alike, he could’ve figured that out on his own.

He sighed to himself and chewed thoughtfully. Suddenly, he remembered the small stone that pierced his foot. He looked around at the people around him to be sure no one was watching before he felt around his pocket for the stone. When he didn’t feel anything, his body went taut and he froze. Shit. They probably found it when they grabbed his weapons. Where were his weapons?

Sigrid came up to his side with the small child from before holding her hand and looking at him from behind her. “Tovar?” She asked softly. He looked up at her, heavy brow still pulled down. She gave him a quick once-over before clearing her throat. “We have sleeping quarters for you, but Lord Ingvar wishes to speak with you first.”

Pero chuckled humorlessly around his food before putting it down on his plate. He grabbed the mead and took a drink, making a face at the taste. He wasn’t sure he’d get used to that anytime soon. “Of course he does,” he sighed. “You will translate for me?”

Sigrid nodded, braided blonde hair swinging with the movement, and looked like she was trying to steel herself. He admired her mettle.

Pero followed after her, keeping light pressure on his foot as they went through that door Ingvar went through before. It led down a short hallway and ended up in a large bedroom. Ingvar was sitting on the edge of the bed before standing tall and fixing Pero with a hard look. Pero grunted and rested a hand on his hip as he leaned on the uninjured foot, waiting to get this over with.

“Hva heter du?” Ingvar grunted. (What is your name?)

“He asked your name,” Sigrid said softly.

“Tovar,” Pero narrowed his eyes.

“Hvorfor er du her?” (Why are you here?)

Sigrid translated quietly.

“Your people brought me here. I was wondering the same thing,” Pero shrugged with an attitude. Ingvar gave him a look, clearly unimpressed. Pero rolled his eyes.

Ingvar looked at Sigrid and she blushed, nodding. “He didn’t mean–”

“Yes, I know what he meant,” Pero sighed. “I had a contract. I came to fulfill that contract.”

Sigrid spoke quietly and Ingvar seemed tired as he nodded.

“Var navnet mitt på denne kontrakten?” Ingvar sighed. Pero gave Sigrid a look as she quickly translated. (Did this contract have my name on it?)

“It did…” Pero raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. Ingvar nodded again, but Pero spoke up before he could say anything. “I decided not to complete the contract when I saw your celebration and… status. I may be a mercenary, but I am no fool. I do not go after lords or kings.”

Ingvar raised a brow and chuckled quietly before letting out a loud, hearty laugh. “Jeg vet ikke om du er smart eller dum,” Ingvar smiled, cheeks flushed with mirth. “Jeg takker deg, men tilgi meg for at jeg ikke stoler på deg helt, Tovar.” (I do not know if you are smart or stupid. I thank you. But you will forgive me for not completely trusting you, Tovar.)

Pero nodded and shrugged. “I understand.”

Sigrid looked between the two of them, looking much less nervous. She quickly spoke to Ingvar quietly, asking him a question. Ingvar nodded, a small smile on his lips.

“Nyt festen, Tovar. Vi diskuterer hva vi skal gjøre med deg om morgenen.” (Enjoy the festivities, Tovar. We will discuss what to do with you in the morning.)

“I wish to leave,” Pero grunted, looking between Sigrid and the Jarl. Sigrid looked a little crestfallen, but took one more look at Ingvar before he waved them off. She pushed Pero out of the Jarl’s quarters and back out into the celebration. “Sigrid?” Pero asked, confused.

She sighed before looking up at him. “The Jarl wishes to keep you here until Jól ends. To keep an eye on you, make sure you keep your word.” She started wringing her hands together and bit her lip.

“How much longer is Yool?”

Sigrid went quiet.

“Sigrid.”

“Nine more days,” she sighed, looking down.

Pero’s eyes went wide before he shut them and sighed heavily. He looked up at the ceiling and mumbled, “Joder yo,” under his breath. (Fuck me.) “Fine. Nine more days and I will leave.”

Over the course of the first four days, Pero was treated like he belonged with these people. He still didn’t quite know where he was. If someone were to give him a map, he couldn’t tell them, but he knew he was probably at the top somewhere. He was shocked at how much he liked it there despite the bitter cold.

He felt eyes on him the whole time and he didn’t like the feeling, but he understood it.

He taught Sigrid and some of the children some Spanish words and in turn he was taught some words in their tongue. Norse, he was told.

Pero also found himself helping the warriors Sigrid mentioned before, called Vikingr. Their job was to sail to faraway lands, raid strangers of their belongings, and bring it back home. He didn’t judge. He’d done worse, and frankly, it sounded like something right up his alley. He mostly helped with keeping their longships cleaned for their next raid when the snow thawed.

And he ate. He ate a lot. There was so much food at the feasts in the evenings. He tried to eat as much as he could in the hopes that it would carry him on his journey home. Wherever that was. Every feast started with a chant and “offerings” to their Gods. Some of these “offerings” came in the form of the mead Pero had - reluctantly - grown to like, and other times it came in the form of one of the farmer’s poor goats.

While he didn’t understand a lot of these people’s customs, he couldn’t deny it, they were a hearty people.

He’d also caught the eye of some of the women there, too, but he mostly ignored them. They were all too young for him, and he was too busy not getting killed. He still wasn’t given back his weapons. Or the strange stone. His wound would take a while to heal yet, but he could put pressure on it again.

On the fifth day, he was helping chop wood for people’s homes. During the feast, everyone in the village congregated in the Jarl’s home to be surrounded by the fire given by the Jól Log and enjoy the food, but they all needed wood for their own homes as well.

He stopped to take a break and wiped the sweat from his brow as a cool chill blew past him. Pero looked to his left, the feeling of someone looking at him catching his attention. When he saw it wasn’t one of Ingvar’s men, he startled a little. It was a woman. Older than the ones that mostly watched him, and far more… Interesting. To him, at least. He raised a brow as she turned and left, clutching her basket closer to her body. He’d seen her around during his time there and she seemed to keep mostly to herself. She was unattached from what he could tell, and wondered why. She was beautiful.

Pero snapped himself out of it and shook his head, going back to chopping the wood.

On the sixth day, he saw her again. He’d asked Sigrid what her name was as he saw her making her way through the market, and she said it was Helga.

Helga.

He liked the name.

Helga was a thread-weaver. She made blankets, scarves, anything to keep one warm and covered. Pero was given clothing that suited the temperature better, and he felt strange without his armor, but he was never given a scarf. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted one before now.

He asked Sigrid if she could ask Helga for him for a scarf, and the girl giggled, pushing him toward the woman. He sighed and walked over to her, looking at the weapons and tools surrounding them at the market. He tried not to make himself too obvious, and it mostly worked, he thought. He was genuinely impressed with the craftsmanship of the weapons.

Pero sidled up to Helga’s side, but before he could say anything, she stepped away from the stand and walked back to her house. He watched her go and frowned.

This was going to be tougher than he thought.

The seventh day was much like the day before, but instead of chopping wood, Pero was asked to help around the Jarl’s home. He noticed a lot of the young women that stared at him worked there, so he tried to keep mostly to himself. He’d never cleaned linens or blankets before, but found it to be quite relaxing. There was a rhythm to it, and he could do it without much help.

“Tovar,” a young voice asked from his left. He looked up, finishing the fold of the blanket he was holding. He grunted in acknowledgement. “Jeg og noen av kvinnene har lurt på noe,” the girl was blushing hard up to her ears and biting her lip. (Some of the women and I have been wondering something.)

Pero smirked a little and nodded for her to continue. He picked up on the gist of what she was saying, thanks to Sigrid’s teachings of Norse.

“Hvor fikk du arret fra?” she asked meekly. (Where did you get your scar?)

Pero’s face pinched slightly and he shook his head. “I do not wish to talk about it.” The girl’s eyes went wide and she started scrambling out apologies, her hand pressed to her chest. A sad smile crossed his features before he shook his head. “It is okay,” he said quietly.

The girl frowned, cheeks bright red, but nodded as she turned and left. Pero exhaled quietly and looked down at the linens he was folding.

“I do not believe she meant any harm,” a low, feminine voice said to his left. He hummed in acknowledgement before he froze, realizing that she spoke perfect English. He turned his head and nearly jumped out of his boots when he saw Helga standing there. She smiled and started helping him with the linens. “Tovar, yes?”

Pero huffed a laugh and nodded.

“I have noticed you watching me.” She had a soft smile on her lips, brown hair pulled away from her face in a braid. She turned to look at him, blue eyes full of heat as she looked over his face and chest.

Pero blinked, eyes slightly wider. He went to speak, but all that came out was a croak, making him cough. “Apologies,” he wheezed, the side of his fist pressed to his chest. “I am sorry for staring,” he mumbled, turning back to his own linens as his cheeks flushed. “I am still getting used to the customs here. There are two days left of your celebration, and I will be gone.”

Helga hummed noncommittally and pushed her small stack of folded linens toward him to add to his pile. “That would be a shame.”

Pero furrowed his brows and added her stack to his. He looked at her incredulously, but her head was faced down as she continued folding. He didn’t say anything and continued as well, his thoughts running a mile a minute.

“I thought only Sigrid and a few of the children spoke English,” he said after a few moments of silence.

“They are not the only ones.”

Pero snorted and shook his head. “Clearly not,” he hummed to himself. He cleared his throat and glanced at her before continuing. “When I arrived at this place, I was in the forest. I am not sure how far it is from here, but I saw an old man,” he started, keeping his eyes downward. “I was hoping I would see him here in the village, but I have not.”

Helga hummed a noise for him to continue.

“He wore a cloak, the hood covering his head. He sat in front of my campfire, but I only saw one of his eyes,” Pero’s brows furrowed further, confusion filling his head. “I am not sure if he was missing one or if it was covered.”

Helga stopped folding and looked at him, a small smirk on her lips. “Did he have a long beard?”

Pero looked up and blinked. “Y-yes. You have seen this man?”

“Once or twice,” she said. “He is a wanderer. He does not stay in one place for very long.”

“Who is he?”

Helga bit her lip and shrugged. “He has many names. We cannot be certain which he likes best.”

Pero sighed in frustration. “Why was he at my camp?”

Helga smirked again and finished folding her linens. “Perhaps he was looking out for you,” she shrugged again, leaning over to pick up her basket of fabrics. “Enjoy the feast tonight.” She grinned and left the Jarl’s home, leaving Pero quiet and watching her retreating form.

Pero exhaled and looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. When he looked down, there was a scarf folded on top of her pile of linens.

“Du får tingene dine i morgen, etter den siste festen,” Ingvar grumbled. (You will receive your belongings after tomorrow’s final feast.)

“Must I stay the whole time? I wish to return home,” Pero growled, crossing his arms over his chest. Not that he had a home to return to.

Ingvar rolled his eyes and waved him off. Sigrid grabbed his elbow and pulled him out of the Jarl’s bedroom. Pero grumbled obscenities in Spanish to himself until he was sat at a table in the hall. It was the eighth night, and he was getting tired of being watched constantly. He had no intention of hurting anyone here. He might if they didn’t give him his things, though. The people around him continued to have the same energy this night that they always seemed to. He supposed that came from actually understanding what you were celebrating, and not having to worry about death or arrest at every corner.

“You leave tomorrow evening, yes?”

Pero startled and looked to his right. Helga sat next to him, a plate of food in front of her. She smiled warmly at him and he softened. “How do you do that?” He huffed a laugh and shook his head before grabbing a piece of meat and eating it.

“You do not pay attention,” she said simply.

He squinted his eyes at her and grumbled around his food that he did too pay attention, thank you very much. She laughed softly and it made him bite his tongue. She had been nothing but kind to him while he was there and she didn’t deserve the frustration he felt to be forced on her.

“Where do you live?” Helga asked softly. “Where will you go?”

Pero bit his lip as he tore a piece of bread in two. “Nowhere. I am a mercenary. I go where the work is,” he shrugged, shoving the bread in his mouth.

“You enjoy this?”

Pero raised a brow as he chewed.

“You like not having anywhere to call home? You do not have to leave,” she hummed around her own food, taking a drink of some mead.

“What do you mean? Of course I do,” he scoffed. “Ingvar wants me dead. His men are constantly watching me.”

Helga rolled her eyes. “You really do not pay attention,” she sighed, setting down her cup and turning to face him. “You have not heard how people talk about you?”

“I am still learning the language,” he frowned, chewing messily and lips greasy.

“Why are you learning the language if you want to leave?”

Pero blinked and looked down at his plate. He frowned, thinking about it. Why was he learning the language?

“Because you like it here, Tovar,” she said softly. “We like you.” It went unsaid, but he got the feeling that she liked him, too.

“Pero.”

“What?”

“My name is Pero.”

Helga smiled, pink dusting her cheeks. “I do not think you will have many people protesting if you stay. The children love you. And I think you would make an excellent Viking.”

Pero raised a brow and exhaled, thinking about it. Having a place to call his own would be nice. And he was familiar with the kind of work the warriors did, from what he’d heard.

“You do not have long to think about it, Pero,” Helga hummed. She picked up her plate and stood before leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “I would like it if you stayed,” she whispered into his ear. He looked up at her with soft eyes and she smiled down at him with her hand on his shoulder before turning and leaving.

Pero shut his eyes and exhaled once again, then looked in the direction of the Jarl’s personal quarters.

Would it be such a terrible thing to stay?

On the ninth day, Pero woke with a startle. He thought he’d heard a whisper next to his ear again. He’d been mostly dreamless while he was in the village. Last night, after his talk with Helga, he dreamt about the old man and the wolf in the woods. He didn’t understand any of it, and he barely remembered what the dream actually entailed, but he remembered the feeling. He felt… odd. Not bad or wrong. Just… different. Comforting.

As he got dressed in the clothes that were given to him, he looked over at the scarf Helga gave him. It was a brown color and the material was rough, but also thick and soft. It kept his ears warm. He wrapped it around his neck before slipping his feet into his boots, making sure to be careful of his injured one. He made his way over to the Jarl’s quarters and knocked on the door.

“Er du sikker?” (Are you sure?)

Pero nodded, arms crossed over his chest. “Yes.”

Ingvar sighed and crossed his arms, too. “Du forvirrer meg, Tovar. Men hvis dette virkelig er det du vil, tror jeg ikke at jeg ser noe problem med det.” He shrugged and looked at Sigrid’s smiling face. “Gå og hent tingene hans.” (You confuse me, Tovar. But if this is truly what you want, I don’t suppose I see a problem with it. Go get his things.)

Sigrid nodded happily and ran from the room. Pero and Ingvar awkwardly avoided eye contact. Even if neither of them were enemies, the circumstances of their acquaintanceship were less than ideal. When Sigrid returned, she was carrying Pero’s weapons in both arms and looked to be struggling to do so.

Pero furrowed his brows and gently took the weapons from her. She sighed in relief, but smiled shyly up at him. “I am happy you decided to stay,” she giggled.

Pero smiled down at her, then gave a grateful nod to Ingvar before leaving the room. Sigrid walked next to him while he attached his sword and hunting knife to his belt. He carried the armor under his left arm. “Me too,” he grunted awkwardly. “I am unsure how I will fit in, but…” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck.

“I think you will be fine,” she nodded, sure of herself. One of the small children, a younger brother of hers he found out, came up to her and tugged on her dress. He mumbled something Pero didn’t quite catch. Sigrid tapped on his shoulder to get Pero’s attention, making him look down at the two of them, dark eyes intimidating, but soft. “She lives at the end of the village,” Sigrid winked, then took off with her younger brother.

Pero’s cheeks flushed, but he chuckled to himself. He made his way through the village, waving or nodding to people as he saw them. It was strange, being accepted as he was. He wasn’t the only gruff and hardened warrior here, and no one seemed scared of him for his scars or his accent. The feeling was so foreign to him.

As he walked up a small hill toward the end of the village, he heard a quiet thud against the grass. He looked down and saw the strange stone from the forest laying there. Right, he’d completely forgotten. It must’ve fallen from his belongings. He picked it up and looked at it, thumbs running over the strange markings. It was almost shaped like a fork, but with three prongs. Maybe Helga would know what it meant.

When he made his way in front of the door of the last house in the village, he hesitated before knocking. The sun was slowly setting and it was getting a tad colder, so he eventually knocked.

“Et øyeblikk!” (One moment!)

Pero smiled to himself as he heard her voice behind the door. Once the door opened, he raised his head and smiled sheepishly, the shape on his face still foreign to him.

Helga’s face softened as she saw him and rested a hand on her hip. “Well, come on in, then,” she grinned, opening the door wider for him. He nodded gratefully and stepped inside her home, the smells of burnt leaves and the feeling of a warm fire engulfing his body.

“I will find my own home, you need not keep me here if–”

“Hush,” she chuckled softly, taking his armor from his arms and putting it in her bedroom for cleaning later. “You are more than welcome to stay here,” she looked up at him with a bit of shyness. The first time she’d ever looked at him like that. “If you want to, that is.”

Pero took two steps closer to her until his face was mere inches from her own. “I want nothing more,” he said softly, rubbing the knuckle of his index finger against her cheek. She shut her eyes and exhaled softly, nodding.

“I was just getting ready to go to the feast,” Helga smiled, looking up at him. “Would you like to join me?”

Pero’s lips quirked up into a soft smile of his own before he remembered the stone he was holding. “Yes, but first,” his brows furrowed in thought. “It is silly, but… I found this strange stone while I was in the forest.”

Helga hummed and tilted her head to the side, letting him continue.

“It has a marking I have never seen before. Do you know what it means?” He asked, showing her the stone lying in the palm of his hand. She picked it up and rubbed her thumb over the marking like he had before.

“Where did you find this?” Helga asked, face pinched in confusion.

“In the forest. There was a small clearing with a bloodstained stone, and–”

“The ritual site,” she smiled up at him, clutching the stone in her hand. “We sacrificed one of the cows on the first day of Jól there.”

Pero blinked down at her, hands holding her arms and rubbing softly. “I see…”

Helga laughed softly. “You’ll get used to it,” she winked. “This is one of the runes. It seems we forgot one.”

“What does it mean?” He hummed, cupping her face in his large hand. He rubbed his thumb against her cheek.

“Protection,” she said softly. She looked at his lips, then looked back up at his eyes. He did the same and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. They stayed there for a few moments before he released her and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Surely the feast can wait a few moments,” he growled into her neck, kissing against the soft skin there. Helga bit her lip and smiled, fingers tangling into the thick curls at the back of his head.

“It can,” she gasped, startled by the small nip he left against her shoulder. Pero slowly walked them toward her bedroom and laid her on top of the bed. The curtains in front of the window were drawn. Something caught his eye in the window and he looked out, hovering over Helga’s body.

In the distance, on top of a hill, was a large black wolf. It seemed to make eye contact with him before it turned and left.

A chill ran down Pero’s spine.

a/n: if you're at all curious, here's a decent idea of what i imagined the stone to look like 🥰

#pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fic #pero tovar x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #12 days of pedro #12dop #oaksfics

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pedrito-friskito · 8 months

Note

Hiiiiii

for your Sundae thing, I’d like to do the roll for a fic option.

Americas Ass Dice bc lol, Pedro character, and if you could combine a smut and fluff prompt that would be awesome, but if not just smut is fine.

this is such a cool idea ❤️

hi lovely!!!! ok so….this one got away from me. I rolled a smut and a fluff and we got “is this real? are…are you real?” for fluff and “take off your clothes before I rip them off your body” for smut. and I rolled my favourite medieval grump, Pero Tovar! thanks for requesting, sorry I took so long, but I hope you enjoy! 💕

take my hand - pero tovar x fem!reader

word count: 4.3k (it got away from me I’m not lying LOL)

warnings: canon-typical violence, war, fighting, pero is a bit of a simp, explicit sex, unprotected p-in-v (wrap ur shit even in the old days okay)

(gif by @pedrohub)

Pero finds himself in the middle of yet another war.

He follows William, because he owes his friend a debt — a life debt. If William had not bartered for him, Pero would still be rotting away in that cell, or perhaps the soldiers would have lit black powder beneath his feet just to see what would happen. He tries not to think about it too hard.

Regardless, he has followed William, and his friend has somehow lead them to the edge of another battle, one far too large and vast for them to steer around. Everywhere he looks, blood spatters and arrows fly. The glint of blades make his hands hunger for his own swords, the sound of metal clashing ringing in his ears as they inch nearer.

“There is no going around this, Pero,” William says, squinting into the fray. “I wonder what sparked such bloodshed.”

An arrow whizzes past their heads at that point, embedding itself in a tree not three feet from Pero’s horse. In response, the steed rears back, tossing Pero from his saddle before disappearing in the direction they’d come. “Stupid fucking creature,” Pero grits, wincing as he gets to his feet. William slides from his own saddle with slightly more grace, and claps Pero on the shoulder.

“All we can do is move through the fray, my friend,” William says, pulling the bow from his shoulder and nocking an arrow.

Before Pero can protest, William disappears into the battle and Pero’s view is quickly obstructed by the clashing soldiers. With a growl, he unsheathes the two blades at his back — grateful as anything that William had thought to return them to him — and darts forward, swords at the ready.

As he moves through the fighting, finding William a little ways into the crowds, an interesting memory tugs at his mind, nearly tearing his focus. He lifts his curved blade to block a sword aiming for William’s back — though they bare no colours, he knows the pair of them appear enemies to either side — and the memory sparks to life.

He was young, too young, when he left the village he had grown up in. Barely out of boyhood, he was conscripted as a soldier, forced to fight in a war he had no interest in fighting. His mother had wailed when they carted him away, his little sister hiding her tears in their mother’s skirts. Their father had died not a year prior, and his entire being had instantly filled with worry at leaving them alone.

Pero reached his hand out, calling to his family, when you suddenly stepped into his vision. You grabbed his hand, running to keep up with the soldiers carrying him off, and squeezed his fingers. “I’ll watch over them, Pero,” you promised, your eyes bright with tears. “Just come home to us.”

He’d known you since he was small. The house you lived in bordered his own, a small fence separating the scraps of land. You’d grown up together, in a sense, spending your childhoods running through the grass behind your houses, playing pretend in the trees and swimming in the river that snaked through the village itself.

He was barely a man, and you were barely a woman, but you had the ferocity of a girl beyond her years. Pero could see it, even then, and especially when you swore to take care of his family.

It made conscription a touch easier, knowing someone he trusted was looking out for his mother and sister. Still, he longed for home, and on especially lonely nights, he longed for you.

The night before the soldiers had come to take him away, you’d rapped on the back door of Pero’s house. His mother and sister were asleep, and worry had leapt into his throat when he first opened the door to see you standing there, your eyes shining with starlight. “Is something wr—” he started, but you shushed him and grabbed his hand, hauling him out the door.

“Come with me!” you whispered excitedly, and Pero let you drag him down through the grass, right to the edge of the river. He tried his best to ignore the spark of warmth between your twined hands, the sounds of the night filling his ears as you toed off your shoes, gesturing for him to do the same as you stepped into the water.

“What are you up to?” he questioned, but followed you, the water lapping at his ankles.

Your hands were still linked together, and you pointed up to the sky. “Look, Pero.”

He’d never seen so many stars. The open air in the fields generally offered some impressive night skies, but this was something else. Too many to count, little dots of light everywhere his eyes moved. And then, as he stared up, something shot across the sky, as though a star was trying to move from one spot to the next. He hasped and you clutched his hand with both of yours.

“Isn’t it amazing?”

Pero’s gaze lowered, catching on your face, upturned like his. Your expression of pure awe was nothing short of beautiful, and his heart climbed up into his throat.

He’d always known you, but for the first time, he felt like he was seeing you.

“It is,” he agreed, and his free hand slowly lifted, palm finding the curve of your jaw, fingers fanning across your skin. “You are.”

“Pero—” you started, your face tilting back down to his. He moved closer, testing, making sure you wanted this just as much as he did. When he paused, you pounced, and when his lips met yours, Pero swore he saw the starry skies above bursting with light behind his eyelids.

You stood there in the riverbank, water around your ankles and your arms finding their way around each other, kissing for what felt like hours. When the water grew too cold and the sky above started to lighten with the coming day, you parted and moved back onto the grass. Pero found a blanket for you to lay on and kept himself close to you, kissing you in different ways, finding which way you liked best.

“I heard rumours,” you said after you’d both broken apart, desperate to catch your breath, “that the King’s men are marching through the villages conscripting any men old enough to fight.” There was fear in your eyes, burning hotter than the starlight. “That means you, Pero.”

The realization had sent a chill down his spine and he’d nearly toppled back.

“Promise me something,” you continued, finding his hand and slotting your fingers through his. “Please?”

He nodded and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Anything, bonita.”

“Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise.”

The quiet thwip of an arrow zipping past his ear yanks Pero back to the present, deposits him back into the fray. His grip nearly falters as another blade connects with his own, but the memory of your voice, suddenly so clear, has him tightening his hold, swinging the blades down and around, the point of his own sliding through the gut of his attacker. The man falls with a groan and Pero can feel his heart hammering in his chest, rioting like a caged bird.

It’s been an age since he thought of you, thought of his promise.

It was not for want of trying. He fought the King’s battles for years, lost more friends than he cares to count. Your voice in his head kept him going most days, led him through each practice with his swords, every day growing more and more confident in his blades until they felt more like an extension of him than a weapon. He had to keep himself alive, keep himself whole, so he could one day return to your village, to his family. To you.

But the wars had other plans and soon enough, he was a man grown. There were other women, and he knew you would have had other men. You were beautiful as a young girl, and Pero would be the first to admit he’s often wondered how your beauty flourished over the years.

With every clang of his sword, he wishes you well, wishes you a happy life, a man that loves you, takes care of you. Maybe a house in that village you both grew up in, your own children running up and down the lakeshore where he’d first kissed you. He’s loath to admit he wishes he was the one to give you that life, but he wishes it for you all the same.

Men fall on both sides of him, and Pero continues through the fray. He’s lost William for certain now, and just focuses on moving forward, dodging blows on either side, spilling blood of his attackers with nearly every step.

Arrows fly from both sides and he swears he feels the sharp tip in his shoulder before he sees it. He growls, his left side exploding with pain and launches his curved blade in the direction the arrow came. It finds it’s mark, felling the archer that shot, and Pero barrels forward, ignoring the pain, lunging for the archer and pushing the blade deeper, yelling as he goes.

“Pero Tovar!”

Pero whirls, the voice familiar and unfamiliar all an once, his memory of you tinged with the battle raging around you. Surely he’s not still caught in his own head.

But it is you. Real as the arrow lodged in his shoulder, as the blades in his hands, the hot blood on his face. You stand before him, equally covered in the gore of war. A crossbow dangles from one hand, a short sword from the other, a quiver of bolts for the former strapped to your leg. Blood spatters across your face, a bleeding gash along your collar, the hem of your cloak ripped and caked with blood.

He barely notices the soldiers that rush past as he closes the distance between you two. Your arms open for him, your face pinched with a mixture of concern and relief as he stumbles into you. You hold him to you, tilting away from his injured shoulder, and Pero can feel your eyes everywhere, inspecting him, your hands brushing his back.

Somewhere, he finds his voice, and when he does, he’s that young boy on a riverbank again, not the scarred, war-torn man he’s turned into. “Is this real? Are…are you real?”

Above the din of battle, you laugh, and the sound is like bells. “Yes, Pero, I’m real.”

He tilts his head forward just a moment, until his forehead touches yours, until he can be sure. When he feels your warm skin against his, relief floods him, blocks out any pain he feels. “I thought you—”

You hush him, squeezing his good shoulder. “Time for that later,” you say, pulling back, your eyes darting around the battlefield. He sees a soldier barrelling towards the pair of you, but before he has a chance to raise a sword, you’ve lifted your crossbow and taken aim. The bolt makes a home between the soldier’s eyes, and Pero nearly topples over. “We need to get out of here.”

You stow your short sword, curling your fingers around his wrist. His mind flashes to William, his friend somewhere buried in the fray, and he must speak his concern aloud, because your head turns back to him, your eyes peering over his shoulder. You gesture with the crossbow. “Is that your friend?”

Pero turns, ignoring the pull of the arrow still embedded in his shoulder. Sure enough, there’s William, atop a new horse, shooting arrows left and right, dropping soldiers with every shot. He spots Pero, his eyes flickering to you beside him, and turns the horse in your direction. “Tovar, my friend,” he calls, bow hanging from his grip. “Who is—”

“Ride west,” you order, and the power in your command makes the hair on the back of Pero’s neck stand up. “Clear a path. My horse is beyond the edge of the forest, it’s a few hours ride to a safe place.”

Both men stare at you blankly, Pero hoping his gaze is full of admiration while William just looks confused. With a huff, you drop Pero’s hand, stalking over and turning William’s horse west. He opens his mouth to protest, but you smack the horse’s rear before he can get a word out, and off he goes.

“Come,” you say to Pero, offering your hand. “We need to go.”

He nods, takes your hand, and you start moving. William clears the path, as ordered, and it’s easier to get through than Pero is expecting. You lift your crossbow as you go, dropping more than a handful of men, and Pero manages to raise his sword more than once, blocking arrows from your body. Soon enough, you’ve reached the edge of the fighting, and you drag Pero into the trees. He follows you blindly, the ache in his shoulder more noticeable now, but he keeps going.

Eventually, you reach your horse, as promised. A chestnut mare that shakes her head at your approach, whinnying happily when you stroke her nose. You climb into the saddle with ease, offering your hand to Pero, and he takes it again, groaning as he clambers up behind you. You click your tongue at the horse, reins in hand as Pero slides his arms around your middle, mindful of the arrow shaft still sticking out of his shoulder.

It’s not an easy ride. Every trot jostles him, making the pain spark. Somewhere in the first hour, he reaches up and snaps the shaft of the arrow off, tossing it away. It makes it easier for him to lean closer to you, to fit his face in the curve of your neck. You smell oddly good, like blood and battle mixed with something so achingly familiar his chest goes tight with it. He tightens his arms around you, fingers laced together over your belly, and as he settles a little deeper into your back, your hand covers his, brushing over his knuckles in a soothing motion.

“Is that the place?” William calls after the second hour. Sure enough, a small cottage lies at the forest’s edge, obscured enough that you wouldn’t notice it unless you were looking for it. You nod, nudging the horse a little faster. She must recognize the place, because she leads you around the side of the cottage, where a small pasture is fenced off, and steps right through the open gate. You slide from the saddle, reaching up to offer Pero your hand, and he takes it.

Back on solid ground, safe from the battle, he can’t help himself. Your lips part, words on your tongue, but he stops them, takes your bloody face between his hands and kisses you. The world around melts away, and he’s only vaguely aware of the pain in his body, William’s horse brushing past, the win through the trees. For a moment, there’s only you.

It’s a deeper kiss than he’s ever given you. Childhood has melted from you both, kept alive only by the memories, from the affection he’s held for you all these years. Something in him stalls then, has him pulling back, a flicker in his chest when he sees the way you chase his lips, your eyes hooded.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” you murmur, and the hesitation that made him stop, the thought that your own affection had waned over time while his had stayed alive, vanishes, and he pulls you in again. The taste of you is different on his tongue, more addicting, and it brings his body to life in ways he’s only learned since he left you. His mind races, forming images of all the ways he wants to please you, more than the teasing kisses he gave you on the riverbank that night, both of you too young and innocent to know what else to ask for.

William clears his throat loudly, and you break apart, though Pero doesn’t let you go far. He’s still close enough to feel the heat on your cheeks, and he noses at your hair as you address his friend. “We should get inside,” you say, your palm flattening on Pero’s chest. “Let me tend to your wounds and get us something to eat.”

A few hours later, and all is quiet in the small cottage. Your stomachs are full, thanks to you — a delicious rabbit stew Pero told you multiple times was the best meal he’d had since he left home — and your wounds have been tended to. Your collar needed a stitch or two, and Pero had to sit back and watch William’s careful efforts; his injured shoulder made it impossible for him to trust himself not to hurt you further. The blood has all been washed away, clothes washed and hung to dry, spares given to both men for the meantime.

You show William to one of the bedrooms, make sure he has everything he needs for a sound night of rest before returning to Pero. Silently, you offer him your hand, and he takes it. His heart riots in his chest as you bring him to the other bedroom. The air is heavy with promise, warmed by the fireplace in one corner, and your grip loosens once you’re inside. Pero steps toward the bed, the mountain of pillows and blankets all too inviting, but turns to see you hovering in the doorway.

“If there’s anything else you need,” you stammer out, your eyes glued to the ground. Pero’s brow lifts and he closes the distance between you quickly, pulling you through the doorway completely and shutting the door behind you.

“There is,” he tells you, knocking a knuckle beneath your chin, lifting your eyes to him. They’re just as full of stars as he remembers, just as full of wonder and promise. “You, bonita. I need you. But only…only if you’ll have me.”

Your breath rushes out of you, warm across Pero’s mouth. “If I’ll—” You cut yourself off, falling into his arms. He catches you and holds you close, the flat of his palm roaming your back, sliding down the curve of your spine, just hovering over the dip of your lower back, the swell of your ass.

“Move that hand lower, Pero Tovar,” you murmur, a slick smile on your face, “or I’ll move it for you.”

He does as he’s told, grabbing a handful of your ass through the thin linen trousers you’d donned after getting cleaned up. For a second, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him, that the heat the greets his fingers when he adjusts his grip, slides his hand past the waist of your trousers, gripping your skin for real, that it’s a figment of his tired imagination. But then a moan slips out of you when he grips you again, your knees parting to let his thigh slip between them. Pero drinks down the noise, kisses you like he had when you’d first arrived, not so silently begs for more.

Your hands clench in his shirt, a soft cotton tunic you’d given him to wear. He can feel the bite of your nails through it, and he’s desperate to feel your skin against his. You tug at the material and Pero grins. “Tell me what you need, bonita.”

“Take off your clothes,” you bite out, reaching up with on hand and gripping his chin, nipping at his bottom lip, “before I rip them off your body.”

He moves as quickly as he can, the ache in his shoulder unnoticeable as he tears the tunic off, reaches for his trousers. You’re naked before he is, and his trousers are barely off his hips when he sees you, all of you. He can’t stop himself, grabbing you, pulling your body flush to his and bringing you back to the bed. He lays you out, lets his mouth rove lower than you lips, tasting the flesh of your chest, ducking your nipple between his teeth. He’s attentive, watching the way your body reaches to each touch he offers.

Pero sets himself beside you on the bed, his mouth moving back up to your own while his hand wanders. Your knees snap together when his hand travels past your hips, cupping the heat between your legs, trapping him there. He smiles into your kiss. “So wet, bonita,” he murmurs, letting one finger tease your dripping cunt, the heel of his hand grinding into your clit, “so sensitive.”

You whimper into his kiss, the sound like honey to his ears, and Pero buries his face in your neck, nipping at your pulse. “Wait, Pero,” you say softly, and he freezes, pulling back, searching your face.

“What is it?” he asks, using his other hand to brush the hair from your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” you assure him, shaking your head, chewing your lip. “It’s just…”

His brow lifts. “Are you…” He can barely get the question out. “Are you a virgin?”

“No,” you reply, lifting your hand and tracing a finger over his scar. “That’s just it, Pero. I tried…I tried to wait for you. I wanted you to be the first, but then…” You shake your head again. “They told us you were dead and I…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he repeats, like the word is foreign to him. “Bonita, I never expected you to wait. I never expected to see you again, truth be told. The god of luck must be on my side, throwing you back in front of me like this.” He drops his head, presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, careful of the injury at your collar. “I wanted you to be the first, too, but I…” He clears his throat. “I can think of something much better.”

“What’s that?”

“Perhaps I can be your last, and you mine.”

Your breath hitches as you pull him back down to you, the next kiss you offer even deeper than before. Pero drinks you down, memorizes the tastes of you. His hand works between your legs, two fingers pressing inside you, finding that deep spot that makes your body jolt in his arms. He murmurs to you softly in Spanish, words he knows you understand, and coaxes you up to that peak, thumbing at your clit as you topple over, gripping his wrist tight enough he can feel his bones shift.

“Pero,” you groan out, your chest heaving as you come back down, your lashes fluttering as you breathe. “More.”

“More, bonita?” he prompts, pulling his hand away, licking his knuckles clean. He’s not shy about it, sucking the taste of you from his skin, dropping his face to your chest when he’s done, scraping his teeth along the curves of your breasts. “Tell me, how much more do you need?”

“Need you inside, Pero,” you reply, your body writhing beneath his, back arching into his mouth. “Need to feel all of you.” Your hand snakes down between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his cock. It makes his breath stutter in his chest, but he doesn’t let up his ministrations, nipping at your sternum. “I can’t tell you how many nights I laid awake, with my hand between my legs, thinking of where you were, the man you’d turned into, how well you’d fuck me if you were there with me.” Your other hand grips his chin again, lifting his head from your chest, your eyes locked with his. “Don’t keep me waiting any longer.”

“Sí, bonita,” he grits out, and maneuvers you both the best he can. He slides to the edge of the bed, pulling you into his lap. You’ve got him hard as a rock between your hot kisses and your heady touches and your dirty words, and his cock bobs against his stomach, sliding through the dip where your thigh meets your hip as you settle into his lap. “You like it like this?”

“I’m yours, Pero,” you say, your voice soft. “You can have me however you like.”

The words make something in his chest snap. Pero slings his arm around your waist and lifts you just enough to notch his cock at your entrance, groaning at the heat that instantly floods him. Unable to hold back any longer, he pulls you down hard, filling you to the hilt in one fell swoop, and the loud gasp you let loose is music to his ears.

“Mine, bonita,” he growls, gripping your hips in both hands, bouncing you on his cock. “All mine.”

Your words are gone, replaced with open-mouthed nods, your brows pinched together. You twine your arms around his neck, locking your fingers in his hair. Pero plants his feet on the ground, uses the floor as leverage to piston his hips up into yours, driving his cock deep into you, finding that same spot his fingers had grazed. It makes your body seize, your chest plastered to his, and Pero can feel the quick thump of your heart as you start to climb that peak once more.

He’s not far behind you, and when you clench around him, pleasure flooding your body a second time, he can’t hold back. Pero drops his mouth against your shoulder, bites down hard, and your responding moan has him spilling deep inside you, painting your insides with his spend. The feeling is almost too much, overwhelming in all the right ways.

“Gods above,” you murmur, your fingers stroking through his hair, your lips at his temple, “that was…”

Pero lifts his head and finds you mouth, giving you a soft kiss that tastes of salt and a tinge of copper. “Everything, bonita.” Another kiss. “That was everything.”

#my fics #take my hand #sleepover sundae #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fic #pero tovar smut #pero tovar fluff

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brewsterispunkk · 4 months

Text

marriage of convenience: part 5

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader

WC: 10.1k (longest part yet!)

summary: reader’s relationship w/tovar develops. she and lisbeth dare an adventure.

a/n: thank you to everyone who has stuck with this. it has been months (!!) since I updated this story so if you’re still here—thank you. i hope u enjoy this extra long update :)

series masterlist

PART FIVE

“My love,” your mother called as you made your way to the door, rushing. Tovar was already annoyed at how late you were running, waiting outside, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting for long. He was already unpleasant enough.

“Yes?” You threw over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

“Will you see Lisbeth today?”

“I expect so.”

“Give these to her for me,” she handed you a bundle wrapped in linen–herbs, of course. Your mother was practically an apothecary at this point. “They’re for her mother’s headaches. And when you stop by Olga’s today, see if she has any of the lemon-honey concoction she uses during the cold months.”

You puzzled. It was late May–your family would not be in need of such a thing until mid-autumn at the latest.

“Why? Will she even have some? It is early summer.”

“I expect she will,” Your mother walks in from the kitchen. “She always has some reserves for the occasional late spring cold. It is for your father. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Your stomach turns to stone, but you force yourself to nod as you take your basket and leave through the rickety front door.

Of course. Of course it was for your father. You silently said a prayer to whatever god was listening for his recovery, like you always did whenever he took a turn for the worse.

He had always had issues with his health, ever since he came back from the war when you were twelve.

It began with a leg injury that never really recovered–he’d taken an arrow to the shoulder and fallen off his horse, breaking his leg in the process. If your mother had been there, he would have healed almost completely and even been able to walk again, but the encampment he had been in had no one with healing knowledge. The wound had festered, according to your mother, and your father was lucky to be alive. He hadn’t walked fully since.

The injury had caused your father to have to sell his blacksmith’s shop in town–the one Tovar apprenticed at now.

His health had been slowly declining ever since. Last winter, he suffered a chill and a bout of a coughing illness that took his ability to breath unencumbered, the winter before that, he’d suffered fainting spells and lost feeling in his injured leg. Until recently, he’d been able to hobble down the stairs with the help of your mother, but in the past weeks, he has been too weak to even make it downstairs for supper. You feared the worst, as you always did.

Graciela and James, your two siblings with enough sense to know something was wrong, were more hopeful than you.

“He will recover soon. He always does.”

Grace had told you the night before, over mending by the fire. Your mother was so weary these days that the two of you had to do much of the household chores. “Womens’ work,’ Petyr called it. You dreaded it and found it odious, but it was your duty. You would not let it fall to your mother, who had enough on her plate keeping the family afloat.

You wished you could believe your sister, but you were always the more cynical one.

You’d spent the better part of your life waiting for the next hammer to fall; waiting for the day when your father didn’t recover and the family was left in the care of the next male relative in line. Petyr. The very thought made your blood turn cold.

If Petyr treated you the way he did now, when your father was alive and coherent, you had no desire to discover what horrors would await you when your father departed from this world.

There had been a time when you dreamed of marriage; yearned for it, even. There had been years when you and Lisbeth, on May Day, had gathered ten different kinds of wildflowers and put them under your pillow to dream of your true love, a practice your mother swore led her parents to find each other.

But as you grew older, more well-versed in the ways of the world, it dawned on you that real life was rarely like the tales that bards sang of. At least, for people like you. You also knew that if you ever dreamed of escaping your village, of seeing all the world had to offer, marriage would end all aspirations of that.

You squared your shoulders as you stepped out into the fresh morning air in front of your family’s small home, urging all thoughts of your father’s illness to the back of your head.

“Took you long enough,” Tovar grunted from where he leaned on the small wooden fence meant to keep the family goat in. “We will be late. The blacksmith will not like it.”

You rolled your eyes, opening the gate and walking past him onto the small road that led through the forest and into town.

“Then remind him who it is you live with. He will have no qualms.”

It was one of the things you hated most about him; his tendency to take everything so seriously.

“Just because your father trained him does not mean he will extend me grace,” Tovar grumbled from behind you. You could hear the buckles bump against the metal of his armor.

That was something that puzzled you; you didn’t know why he still wore it—he wasn’t at war, and nothing so exciting as a sword fight ever happened in your village.

“And why not?” You asked, entering the treeline. The trees cast shadows on the dirt road in the early morning light. “He would do so with William or any one of my brothers if they expressed interest in the family trade.”

Tovar huffed in annoyance from behind you and your lips curled into a smirk. It had become one of your pastimes in the weeks that he’d been escorting you to and from the market. You liked to see how annoyed he could get.

“I am not like your brothers,” he said. “Or William for that matter.”

You chuckled—that much was obvious. Your brothers and your cousin were much more open, more kind than Tovar, who barely expressed any emotion besides annoyance and occasional anger.

“That I know,” you threw back at him. “No one would ever accuse you of being as sunny as them.”

“That is not what I meant.”

You puzzled and turned behind you, realizing what he was implying.

“You think it is because you are foreign?” You asked in disbelief. “From another kingdom?”

Tovar kept walking, face impassive, not betraying any emotion but annoyance.

“It is the same in this part of the world as it is in others,” he says like it’s nothing. “They need but look at me for a moment to tell that I am unlike them.”

You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

“This village is used to foreigners,” you said matter-of-factly. “We see strange people from strange places every day. People trade everything from silk from the far east to salt from the continent to the south. You aren’t so special.”

Tovar just leveled you with a dry look, and you took it as a sign to keep talking.

“Your scowl and that armor don’t help,” you added with a smirk, swinging your basket back and forth beside you as you walked.

“What is wrong with my armor?” Tovar sounded puzzled. You stifled a laugh.

“Really?” You turned your head to stare at him, but found his brows furrowed in genuine confusion. You sighed. “You walk into the village everyday in full armor. Like you expect someone to put a dagger in your side at any moment. You do not smile, do not try to speak with anyone unless it is for trade. You should not be surprised people are wary of you.”

“I wear my armor everywhere except when I sleep. It is—”

“A habit, I’m sure,” you finished for him. “But still, this is a peaceful village. The most violence we see is from a brawl at the tavern or a rowdy group of traders on leave. Wearing full battle armor sends the message that you don’t trust us. And that makes people nervous.”

It was true—there hadn’t been even a skirmish on your lands in years. Not since the war, when the old Lord died and power passed to his son. Since then, your land had known peace.

Tovar huffed what you almost thought was a laugh, but when you looked back at him, his mouth was downturned and his eyes were narrow.

“I don’t trust you.”

At that, you laughed, a deep thing from deep in your stomach. If someone told you Tovar slept with a knife beneath his head, you’d believe them. You weren’t even sure he trusted William.

“That I believe,” you shook your head and continued down the dirt road to town, leaving a grumbling Tovar trudging behind you.

—-

In the recent weeks, you and Tovar had begun to form a kind of begrudging companionship.

You still didn’t like him–not in the least. He was uncouth and rude. He never exchanged pleasantries with anyone at the market and you were sure you’d never seen him smile. Not even once. And the two of you often bickered. So much so that your mother had taken to seating you on opposite sides of the table at dinner to avoid as much conflict as possible.

Hence, the begrudging part. The companionship merely meant that you had begun to be able to tolerate his presence. Barely.

Your brother hadn’t reared his ugly head in the recent weeks either, being either too drunk or preoccupied with other things to notice you. That was a blessing in and of itself. You still hadn’t really gotten over the embarrassment that had come over you at Tovar seeing your bruises. You knew it was what caused him to volunteer to escort you to town daily and still, you hadn’t addressed it with him.

Still, as May slogged into June, you were stuck with him. Unless you wanted your drunk, unpredictable, brute of a brother to accompany you to the townsquare every other morning, you had to learn to endure the company of the quiet Spaniard.

And endure you did.

You’d learned not to ask questions; whenever you did, you were either met with silence, or a stilted, annoyed response. In fact, the conversation you’d shared this morning was the longest conversation you’d had with him.

That was just one thing that set Tovar apart from your cousin, William. Both men had seen so much of the world, lived so many different lives, and while William spoke of his time abroad with bright eyed and excited words, Tovar’s past hung over him like a heavy cloud. You didn’t know what the grizzled mercenary had experienced during his time traveling, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it.

Which was difficult for you—you could listen to William talk for hours about his time on the road. But, you’d heard all of William’s stories. Tovar kept whatever tales of his travels closer to his chest than his armor. And you resented him for it.

You resented that with all the freedom in the world, with a lifetime of stories and lived experiences under his belt, with the blessing of being born as a man in this world, he had the nerve to act the way he did: angry at the world, scowling at every kind face.

The absence of that—of freedom—pulsed and throbbed deep in your chest. And all you could feel was anger.

The sights and smells of the town’s center flooded your senses when you reached the market. You took a deep breath and tried to savor it: the aroma of spices from far-off places, the sharp smell of lemons from Arabia, the colorful hues of silk and fabric, the bustle of business and trade. It was as much of the wide world you were afforded, so you took it in with wide eyes and a smile.

You looked down to your basket, mentally going over the deliveries and trades you had to make before meeting with Lisbeth by the bakery. You were fingering a sprig of stray lavender when Tovar nudged your shoulder, breaking your train of thought. You turned and glared at him.

“I will leave you here,” he mumbled, looking around you and scanning the faces of the people bustling by. “You will meet me at the blacksmith’s when you are finished.”

“I will, will I?” You asked, feeling your temper flare. You hated when he gave you orders–like you were an animal and not a person.

Tovar leveled you with a dry look, before rolling his eyes himself.

“Do not be late,” he said, before adjusting his satchel and walking away.

You glared at his back as he went, cursing the broad expanse of his shoulders. Not only was he an ass, but he was a handsome ass. That was even worse.

With a sigh, you set about making your first delivery, already planning on being late to meet Tovar later in the day.

- -

By the time you’d completed your second delivery, the sun was high in the sky and strong. You could feel the back of your neck glisten and knew that when you looked in the mirror at the end of the day, there would be freckles dusted across your cheeks.

You’d already delivered one order of tea to the miller’s wife, who promised you a satchel of grain in return by week’s end, and traded the town seamstress for some new thread. Your stomach buzzed with excitement at the news you’d heard as you left the seamstress’s parlor.

It had been a normal business dealing: the seamstress, an elderly woman who had been a friend of your grandmother, had long been a customer of your mother’s. You knew her well. Your mother had sent you to get new thread for mending, but you always stayed for a cup of tea whenever the seamstress, Agnetha, whenever you traded with her.

“You look more like your grandmother every time I see you,” she said, sitting down gingerly on a stool behind the wooden counter at the front of the shop.

You smiled at her. You’d never met your paternal grandmother, but you had always been told that you resembled her—the same facial structure, the same hair, the same stubborn spirit. It warmed you to hear it from someone who knew her so well.

“Thank you,” you said, finishing the cup of herbal tea and setting it down. “And thank you for the thread. My mother sends her regards. She apologizes that she can’t be here to see you in person.”

“Oh, pay it no mind dear,” Agnetha’s gnarled hand pats yours. “With a household to run and that business with your father, god only knows how she can manage it all.”

You clench your teeth at the mention of your father. That was what it was like living in a village of this size: no one’s business was private.

“I was sorry to hear about your father, dear,” Agnetha continued. “Do let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“Thank you,” your lips spread into a tight-lipped smile.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the sentiment–you did—it was just that you had grown tired of hearing the same sentiments from everyone. It was suffocating, having everyone know the trials of your family.

“I must take my leave, I’m afraid,” you said after a beat. “I must make haste if I am to finish all my business by day’s end.”

“Of course,” Agnetha waved you off, but then held one finger up, turning back to the back room of her shop. “But give me one moment! I had forgotten—I have something for you.”

You puzzled but obeyed, your interest piqued. What could she possibly have for you?

After a moment, the white-haired woman reappeared with a bushel of flowers with small, white petals: yarrow. She held them out to you.

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“What is–”

“For tonight, my dear,” she leaned in and smiled at you like you were in on some secret. Your confusion grew.

Nothing save for seasonal festivals and feasts ever happened in your village. Besides, if there was anything happening tonight, you were sure you’d know about it.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean—”

“Oh, hush,” Agnetha cackled. “I remember it all too well when I was your age. Your grandmother and I snuck off to Geris many a time when we were girls. These are for your hair. It is said they will bring you good fortune and a happy husband if worn on the feast of Saint Julia.”

“Geris,” you mumbled, all of it clicking into place.

Geris was a neighboring village—a town really—nearly an hour walk north of your own. It was larger and a bigger hub for trade than your own home, as it bordered the sea. Petyr would often go there to drink or gamble with his friends, sometimes not returning for days on end. You had never been.

“There is a festival in Geris today?” You asked Agnetha, who now looked as confused as you had been moments ago.

“Why yes,” she laughs. “The largest one of the year—Saint Julia is the patron saint of Geris. I–did you not know?”

“No,” you laughed, suddenly giddy with excitement, already plotting in your head how you could sneak off to experience it for yourself.

“How the times have changed,” Agnetha hummed. “When I was young, it was every mama’s worst nightmare for her daughter to sneak off to the festival of Saint Julia.”

“Is it still as grand as you remember it?”

“I imagine so,” she smiled. “The dancing is what I loved the most.”

“Well then,” you smiled at her. “I believe I shall have to dance, won’t I?” You took the flowers from her. “With flowers in my hair.”

Agnetha smiled a secretive grin and patted your hand.

“Do, dear. Twirl a little extra for me,” she said. “Now, be on your way—and be safe!”

You thanked her and left, walking out into the balmy warmth of mid-morning, feeling all-of-a-sudden more hopeful than you had that morning.

You met Lisbeth by the miller’s pond just before noon, like you’d planned. It had been your meeting place whenever the two of you were in town for years. Growing up, since your father’s property bordered here, you’d often meet in the forest. But, once you’d become old enough to do some of the household work trading in the village, you’d had to find a place to meet during the day.

Now, you buzzed with excitement, the news of the festival on the tip of your tongue.

Recently, you’d been itching to do anything to distract yourself from the monotony of life in your village. As the days got warmer, more and more traders passed through, bringing with them goods and stories from far-away lands. Lands you longed to see, but knew you never would. You longed to stretch your wings, if only a little. Sneaking off to Geris would be the perfect opportunity to do that. Now the only issue was convincing Lisbeth.

You wiggled your toes in your shoes as you saw her approach, eager what you’d heard back to her. You just hoped she would be willing to go with you.

While Lisbeth understood your desires to leave, explore, and see the world, they were not desires she shared. She had always, ever since you could remember, wanted to be married. She sighed at tales of princesses and knights, longed to fall in love and have children. And you knew that when she did that, it would be beautiful. Still, a small part of you envied her for her dreams. You wished that that could be enough for you.

As she approached you, Lisbeth rooted through her basket, looking for something buried in its depths.

“Please tell me you have the herbs for my mother’s headaches,” she groaned as she came to stand beside you, leaning on the wooden fence by the pond. “If I have to listen to her moaning for one more day, I will bash my skull against the wall.”

You grinned at her.

“What?” She asked, finally looking at you. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do you have that look—”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh dear God,” she sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Before I begin, you must promise to at least consider my proposition,” you raised your eyebrows. Lisbeth sighed your name. “Promise.”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll consider it. Now tell me, I am withering away in suspense.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “We always complain that nothing ever happens here, right?”

“Yes.”

“And we moan about wanting to see more of the rest of the world, of the rest of the country—”

“I would say you complain more than I—”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” you waved her away, causing her to laugh. “Tonight, there is to be a festival in Geris. If we leave after sunset, when our families go to sleep, we can be home before dawn—”

“Geris?” Lisbeth’s eyes widened. “That is madness—”

“It isn’t!” You assured her. “We have walked further distances many times to trade before. The only difference is—”

“It will be night!” Lisbeth shook her head. “After reports of criminals in the woods in the surrounding villages, do you really think it smart to go venturing to Geris after dark?”

You sighed.

“No,” she raised her hand. “Do not try to argue. You have a chaperone now because of the dangers. Even your father can see we are at risk.”

Your heart sank.

“Lisbeth,” you reasoned. “That happened weeks ago. Nothing more has happened–it was likely ruffians passing through. Traders, nothing more.”

“You are mistaken,” she folded her arms. “I heard tell this morning of another attack on a young couple. At a village only a few leagues away.”

“What?”

“It was a farmer’s daughter from Frayley,” she elaborated. “She snuck away in the night to meet with a boy from the village. Her lover was killed, and the girl was ruined. Her honor sullied, barely living.”

Your breath left your chest, a familiar clamminess taking over your hands.

This story was nothing new; when you were younger, before the new Lord of your county had taken power, such attacks were commonplace. The forests around your village had been infested for a time—small bands of ruffians and criminals who would carry maidens away in the night and burn houses to the ground after looting them. There were several girls in your village who had been abducted and held for ransom, and one who had even been forcibly taken to wife. By the time the Lord of the county had gotten word, they had already been married in the eyes of god. There was nothing to be done.

It had been something that had enraged your mother. You were too young to worry about such things, but you have vivid memories of the doors being always bolted shut, your mother sleeping with a dagger beneath her pillow.

The thought of such uncertainty and violence returning to your land made your stomach turn.

“I see,” you said.

“Yes,” Lisbeth sighed. “I wish to explore, but not at the risk of our lives and honor.”

You smiled at her sadly and nodded.

“Two women alone in the wood at night is a recipe for disaster anyway,” she continued. “How I envy men.”

You threw your head back and laughed at that, having had the same thought multiple times.

You wondered often what navigating the world would be like if you weren’t seen as a target simply for your sex. You would ponder what the world would look like if you could walk alone, unaccompanied, how different your life would be if you were able to work, own land, travel alone. If you had the liberties afforded to the likes of William, of Tovar. The very thought of it made your stomach turn with envy.

That’s when it hit you: William. Tovar. And you knew what you had to do.

- -

When you arrived at Olga’s little stone cottage at the edge of the village, your brow was damp with perspiration.

The sun was high, well past mid-day, and you knew you had to meet Tovar soon. You would be late, just like you’d planned. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d kept him waiting and you knew that he’d be in a sour mood for the rest of the day–well, sourer than usual–and that was detrimental to your plan. You needed him agreeable if it was to work.

You sighed as you made your way up the dusty road to her door.

Olga was someone who you held fondness for. She was an old woman, a widow with white hair and a thick accent. Her husband was a merchant who left her a reasonable sum of money when he died, so she lived comfortably and alone, something you’d never seen a woman do before her. She was from a country from the far South, Aragon, and she had forsaken her homeland for her husband. For love. It all sounded so romantic to you that you almost forgot your own personal objections to marriage.

You have memories from your younger years of your mother and her exchanging herbal wisdom over tea. She educated your mother on the herbal remedies of her homeland and in exchange, your mother shared her knowledge of the plants native to your own kingdom.

As you approached her cottage, you heard the faint sound of voices conversing inside made you puzzle. Olga was a generally reclusive woman–it was rare for her to have visitors.

You approached her door and knocked gently, calling inside.

“Olga?” You called, hoping your voice would carry through the open window.

“Ah, yes! Come in, come in,” she called back, voice painted with laughter.

You nudged open the door and took in the small sitting room in her cottage. On the wooden table in the center there was a clay bowl filled with oranges, no doubt traded from a merchant. Your mouth watered. You knew oranges were commonplace in the South, but here they were a luxury few could afford, including yourself.

“In here,” Olga’s voice called, louder now, from the adjoining room which served as a kitchen.

What you saw made you stop in your tracks.

There, standing in Olga’s well-furnished kitchen, leaning against the worn brick of her stove, stood Tovar, arms folded in front of him, across his face a genuine smile. A smile. It was the first time you saw one cross his face. Your breath left your chest.

Of course he’d have a gorgeous smile, you thought spitefully.

You hadn’t realized you were frozen until a warm hand on your shoulder startled you.

Olga looked at you expectantly, the lines on her face graceful in the early afternoon light. You blinked.

“What?”

“I said, have you met Pero, mi amor?” She smiled at you softly. “He is a blacksmith’s apprentice in town. New.”

You stumble over your words for a moment, tongue like lead in your mouth.

“Si, Doña.” Tovar–Pero’s–eyes caught yours from across the room. “We are acquainted.”

“Ha!” Olga laughed, throwing her head back. “Doña he calls me. You flatter me, caballero. I am no Doña.”

You smiled at them, shifting on your feet. You knew nothing save a word or two of the strange language they spoke. Castillian, you thought.

“He speaks to me as if I am a high-born lady, child,” Olga said, sensing your confusion.

“You are mistaken,” Pero smiled slightly at the older woman. “I know una mujer honrada when I see one, Doña.”

Olga leveled him with a wry smile and held up a finger, wagging it at him.

“You watch out for this one,” she looked over to you. “He is a charmer.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped your lips. Of all the words you would use to describe your surly bodyguard, a charmer was not one of them. Pero shoots you a withering glare at your laugh.

“What is so humorous?” He tilted his head.

“Forgive me,” you smirked, sensing his wounded pride. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘charmer’ to describe your countenance.”

Olga tilted her head, hands finding her hips.

“How exactly do the two of you know each other?”

“I am a companion of her cousin’s,” Pero’s gaze moved to the woman in between you. “We have traveled together for… too long. Her family is providing us with lodging until we are able to find work and continue on.”

“Well, a small world indeed,” she smiled. “How have you found our village, then? Quite different than Toledo, no?”

Pero chuckled, shaking his head and looking down.

“Quite,” he said. “In truth, it has been a long time since I have journeyed home. But compared to other places my trade has brought me, it is not so different. Though I have found the people of this kingdom more skeptical of outsiders than my own homeland.”

The admission surprised you; you had spent months trying to pry any bit of information out of Tovar you could to no avail. And now, with Olga, he was an open book. It made you wonder: was it just you that he had an aversion to sharing with? You bristled at the thought.

“Yes, it is something to adjust to,” Olga patted Pero on his shoulder. “They are not used to Southerners here. We must stick together.”

Olga turned to you.

“What brings you here, child? Do you bring me more concoctions from your mother?”

Your smile thinned and you clasped your hands in front of you.

“No,” you admitted. “It’s my father. I was sent to see if you have any of your lemon-honey tonic left from the cold months. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Olga’s lips pressed together in a sympathetic smile.

“Of course,” she said. “I keep some reserves in the cellar. I’ll go get them now, and I’ll have another batch brewed specially for him in a fortnight.”

“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself–”

“Hush, it is no trouble at all.” She walked over to you and grabbed your shoulders, her eyes sparkling as she regarded you. “With my Louis gone, there is no one for me to look after. I daresay I have missed it. Besides,” she placed a soft palm on your cheek. “Your family has shown me true kindness in the years I have known you.”

You smiled a tear-filled smile at her.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Think nothing of it,” she patted your cheek. “It seems your family has a habit of adopting strays.”

With a wink, Olga flitted away to the wooden door that led to the cellar, leaving you and Pero standing awkwardly in her kitchen.

“So,” you began before an awkward silence could settle. “What brings you here?”

“A delivery,” he huffed. “A new lock for her door.”

“I didn’t know Colm has you running deliveries now,” you picked at a fingernail. “I thought the whole point of being an apprentice was to learn.”

Pero rolled his eyes at you, annoyance clouding his features. He leveled you with a glare.

“I know my way around a forge better than that man,” he hissed at you.

You smirked. You always knew how to set him off—how to wound his pride just enough that he would lash out.

“I have been an apprentice since I could walk. I have nothing to learn. It is only an easy way to earn coin.”

“Your father was a blacksmith, then?”

Pero’s eyes narrowed at you before he sighed, seemingly tired of your antics.

“Yes,” he said. “He taught me his trade before I took up my sword.”

“Hm,” you said. “I always wished I would’ve learned the trade. But no, it was too unladylike for me. My mother forbade it.”

Pero snorted at that. You bristled again and shot him a venomous look.

“What? You think it silly for a girl to want to learn something other than sewing or weaving?”

“I think it silly that people in your kingdom think that is all a girl is good for,” he countered. “A waste. My father made sure my sisters knew a trade before he died.”

You blinked.

His response surprised you. A sentiment like his was rare, especially in a place like here. But more than that, it was the first time he’d said something remotely kind to you. In your mind, he was a brute, with no compassion or regard for others.

“You have sisters?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. It wasn’t often you could squeeze information out of him; you wanted to see how much you could get before his mood turned sour again.

“So many questions,” he shook his head.

“Forgive me for trying to make conversation,” you replied dryly.

“It does not matter,” he huffed after a moment. “They are gone now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Olga’s footsteps nearing the kitchen stopped you.

“Here we go,” she said kindly, handing you a clay jar sealed shut. “This will help. Come back next week for another batch, or come tell me if it gets worse.”

You smiled at her kindness.

“Thank you, Olga.” You said. “Your kindness will not be forgotten.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Thank you, Doña, for your hospitality. But I’m afraid we must be going if we are to make it back in time for supper.”

“Of course, of course.” Olga waved her hands, ushering you to the front door. “Be safe. I’ve heard tell of bands of criminals in the woods as of late.”

“We will,” you waved as you left her house, basket in one hand and the tonic for your father in the other.

“No preocupes, we will be home before dark,” Tovar said over your shoulder from where he walked in front of you.

He seemed more chipper as he walked down the dirt road, beginning the journey home. You silently thanked the gods for it–you’d need him in a good mood for your plan to work. Even though you knew the deciding factor would come down to William, you still needed Tovar to be there in order for Lisbeth to feel safe enough to journey to Geris. You would be futile in convincing him, you knew; he hated you. But, though he put up a front, you knew that William could convince Pero of anything.

As the two of you walked home, you silently hoped that your plan would work.

- -

“You are out of your mind,” Pero’s eyes were wide as he regarded William, hands on his hips in front of the fire.

It was well past sundown, and your family had gone to bed already. You hid in the loft, peeking down into the large room below where William stood speaking in hushed tones with Pero.

You’d pulled him aside before dinner with your proposal: to sneak off to Geris in the night for the festival and be back before dawn tomorrow.

You knew he was your best chance. You’d begun to recognize the signs of restlessness in him–the twitching of his fingers, the brainstorming with Pero about where they would go after the harvest ended in the autumn. He and you were alike in that way: always longing for adventure. The only difference was that he actually had the freedom to seek what he longed for.

Either way, after some badgering, he’d agreed. You always had that effect on him–he couldn’t ever say no to you, even as a child. Besides, you’d already told Lisbeth to meet you after dark in front of your family’s house, with the promise that the two mercenaries would be there to protect you on the road.

Now, the only one left to convince was Pero.

“Come, brother.” William reasoned. “We have had nothing but work for weeks. Don’t you fancy a drink in a tavern? A change of scenery?”

“There is a tavern here,” Pero ground out, throwing up his hands. “There is no need to traipse through dark woods in the dead of night for an ale. I have spent my day laboring in front of a hot forge and acting as a sworn sword to your child of a cousin. All I wanted was to come home, fill my belly, and sleep. Now you ask this of me.”

You felt a pang of hurt at the belittlement, and a surge of resentment toward the Spaniard. You were not a child; you hadn’t been for quite some time. You’d practically had to be the man of the house in the months before William arrived, with your mother so preoccupied with your father’s help and Petyr drowning in his cups. That was a responsibility you suspected Pero would never have to shoulder.

William’s voice called your attention back to the men by the fire.

Pero had moved, sitting in the wicker chair to the left of the kitchen, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. His eyes looked deadly trained on the blade. William stood with his arms crossed next to him.

“She is a woman grown and you know that,” William said, sighing. “I do not know why you dislike her so. She is a fine young lady.”

“You watch her then.”

“Really, Pero. Why do you let her affect you in such a way? You can face the enemy’s sword without so much as a flinch, but put you in the presence of a maiden and you tremble like a leaf.”

“I do not tremble,” you heard Pero seethe. “She is insolent and foolish, and cannot follow a schedule. I am always late because of her.”

William laughed at that.

“You are bothered too easily, friend.”

Pero grumbled in response, eyes still focused on sharpening his longsword. You heard a rustle from outside the opened window and realized with a start—it must be Lisbeth.

You hurried over to the window and peeked out, catching a glimpse of Lisbeth’s auburn hair in the light of the fire that showed through the downstairs window. She was hidden by a long dark cloak, no doubt belonging to one of her brothers.

A surge of pride shot through you at the sight of her. You knew she was risking a lot–much more than you–by sneaking off into the night like this. She was of a higher station than you, and would soon be wed to some far flung lord, or even a duke. She risked her reputation being tarnished. And yet, here she was, brave as ever.

“If you do not agree, you will force my hand,” you heard William’s voice. You hurried back to the loft to spy yet again, knowing that soon you’d have to go fetch your friend who watched from the downstairs window.

You saw that now, William stood in front of the fire, blocking the line of light Pero needed to sharpen his sword.

“Move, amigo. I’m not in the mood.”

“And I lament that, but you are coming with us.”

“Us?”

“Yes—”

“I should have known she was behind this. No. If my mind wasn’t made up before, it is now. I will not go with her—”

Your laugh interrupted him, and gave away your hiding place. Pero’s eyes, full of ire, snapped to you. You stood up and raced down the stairs, conscious to not make too much noise, lest you be discovered by your family.

“Oh, please Tovar,” you said, approaching where he sat. “It will be fun.”

He looked at you with a dry expression.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” He gritted his teeth, standing up to come and stand toe-to-toe with you. You flushed at how close he was—you could see every wrinkle, every freckle, every dimension of his scar. It made your throat dry.

“Why?” You asked, voice packed with as much irritation as his.

“I am driving myself mad escorting you to and from town every day, Señora.” He spat the word, making you blink. “I will not spend another moment more than necessary in your presence. Not unless forced.”

“I’ll call in my favor, then.” William drawled amusedly from in front of you.

You started, having forgotten that he was there. You took a step back from his counterpart.

“Pardon?” Pero turned to William.

“My favor,” William smirked and tilted his head. “You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing—”

“Remember Vienna, Pero?” William’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already–”

“I’ve forgotten nothing.” Pero’s glare would scare even the fiercest of knights, but William didn’t even look phased by it.

“Then it’s settled,” William clapped his hands together. “We will leave immediately. We’re losing moonlight already.”

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” you piped up, already pulling your satchel over your shoulder.

Pero looked like a deer caught in the headlights. William moved to follow you, picking up his sword from where it was leaned against the brick of the fireplace.

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” he repeated after you, smiling at his companion, who glared into the side of his head. You giggled.

“Make haste, Pero,” you called over your shoulder. “Or we’ll miss the festivities.”

Wordlessly, he sheathed his sword and stood, glaring at you. The glare didn’t scare you though. You knew it was one of annoyance—one you often drew from Pero.

He grumbled to himself before shouldering his sword and following you out the door.

- -

William had convinced Pero that the horses could handle two riders, with the distance being so small between your village and Geris. Besides, the two mares had gotten little to no excitement since the two mercenaries made their way into your small village. William reasoned it would do them well to stretch their legs.

So, you were two to a horse each. And since Pero intimidated Lisbeth, you were stuck with him while Lisbeth rode comfortably with your cousin. The two made small-talk as you trotted through the kingsroad by moonlight. You gazed over at their shadowy figures as they talked, Lisbeth sidled up to William comfortably in the saddle behind him. You smirked. She had always thought he was handsome, ever since you were children. She was quite at her leisure. In contrast to you, who was trying to sit as far away from the grumpy man steering the horse in front of you.

You jostled as the horse trotted over a bump in the road, yelping and grabbing roughly onto Pero’s waist.

“Alright there?” William called from a few steps away. You nodded a yes.

“Hold on,” Pero grumbled. “You’ll break your neck, and your mother will have mine.”

You had no quick-witted response to that. If there was anything in this world that could cause an experienced mercenary to tremble in fear, it was your mother. So, you simply tightened your grip around his waist, locking your hands together. He stiffened as you did.

You hated how comfortable his broad back felt pressed into your front, how his scent overtook you. He smelled of fire, the forge, sandalwood, and leather. It was a far-cry from the rank stench that followed him and William when they arrived.

Lisbeth laughed from her place on the road beside you while William regaled her of stories from his travels. You frowned at the grumpy man in front of you, silent save for the way he mumbled under his breath to the horse in his mother tongue.

“Does your horse have a name?” You asked.

“Hmm?” He grunted, turning his head a bit to face you.

“The mare. What is her name?”

“Horse,” he replied shortly.

“Horse?” You asked incredulously. “Her name is horse?”

“She has never needed a name,” he said.

“All animals need names,” you sighed. “All of mine do.”

“Hm,” he hummed, not unkindly. “I suppose I wouldn’t know what to name her even if I desired to.”

You paused and thought for a moment. This was perhaps the most civil conversation you had ever had, and it was about a horse. Still, you were loath to see it end.

“She is quite fond of the clovers that grow by the barn. I often see her grazing there. What about clover?”

“Clover,” he repeats, turning the words over in his mouth. He hums. “It is better than Horse, I suppose.”

After that, the rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence save for the sound of the hum of conversation from the couple on horseback beside you. Despite yourself, you smile. Perhaps you and the Spaniard could find middle ground after all.

The festival was like something from a fairy story. And as you stood there, even Lisbeth, who had grown up surrounded by nobles and visits to court was in wonder at the gaiety of it all.

As soon as your group had approached the city gates, you could hear the music—upbeat and lilting, with clapping and voices singing accompanying it. Your heart had leapt at the sound.

Dancing. There was little in life you enjoyed more than letting the music take you and spinning away.

As you took in the city, you didn’t know where to look. There was light everywhere: torches and lamps making the streets seem like they were glowing. You could hear strange languages on the tongues of passersby as you walked, making sure to keep close to your group. The smell of the sea breeze lingered in the air, telling you you were close to the sea. You smiled at it. You’d never seen the ocean, and though you knew you wouldn’t tonight, the smell of it awakened something in you. Above the thatched roofs above your head, you could make out the shadowy figures of the tops of sails—boats, resting in the harbor.

You and Lisbeth followed William and Pero to a stable near the heart of the city, where William payed to have the two mares quartered for the few hours that you planned to be there.

When you reached what must’ve been the town square, Lisbeth gripped your arm tightly, face beaming as she took in the grandeur of it all.

There were countless stalls set up around the perimeter of the cobbled town-center, tents and poorly-built shacks selling all manner of trinkets and gifts. There were food-stalls, jewelry, flowers, tapestries—too much for you to fully take in. In front of one of the taverns that bordered the town center, there was a group of people, sitting in rickety wooden chairs and stools, playing music. There was an old man with a mandolin, hair graying and beard long, a young woman with a lute, a lumbering man sitting behind them playing a violin with startling precision.

In the center of the square, countless couples danced in tune with each other. It was a popular dance in your part of the world—an upbeat ballad about a hare and a tortoise, one you’d been dancing at harvest and midsummer festivals since you were a child.

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Look!” Lisbeth cried, turning to you, grip still on your arm. “Do you remember when were ten and you had to dance with—”

“Eldon!” You winced, remembering the handsy youth only a few years older than you that you’d been forced to dance with by your mother. There had been a time that she was hopeful for a match between the two of you, but he’d ended up marrying a girl in a neighboring village and moving there to take over her father’s house. You were glad of it; he’d been an unpleasant boy.

“The candle-maker’s son?” William smirked from the other side of Lisbeth.

“The very same,” you groaned.

“Oh, he was the most odious boy,” Lisbeth added.

“Really?” William asked. “I remember him being quite shy, if a bit ill-,mannered.”

“Ill-mannered doesn’t even begin to describe him,” you countered, remembering his wandering hands and leering gaze. “I don’t know if I can remember someone else whose face was so vile.”

“Are we remembering the same boy?” William asked. Beside him, Pero’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking bored with the conversation. “I remember him differently.”

“Because he wanted to be you, cousin,” you smiled at him. “He was positively disgusting.”

“He had a scar that cut across his forehead,” Lisbeth added. “From a riding accident.”

At that, Pero stiffened and his jaw clenched, his eyes finding you as William and Lisbeth continued talking.

“Yes, that’s the boy,” William nodded. “Was he truly so bad?”

You opened your mouth to respond before being interrupted.

“Ah yes,” Pero snapped, surprising you. The sharpness of this tone was something you were unused to. His lip curled as he addressed you. “Because a scar is truly what makes a man’s character. How unfortunate for you that you had to look upon the face of someone so…what did you say, Senora? Disgusting.”

He spit the word at you like it was poison. You gawked at his tone, at the malice in his voice, before feeling your own ire bubble in your gut. William and Lisbeth stood perplexed between you.

“He was disgusting,” you countered, taking a step toward Pero. “Because of his untoward behavior and hands that had a habit of wandering up ladies’ skirts. The scar had nothing to do with it. Though how good it is to finally know your opinion of me, Tovar.”

He just opened his mouth, gaping like a fish, before you grabbed Lisbeth’s hand and began to walk toward the crowd.

A new, more slow, group number had begun to play, and you and Lisbeth fell in line with the masses enjoying the festival. From behind you, you could faintly hear the sound of William scolding his companion.

“I see what you mean,” Lisbeth said to you after a moment.

You looked at her in confusion, before turning into the next step of the dance.

“He is unpleasant,” she elaborated. “And rude. No matter how handsome he is. I am sorry for ever thinking otherwise.”

You sighed and linked your arm with hers, as the dance called for.

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “You couldn’t have known.”

She returned your smile and squeezed your arm.

“I wonder why he is so…”

“So…uncaring? Aloof? Unkind?”

“...melancholy.” She finished, and you started.

Of all the words you would use to describe Pero Tovar, melancholy was not one of them.

“What?” She asked, noticing your confused look. “You cannot deny he has a sad air about him. Besides, to think someone so cruel as to call a young boy disgusting because of his scar? To think that you could be that cruel? He must have a sad outlook on life indeed.”

You hummed, reflecting on her words.

Lisbeth was right—as she so often was. It hadn’t been a point of view you considered before. Perhaps the reason why Pero’s countenance was so impatient and dreary was because of something else, something out of your control. As soldiers, he and William had seen the worst of mankind. You remembered what he’d said to you earlier that day, about his sisters. It doesn’t matter, they’re all gone. Perhaps there was a reason he didn’t wish to discuss his travels.

You rid all thoughts of the Spaniard from your mind as you finished the dance; you didn’t want your one night of freedom ruined.

As you and Lisbeth exited the center of the town square, you spotted Pero, sulking and leaning up against a wooden beam that supported the awning to a tavern. You suppressed a smirk at the glowering look on his face. William must have scolded him for speaking to you how he did.

Good, you thought.

“Pero,” Lisbeth called cheerily once you got close enough. “Where has William got to?”

Pero’s eyes flickered to you for a moment, clouded with something you didn’t understand. He opened his mouth to say something, deep, dark eyes still trained on you, when William’s booming voice interrupted you.

“Cousin!” He called jovially, four frothing metal cups in his hands. They were overflowing with an amber-colored liquid.

“That had better not be beer,” you wrinkled your nose, always having hated the grainy-tasting drink.

“Mead, cousin. Come! Let us make merry while we can,” William looked as if he’d had a drink himself already. “I would beg of you both one dance before the night is through. I cannot bring the most beautiful women in the land to a festival and not demand a dance.”

You rolled your eyes fondly at your cousin’s silver tongue. Beside you, Lisbeth blushed behind her cup. You took your own drink, the metal cool beneath your fingers, and relished in the sweet, honey-flavor of the fermented drink. Mead was a delicacy to you. Your family was rarely rich enough to afford more than ale, and you had long been wary of it, not wanting to fall prey to the cup like your brother. Tonight, though, you drank eagerly. Behind his own cup, Pero’s eyes remained trained on you, full of an emotion you couldn't place.

- -

After her dance with William, Lisbeth pulled you aside.

Her pale cheeks were rosy with exertion and with drink, her breath sweet and smelling of mead. You smiled at her, glad to see your often high-strung best friend relaxed for once.

She stepped on an uneven stone and lost her footing, stumbling into you with a giggle.

“Oh!” She exclaimed through a laugh, leaning into you. “If my mother could only see me now. She would be aghast.”

You giggled with her, pushing a stray auburn hair away from her eyes.

“Her high-born lady, absolutely ruined,” you teased.

“And dancing with a mercenary, can you imagine?”

“What ever shall we do with you?”

Lisbeth just laughed. It was a deep laugh, coming from her belly. One you didn’t hear often. Once she caught her breath, Lisbeth sighed, resting her head on your shoulder. The two of you watched as the people danced in the square, content.

“Thank you,” she mumbled after a moment. “I have had a wonderful time. I am glad to have had at least one night like this before—”

Lisbeth stopped herself, clamping her lips shut. You paused.

“Before what?” You asked.

Lisbeth pulled away from you, wringing her hands together in front of her, gaze trained on the cobblestones below your feet.

“Before what, Lisbeth?” You asked again.

When she looked up at you, her eyes were teary. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth before she spoke.

“I am to be wed,” she said, voice warbling. “Before midsummer. My father just told me this morning.”

“What?” you asked, all breath leaving your chest.

“I wanted to tell you right away,” she said, a tear streaming down her face now. “But when I tried, I just couldn’t. Then, I wanted to enjoy tonight. I thought if I’m to move away and become a wife, I’ll at least have tonight.”

You blinked, processing what exactly this meant.

Of course, she’s to be married, you thought. It was strange enough that she wasn’t betrothed at the age of ten and nine. Her father had finally made his decision. She was a lady of high station, the daughter of a Lord—this was her duty. One she was excited for, even. She had always wanted to be the mistress of her own house. You should be happy for her.

So why did you feel so sad?

“Who,” you croaked, before clearing your throat. “Who is he?”

Lisbeth smiled weakly.

“A Lord,” she said, laughing a little. “He lives a two-days ride to the North. My father says he is kind.”

“Have you met him?” You asked.

“Once,” she smiled. “But I was little more than a girl, and I barely remember.”

“Will you have time to…be acquainted before…”

Before the wedding. The words hang in the air between you.

“Yes,” she nodded. “He will come visit in a fortnight.”

You nodded dumbly, realizing the reality that faced you: your best friend would be leaving you to begin her life, and you would be left behind. The thought brought tears to your eyes.

“And he’s not…old, is he?”

It had long been one of Lisbeth’s fears that her father would wed her to a man too many years her senior—an old, country lord who she could never grow to love. If she was to be sold off like a broodmare to a man old enough to be her grandsire, you didn’t think you could stand it.

“No,” she smiled shakily. “He is young—only nine years my senior.”

You breathed a sigh of relief at that. Little mercies. You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, willing the moisture to leave your eyes. You would not cry in front of her.

“And, are you happy with the arrangement?”

Lisbeth considered it a moment.

“I am… relieved he is not old. It is too soon to tell without actually meeting him, but I trust my father’s judgment. I am his only daughter. I do not believe he would part with me for someone unworthy.”

You smiled at your best friend–your ever constant, loyal companion. Her auburn hair shone around her head in the yellow light of the evening. Her eyes shone with hope. She was ready for this, you knew it. You ignored the pang of melancholy in your stomach and squeezed her arms. For now, you would be happy for her. You would save your tears for later.

“No, I daresay he wouldn’t.”

You pulled her into a hug. She sighed against you.

“You shall be at my wedding,” she declared once she pulled back. “I will refuse to be wed without you.”

You laughed at her.

“Me, surrounded by lords and ladies,” you snorted at the idea.

“Hush,” she smacked your arm. “We are not so different from you lot. Besides, I much prefer your company to theirs any day.”

You smiled at her, linking your arm with hers as you ventured into the square to find your companions.

“Come, let us enjoy the rest of the night,” you said.

“Let us,” she replied jovially.

As the two of you continued on, you ignored the pit in your stomach at the idea of Lisbeth’s impending nuptials.

- -

Your group departed with hours left until sunrise—plenty of time to return to your beds without your families noticing.

The hopeless feeling that struck you at the revelation of Lisbeth’s engagement stuck with you, though, even after you bridled your horses and began your trek home.

Beside you, William hummed a tune while Lisbeth dozed off behind him. Your arms were loosely wrapped around Pero’s waist as he rode silently. The two of you still hadn’t exchanged a word since the tense encounter in Geris’s town square. Still, you hadn’t been on the receiving end of any of his glares for the rest of the evening.

You pondered what your life would look like after Lisbeth left. You couldn’t help it. For as long as you could remember, it was you and her. Your mother has acted as midwife in Lisbeth’s birth, and ever since, her mother had been a loyal patron of your mother’s herbal remedies. You and her had been friends since infancy. And now, she was leaving. Entering and finding her place in the wide, expansive world. And you were going to be stuck where you’d always been: caring after your ailing father and serving as a punching bag for your drunken brother.

The thought of Lisbeth’s absence from your life made your eyes fill with tears, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks.

You turned your head away from William, knowing if he saw you cry, he’d make a fuss. You took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself, but failed. Before you knew it, you were shaking with tears against Pero’s back.

You knew he could feel your sobs, but couldn’t find it in you to care. He was going to judge you no matter what you did—he’d made that much clear tonight. You might as well let yourself weep.

After a moment, though, he surprised you. You heard Pero breathe your name, so quietly you scarcely heard it.

You sniffled, trying to cover the sounds of your tears. You mumbled an apology, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. But instead of pestering or making fun of you, Pero only hummed in acknowledgement, before wrapping a rough palm around your own and squeezing.

His hand remained wrapped in yours the rest of the way home, a silent show of support. It baffled you, but you didn’t have time to even begin to question it. Instead, you just let yourself cry, leaning against the Spaniard for support. The rest could wait til the morning.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #pero tovar fic #the great wall fanfic #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar x y/n

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misspearly1 · 2 years

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Day Twenty-Eight: Hate Fucking - Pero Tovar

Kinktober22 List

WC: 3K Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Cursing. Enemies to Lovers. Smut. Unprotected PIV sex. Voyeurism. Female Masturbation. Dominant/Manhandling. Degradation Kink. (F is called a dirty little slut). Praise kink. AN: Hehehe! I loved writing this, I really liked the enemies to lovers part in this story. I hope you all enjoy the read.

If anger had a face, then it would be Pero Tovar's right now at this exact moment and it’s because of you.

You joined William Garin’s little band of mercenaries three years ago, and there’s been this ongoing feud between you and the Spaniard for so long now that you have forgotten the original reason as to why. Although, you do remember the most recent reason as to why you were pissed off with him and that’s because he tore holes in your bedroll, so naturally, you had to get revenge.

It’s a game of tit for tat between you and Pero, destined to go too far one day. You can see it coming, but for now it’s just the little inconvenient things that you do to piss him off. For instance, he tore holes in your bedroll, making it uncomfortable for you to sleep on, so you returned the favour and burned his bedroll on the campfire.

Looking at him now and seeing the cold glaring expression he was giving you as he stands beside the roaring flame of his bed in the fire, you grin. You grin at him with an ear-to-ear kind of smile, acting as innocently as you could. The other men and women sitting around the campfire snicker to themselves, the sound fuelling the rage behind his brown eyes.

The man is pissed off, there’s no doubt about that, but what other act of revenge is better? He shouldn’t have messed with your bed and now he can sulk as he sleeps in the dirt tonight. He has the coins to buy another tomorrow and maybe, just for shits and giggles, you might sabotage that one somehow too. Just to get the message across.

Rising from the floor with an obnoxiously loud yawn while you stretch, like rubbing dirt in his wounds, you look around to the group and say goodnight. “Alright. I’m tucking in for the night-” You pause to look directly at Pero, a little smirk on your lips. “Have a good sleep boys and girls.” You turn to walk away, relishing in the laughter over your shoulder, even William chuckled about it. “Well, it is your own fault, Pero.” He says, and you smile sweetly at his remark.

Williams got your back sometimes when you do stupid things like this, and of course, he has Pero’s back too when he does stupid things to you too. At some point the dispute between you both has to be dealt with properly like adults, but just for a little while longer, you’re going to enjoy making the man’s life miserable because it’s fun.

Making your way to the edge of camp and opening your tent, you climb inside and smile at your brand new bedroll and quilts. You bought them today at the market, even splashed out a little and got the extra padding. It fits perfectly. You take your shoes off and place them in the corner, then turn around to close the tent and undress, but Pero comes out of nowhere and pushes you back onto your ass.

“Make way,” He grumbles and steps inside your tent.

“Um, excuse me!” You complain as he turns around to close the entrance. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You ask, to which he responds by kicking his shoes off. “No-no. Absolutely not, Pero. Get out of here. This is my tent. Get it? MY tent, as in mine and not yours.”

“I know that, but-” He turns to face you again, wearing the same glaring expression he had from earlier. “-It’s ours until I can buy another bedroll tomorrow at the market. Get it? OUR’s, as in, this is what you get for burning mine, hermosa.”

“Pero. You can’t sleep here, I won’t allow it.” You huff and cross your arms.

“Yeah well, good luck kicking me out.” He grins. The fucking asshole grins, clearly mocking the way you smiled at him earlier around the campfire. It felt like a giant ‘fuck you’. In fact, he may as well have just said the words and flipped you the bird too. You’re pissed off and can’t do anything about it either.

You sit and look at him, wide-eyed with shock and disbelief as he opens up his shirt. He’s serious, genuinely serious, but when he reaches for his belt buckle, you shake your head and object. “No - don’t you dare Pero Tovar,” You give him a serious, grave look, showing that you’re not messing around. “The pants stay on. Otherwise, I’ll cut your dick off in your sleep.”

“Oh,” He visibly cringes at the thought, then nods in agreement. Kneeling down and yanking your quilt up, the action pushing you to the side, he climbs into your bed and gets comfy. Literally making himself at home, like this is where he sleeps every night. You sit for a moment, calming your breathing as this is your hell until the morrow - sleeping beside Pero.

“Asshole.” You mutter, yanking your quilts back before laying down and facing the opposite direction to him. “C’mon now, we both know this is a dream of yours, right?” Pero retaliates with a dark chuckle.

Turning over to face the same direction as you, he scoots closer and presses his chest to your back, his proximity and choice of words making your cheeks burn red with shame. Does he actually know or is he just saying that frivolously? You ask yourself.

“Tell me something, hermosa-” Pero scoots closer again, purposely pressing his crotch into your ass as he wraps his arm around your front. You bite your lip, fighting the urge to moan and melt under his touch. “-Did you think I wouldn’t be able to hear you moaning my name when you pleasure yourself at night, hm? It’s funny how your tent is always beside mine.”

Shit. He does know. You panic now, really panic and burn redder than a tomato for quite clearly being caught out by him. It’s true. Completely and utterly true. You’ve pleasured yourself plentiful while moaning his name into your blankets, but apparently not quiet enough. The man is loving every second of your silence, it only fuels his determination to mock and ridicule you even more.

“Hmm. That’s a bad girl, Y/N.” He growls, then tuts quietly into your ear three times. “I should teach you a lesson.” His fingers roam the expanse of your stomach, toying with the waistband of your pants. “Oh but, I think you’ll like that won’t you?... I have a better idea-” He jerks on you to lay back then moves to hover above you. “-Show me, hermosa. Show me how you pleasure yourself and tell me what you think about while you do it.”

“B-But Pero-” You try to protest and explain yourself, until he places his finger to your lips, cutting you off. “No-no,” He shakes his head with a smirk on his lips, “Save it for later you dirty little slut. Do as I ask, and I’ll reward you, Sí?”

Nodding eagerly, you’ve dreamed of Pero dominating you like this, dreamed of him manhandling you as he fucks you senseless. You've wanted him so badly, wanted him inside of you and if that means pleasuring yourself in front of him, then so be it. The idea of it is turning you on anyway.

You make a surprised sound as he leans down and kisses your lips. You didn’t expect him to but are pleased that he did regardless. He lowers his hands to your pants and begins pulling them down, along with your undergarments, before breaking off to take his very first look at your sex. You’ve always wondered how he’d react.

“Oh. Already wet, I see.” He groans deeply and licks his lips, as if imagining what you taste like. “So pretty and…” He pauses to spread your folds apart. “Hmm, so pink and swollen too. I knew you had a sexy pussy, bebita.” Removing his hand from your cunt, you whine from the loss of his touch. “Go ahead, precioso. Satisfy yourself like you do every night.”

Audibly gulping, you hesitate briefly with stage fright. You’ve never done anything like this before in previous relationships, it’s usually just the regular plain and simple kind of sex, but you’re intrigued to explore this intimate act with Pero’s dark eyes watching you from above. You feel… desirable and naughty.

You look down at your body briefly, then back up to his eyes before bringing your hand to your mouth, but upon seeing one brow raised from Pero, you lift your hand to his mouth instead. Your breathing begins to quicken with excitement and wonder as he darts his tongue out and licks the pad of your finger. You want to feel that tongue of his somewhere else.

The smallest sigh escapes your lips as you lower your hand between your legs, and with a quick curt nod from the man, your fingers slip through your wet folds with ease. “Oh,” You moan softly, rubbing nameless shapes on the little bundle of nerves with him watching you attentively.

“Tell me, what do you think about when you do this, chica?” He asks, looking back up at your face then quickly snaps his fingers, the action springing your eyes open after you had closed them on instinct. “Look at me and answer my question.”

“I think about you,” Replying with an answer that clearly wasn’t good enough, you could see that he wasn’t happy with it and elaborated for him. “I close my eyes and imagine you doing this instead.” You admit, your brows furrowing together as you press two fingers to your entrance. “I picture your cock inside of me instead of my fingers, Pero.”

“Even though I would stretch you open? My cock is a lot bigger than two fingers.” He asks another question, making you quiver and clench as you nod to him. “Words querida. I know you can use them.” He jerks his chin out with request.

“Yes,” You moan as you bend your fingers into a come hither motion. “Yes, I picture your cock inside of me instead, even though it will stretch me open Pero, I still want it… still want you.”

“Well, today is your lucky day.” He smirks. Pulling your hand away from your cunt and pinning it above your head, you hold your breath in anticipation as he uses his other hand to free himself. You watch as he pulls his pants down just enough so that his cock springs back and slaps his lower stomach, and you panic slightly at the sheer size of him. He wasn’t messing around. The stretch is going to be phenomenal.

The head of his cock is large, angry red and already leaking beads of pre-cum, then the length of him is six, maybe seven inches at the least, but the girth. Jesus… The girth is wide, bulging with a couple prominent veins. His balls were full and heavy, nicely covered with hair. You can tell just by looking at the hair on his sac and mound that he keeps it tidy and clean.

“Spread your legs, bebita,” Pero whispers breathlessly, taking himself in hand. “And spread them wide.”

You didn’t know where to look as you parted your legs for him. At his face, which was drinking in the sight of your cunt, looking like it’s the best one he’s ever seen. At his manhood as he slowly strokes himself, swirling his finger over the head of his cock, gathering the pre-um. Or look down at your own body as he moves in to line himself up at your entrance.

It was especially arousing to watch the man gaze at your pussy, not even looking up at you as he slid his cock up and down your slit. He was just enjoying the way your body reacted to his touch, the way you clenched around nothing and quivered for him. He decided to tease you a little more by barely slipping in and out, taking pleasure from the way you lift your hips, as if chasing after him.

“Hm, so needy.” Pero chuckles, finally looking up into your pleading eyes. “When was the last time you had sex, cariño?” He asks, to which you stutter out in reply. “L-Last year, f-ffuck. Pero, please.” You whine, lifting your hips up again as he pulls the tip out. It’s torture feeling him breach your entrance and giving you all but a taste of what’s to come. You want the whole thing, but he wanted to keep you waiting. To drag it out as long as he possibly could.

“A whole year, huh?” The man tilts his head in question, eyes darting to your shirt briefly before he lifts it up, exposing your breasts. “Not with anyone here, I hope,” He groans at the delectable sight of your tits, nipples hardening before his eyes with the cool air. “If you’re going to be my little plaything, I don’t want anyone getting in the way of that.”

“No, not with anyone here.” You answer quickly, rotating your hips. “No one will get in the way, Pero. Stop teasing me, please.” You beg, beg for him to give what you so desperately want, but he only smiles, as if he was pleased with your answer, but not ready to give up teasing you just yet. You resort to whining for him, feeding his sick, twisted desire of hearing you plead for his cock when suddenly, he thrusts forward. “Pero!” You scream, scream loud enough that even God himself would hear.

“Nnnngh. So fucking warm and tight,” He growls deeply, pinning both hands above your head now as he takes a moment for your walls to relax around him. The first thrust inside was almost enough to make him cum, it felt so good and euphoric. He wishes he could stay in that moment forever, wrapped tightly with the warmth of your cunt.

“Fuuuck,” You sob as he pulls out, missing the fullness of him for only a second as he plunges back inside. “Holy shit!" You pulse around his length, feeling every inch of his girth before he pulls out again and sets a quick, brutally deep pace, touching your cervix each time he bottoms out inside.

“Love this, don’t you, cariño.” He asks rhetorically. Pile-driving into your pussy and knocking the breath out of your lungs each time, you only managed to whimper for him in reply before he leans down and presses his forehead against yours, panting heavily across your face. “That’s what I thought. Good girl, Y/N. Good fucking girl, taking my cock so well.”

“P-P-Pero,” Your moan stutters its way out as you fall apart for him. You wanted to express how much you’ve wanted this, how long you’ve wanted it for and how many times you’ve pleasured yourself thinking about him fucking you this way, but all you could do way lay there and moan pleasurably while taking his pounding.

“I know, bebita, I know.” He reassures, mockingly. “Just feels so good for you, doesn’t it? My cock is so big and fat, reaching deep inside and fucking you just right like the good little slut that you are. Just like you imagined me to fuck you. I know, Y/N. It’s okay.”

Yanking your hands away from where he had them pinned, you grab onto his shoulder and wrap your legs around his back, mewling directly into his ear that you’re close. The man skilfully changes his rhythm, keeping his thrusts short and grinding into you, using the hair on his mound to stimulate your clit. “Where? Fuck! Where, cariño?” He asks, nearing his own peak too.

“Inside. Please, please, inside.” You plead seconds before coming together. White static erupts behind your eyes and your skin burns with heat. The ecstasy floods your bloodstream as the tension in your abdomen unravels. You feel the pleasure wash over your body, making your toes curl and your fingernails dig into the skin around his shoulder, but then, then you feel his release. It’s warm and plentiful, painting your walls with ropes upon ropes as he reverts to a slow grind.

“Dios mío! (Oh my God).” He whines, actually whines as he rides out the peak of his climax. The sweat clings to his skin, making the brown curls of his hair stick to his forehead as his thrusts becomes sloppy and ragged, as if releasing everything in his ball sac into you. There’s so much that you feel it escaping your pulsing entrance, dripping down to the bedroll beneath your body and making an audible wet sound each time his hips connect with yours.

As Pero slows and eventually collapses onto your body, breathless and exhausted, you thread your fingers through his hair and pull his head back to look at you. “Hey. You okay?” You ask, concerned, and he nods in reply, unable to form a coherent sentence at this particular moment until he catches his breath. “Good. That’s good, asshole-” You tease playfully with a smirk on your lips. “-Because now it’s my turn to get you back for making me wait so damn long.”

You roll over, pin his hands above his head and look down at the stunned expression on his face, clearly taken aback, but so fucking hungry for your revenge. And what Pero doesn’t know yet, but will very shortly, is that you’re exceptionally good at edging a man so good that he will cry for mercy.

That’s exactly what you plan to do - make Pero beg for his orgasm.

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rise-my-angel · 2 years

Text

Dreams of Secrecy

Pairing Pero Tovar x Female Reader

Length: 15.8k

Warnings: smut, oral (f and m receiving), p in v, depictions of violence, angst, angst/hurt comfort, mystery elements

Notes: Set an undisclosed amount of time after the events of the film, seeing the movie not necessary to understand the story

The stench of death permeated the entire town outside, but did little to slow the flow of business inside. Merchants and traders alike passed through once, then twice when realizing they could go no further and had to turn back. The sizable trading port sat in the perfect area, calm channels leading into open waters in all directions with any and every kind of item being packed up or shipped out. There had never been a day you wandered through the vast market and it wasn’t incredibly busy. With that amount of people though, came disease. From the shipping docks to the small houses on the outskirts of surrounding towns, as soon as one person fell ill, they all did.

The little inn you called home was just far away enough to fight off whatever plague had spread. It was a crossroad between paths to major cities and the port, mostly with travellers as your patrons looking for a meal to eat before moving on. With the sickness spreading, most people you saw come in for one evening came back the next going back the way they came, almost none stayed for any length of time. You were far enough to be safe from catching it, but the stench of death knew no bounds, and it let its presence be known all times of the day.

You didn’t own the inn, but you sure were worked as if you did. The owner, a large man with little patience and a port belly could usually be found either in the back counting his money or drinking in the tavern. The more time he spent not doing work, the more you found yourself going from a simple worker meant to keep the rooms clean and tidy, to running around the tavern serving food and drinks as long as they were demanded.

Most patrons were polite enough typically, but tempers grew shorter as the path to the cities were cut shorter and shorter from plague. Men with seemingly permanent scowls with trade deals going stale only able to vent their frustrations with more ale and more yelling.

Luckily on one particular day, things seemed to be moving slow. The inn had a few residents with a longer stay, most of whom kept to themselves, and a scattered few coming in and out for a brief period of time. You had been busy behind the drink counter when two men came in.

Both tall and wearing what appeared to be some kind of armour stood near the doorway looking around. Straitening up, you put on a polite smile, “Looking for a drink, sirs?”

The one with bright eyes and longer hair tied back smiled and nodded, “Please, and maybe something to eat if you don’t mind?”

You already started to walk around to the main room, gesturing to small tables sitting alongside a quiet wall. “Of course, please sit I’ll bring you gentleman something from the kitchen.”

The two turned to each other for brief words before they made their way over, both pulling off bags from over their shoulders and placing them close to their feet as they sat. The other mans companion much more fit the usual temperament of patrons as of late. A deep scowl with harsh eyes, and little words. Though his posture was more hunched then his companion, almost like he was trying to make himself appear smaller despite his broad frame. His eyes were darker, matching his shorter hair and scruff on his face. Those eyes seemed to watch you as you poured drinks and set them down on their table. “I’ll be right back with some food.”

Once again the friendlier one thanked you while the other said nothing. A scar sat down across one eye, faded but still striking against his face. Making your way to the kitchen you wondered if he were somewhat blinded by whatever cut across him like that. It didn’t really matter though, you reminded yourself. Not sure why the curiosity even stroke your fancy, you simply shook your head and continued to work around the kitchen. Gathering up what was still warm from midday, you finally made your way back into the main room.

As the door swung open, both men had been leaned into each others space in deep conversation before pulling apart from the sound. The scowling mans head raised up and watched you with a furrowed brow as you walked over. His gaze only pulls away from you long enough to look at his plate then back to you, he still doesn’t say anything, but he does nod in appreciation.

For a while you’re busy attending to your own tasks, going over in your head what work needs to be done before you can finally retire for the evening. Cleaning the tables, a rough, accented voice grabs your attention. “What exactly is the hold up east of here, hermosa?”

Head shooting up, eyes wide looking at the man. One elbow was rested on his thigh while the other lay across the table, body turned towards you with curious looks. Your mouth opened to speak, but turned to peek at the other patrons either side of you. Lowering your head to look at the ground, you clear your throat while putting down the rag, coming to stand closer to their table. “They say it’s some kind if plague. Someone came in from the port everyone said looked like death, and it spread into all the villages around it. Everywhere east is either full of it or just empty because people are too scared to come out their houses.”

Both men glanced to the other, significant looks you did not understand flashing between them. The longer haired man spoke this time. “How long has that been going on?”

Hands wringing together in front of you, you tried to think back. “I don’t know how long since everyone started getting sick, but I know about two night ago is when I started seeing men coming back the way they came since no one wants to do any business now.” Surprisingly, the grumpier one pulled out the chair between you, waving his hand for you to sit. No one around needing attending to, or the innkeeper to yell at you, you smoothed your skirt out as you sat. “Not much business here either, with the cold starting to blow in hardly any traders are even offering anything up. Is that what you’re travelling for?”

Unbeknownst to you, each man pulled the bags they arrived with in a little closer to their person. Raising an eyebrow at the other, it was the longer haired man who answered, a little stilted in his voice. “Something like that.” Unsure if they had anything else to say, you took their further silence as a dismissal. Grabbing their empty plates as you stood, “Let me know if you gentleman require anything else.”

“Are there any rooms available in this place?” Turning swiftly, you could see the other man looking at his companion with what seemed to be a warning, but he continued on regardless. “We have business out there, no use in leaving when if we did we’d just have to guess when to come back.”

Standing a little straighter, you tried not to smile. Guests with longer stays weren’t as common anymore. “Absolutely. Let me go see if I have any rooms ready for you..” Trailing off with a paused expression.

“William, and this is Tovar.” You gave them your own name in return, telling them to wait. As soon as you walked off, both men turned dramatically to the other. Some kind of argument ensuing, the angered whispers from the man Tovar, seemed to say something along the lines of ‘what the hell are you thinking’, before their voices were too far away to decipher.

They opted for two separate rooms with plans of an unknown length of stay. William appeared to be the more social of the pair. Clear loud voice, asking questions and making pleasant conversation as you showed them upstairs. Tovar was more direct but less likely to talk. He stuck by close to your person as you explained where and when he could find certain accommodations and spoke very little. It was only when you were done showing him to his room, did he speak. Standing with his hands rested on his hips in the middle of the room, harsh eyes softening up enough to nod genuinely. “Gracias, hermosa.” Changing to a quick “Thank you” at your confused look. A small smile betrayed you as it formed on your face, before you quickly pulled it away and left.

The two kept mostly to themselves for a little bit, coming down for dinner and than breakfast the next morning, always speaking in hushed tones that silenced whenever someone passed by. William loud and chatty, while Tovar was quiet but more direct when he spoke to you. Hitting you with the impression that he didn’t seem to actually talk to many people. Tended to refer to you in words of his native tongue that you just hoped weren’t insults or rude like some of the tavern patrons called you.

You had been pretty off that afternoon. Head lost in the fog as you tried to make sense of your dream last night. It was enough that it woke you up abruptly, eyes flying open and a loud gasp leaving you as your heart pounded in your chest. It was odd, you didn’t often dream but the one last night was so stark and vivid, even though none of it came back to you clearly during the course of the day.

There were knives, loud bangs like a series of explosions, heat from what felt like a blazing fire, and for some reason, tying it all together you kept thinking about Tovar. That you really didn’t understand, why you kept trying to fit him into the flashes you remember. Either way by the time you made it down to the main room for dinnertime, the innkeeper was already berating you for being so distracted.

William was nowhere to be found, but his companion found a seat by the counter you had been working behind. Much like before you smiled and served him a meal, only this time his voice called your name back to him. “Tell me, hermosa. How long have you been in this place?”

You hesitated for a moment as he tore into his food as if expecting someone to rip it away from him. “Since as long as I could pour a drink. Never had much money growing up, so someone always had to work.”

He kept one hand across the side of his plate at all times it seemed instead of relaxing. “Lived your whole life here, no?”

You nodded, mindlessly smoothing out your already straightened skirt. “Not much of a traveller. Don’t got the money for it, but I can always dream.” His eyes narrowed at the word dream, but didn’t comment on whatever thought sparked.

“The world is nothing special anyway. Just more people trying to kill you the further you go.” His armour was off at this point, but you could spot weapons on him everywhere he went.

Your voice was quieter, but not judgmental. “Is that what you do?” His eyebrows raised almost playfully, goading you to pry more. “Kill..people?” The eye contact was captivating. His deep brown eyes flickered against the light beautifully, contrasting against the harsh intensity no doubt filling them over the years. His handsome face not helping the matter, large angled nose framed his soft features and plump lips as if what didn’t spill out of them was harsh.

His head leaned in to you more and you had to resist the temptation to follow suit. Instead keeping a polite distance, he muttered, “Does the idea bother you, hermosa?” The playfulness was toned down as you calmly shook your head no. You knew men were capable of far worse than just killing, and nothing about this one gave you a reason to feel scared. “Good.” His shoulders fell and he slouched back to continue to eat. “You see the things I’ve seen, it just becomes something you do to survive. Not something a little girl like you would know about, place like this.”

He chuckled as your eyes narrowed in annoyance. You grab the glasses in front of you aggressively to move away from his teasing, but a large hand reaches out and grabs your wrist. Almost a cold shiver hit you, flowing through you from your wrist up into your heart like ice water. His face regretful. “I meant no offence, cariño. Just teasing.” A smirk sliding right back on as you felt his thumb ever so lightly rub over your skin, “So sensitive.”

Yanking your wrist out of his hold, a deep chuckle came from him, not an unpleasant sound you thought. “You should be careful when speaking to the, little girl, who serves your food, sir.” Oh that chuckle, you felt it’s bass pound through your body in such an addicting way.

“I’ll remember that, pequeño.” No doubt something insulting further. You didn’t quite turn away in time, knowing he caught hint of a laugh as you gave him a yes sir. “Pero.” Your head tilted slightly to face back as you gave him a confused look. “My name. I know your name, you should know mine. Pero.”

You repeated it back to him, it felt warm on your tongue. A unique name, but he was a unique man. A stand out in the never ending sea of mediocre men passing through. So you started calling him by his first name, and Pero started getting amused looks from William whenever you did so. Whatever language he spoke to you in, it seemed to only get more derogatory towards the other man in response to such looks.

Strange as it was, you seemed to see him in your dreams more and more. Your mind seemingly creating these cast situations to put him in, sometimes William seemed to be there as well. You would wake up with images in your head of him across distant lands and foreign places you never knew even existed. Perhaps it was a product of Pero speaking to you more often.

William would talk to anyone, patrons, people passing by outside, even got along with the innkeeper as if there wasn’t a soul on earth he couldn’t find common ground with. Pero though, rarely interacted with anyone besides his companion, and now you.

Often through meals he would find reasons to beckon you over to him, persuading you to sit and tell him about you. Mentioning very little about his own past, Pero asked you about your parents, your childhood, what you did outside of the inn for fun, how far from this town you had ever been. Each question he wouldn’t give much input, but listened keenly, and prompted you to continue anytime you felt awkward by his silence. “You’re voice is much nicer to listen to than my own,” Was his excuse.

“Finally something we can agree on!” William boasted with a laugh as he joined the table. A glare always sent his way, sometimes a warning in tone. A long drawn out, “Amigo,” and William would laugh more but put his hands up surrendering. They bantered and argued, but clearly they meant a lot to the other.

William was also strangely tight lipped about his own story, and said very little about he business he and Pero originally travelled this way for. Even more strange, both men told you that cleaning their accommodations wouldn’t be necessary. In fact they seemed adamant that no one go into their rooms at all while they weren’t there.

You once asked Pero about it and he seemed to dodge the question, shaking his head with a far off look as he brought up old memories. “Protecting whats yours is the only priority that matters out there. It doesn’t matter how many men I’ve travelled all this way with, if you didn’t want it taken, it never left your hands.”

Hands pausing mid air as you were folding the dry washing, you looked trapped between sad and sour as you looked at him. “Pero, I would never-”

Broad upper body hovered over yours as he leaned into you, “I’m not accusing you of anything, hermosa. It’s the others I do not trust.” His dark eyes scanning the view behind your back, you wondered if he even realized his hand had found it’s way onto your upper arm just resting there comfortingly. He didn’t move it until you prompted him minutes later when broke the quiet spell over you both.

“If you’re going to just stand there, than you better help me, mister.” A playful pout on your face as you held a bunched up pile of sheets at him, and Pero grabbing it from you stubbornly with a roll of his eye and muttered curses in his native tongue.

They disappeared throughout the day, not that what they did was any of your concern, but it was odd. Hushed tones and protective of people getting to close to their belongings. More then once they returned with what appeared to be cuts or bruises that would be healed entirely the next day. Brushing off your questions with assertions that you were just seeing things, or a gentle mutter that it was nothing for you to worry yourself about.

You weren’t stupid though, whatever they were involved in clearly was dangerous to a degree. Weapons and armour weren’t carried by normal people, and they both moved in sync as if they had done many dances over a lifetime.

Some evenings, William would dazzle the crowd with tricks and spectacles of his precise aim. Pero at his side barley even having to watch as he assisted in setting something up for William to aim at, as if they had full trust the other just knew what they were doing. “Idiota.” Pero would mumble as he slinked over to you, uninterested in the ooos and awes of the other guests. “Everyday he acts more and more like a fool. Soon enough I’ll be dragging him home to Spain and leaving him to play minstrel to the kings.”

Eyes shining with curiosity, you leaned your side against the counter, tilting your head to get a better look at him. “Is that where you two are from? Spain?”

Pero’s smile was far away. A hand running down his ragged face before resting over his mouth in thought. “William is from Ireland, but sí. That is where I am from, and where we met.” Finally he waved his hand nonchalantly off. “Long time ago, doesn’t matter now we’ve been much further than that now.” He watched you eagerly put the glass you were cleaning down on the counter before turning back, your hands clasping in front of each other. Smiling he knocked the idea down, “Hermosa, I’ve told you they aren’t stories you would want to hear.”

You took a step forward, eyes shining with not quite disappointment, but your face sagged nonetheless. “Pero, I was born in this town, I’ve never travelled outside of this town, and quite possibly I will die in this town. Nothing you could tell me would bore me.” Hesitating, you almost didn’t say it, but Pero watched you catch your tongue before you could cover it up.

His head tilted to the side, eyebrow raised. “And?”

With a sigh, you looked side to side, no real meaning attached except to avoid his intense gaze before finally lifting them up to look him proper. “And I just...I just like..talking to you. Getting to know you. There, I said it. Happy?”

You squirmed in place, flustered and somewhat embarrassed as he continued to watch you, a flash of play in his eyes. Luck was on your side as a cheer from the crowd caught both of your attention, followed by a smash of plates. Someone with a tad too much ale in their belly trying to copy a throwing trick of Williams with his own dinner. You looked back at Pero, lip nibbling slightly in hesitation before a tiny smile graced you as he nodded over for you to go.

Grabbing the broom he gently called your name, “Come to my room when you are done, later. If you would still like to talk.”

Trying to hold back your surprise, he never let someone not William in there or vise versa. You couldn’t help though but replace your surprise with a dumb little waggle of your eyebrows. Pointing at you as you walked close by him with the broom, he spoke with the tone of a scolding parent, “Don’t push me, hermosa. I guarantee I’m better at this game then you are.”

Breath hitched, you almost dashed away before you could give anything else away. It was hard to tell if this kind of talk was flirtatious, and if it were mostly a jest. Pero didn’t speak to many people here, you had nothing to gauge if he was simply like this with all women but he did look at you with a deep intensity that set the blood in your body alight.

Men didn’t often give you this kind of attention unless they were drunk and willing to forgive your plainness in favour of trying to seduce the only woman in the room. It never worked, for one the innkeeper would never let you live it down without you getting yelled at for it. Secondly, and most importantly, not that you really admitted it to yourself, but Pero was the only man who you found attractive in a very long time. That was enough on it’s own to let your mind wander across your thoughts and almost considered letting your fingers travel across your skin, in the dead of night.

That, and the very distinct wink Pero gave you from across the room as you were bent down on the ground as you cleaned the ceramic shards. It wasn’t until you were alone in the kitchen that you realized such an angle gave a sight right into your neckline at the tops of your chest. If being alone in his room with him wasn’t flustering before, it sure was now.

It was ridiculous. The pointless preening in the small mirror in your bedroom as if it would make a difference. Your dress and hair exactly as they were during the day, if he wasn’t impressed then he wouldn’t be just because you fussed over it for a few seconds. As you walked the empty hallway, nothing but the flicker of torches and the scratching of the innkeepers writing could be heard. As you reached the end where both men’s rooms sat, you paused. Debating if this were a bad idea.

Pero made you feel a certain way, but that way surely wasn’t to let him under your skirt for the night and act like it was nothing in the morning. He seemed genuine when asking you to join him, but the looks he gave you made you worry it was one thing he was after. You suppose there was only one way to find out.

Your fist had only just reached the wooden door when it was opened and an arm pulled you in before a noise could be made. A large rough hand covered your mouth as you let out a tiny yelp, as Pero pushed the door closed with his other hand and pulled it back to put a shushing finger against his mouth. Nodding, he released your mouth and spoke quietly. “My apologies, hermosa. I didn’t mean to scare you, I would just rather not have any attention drawn my way.”

For the time he was here, hardly any of the space was made his own. Some belongings such as his weapons sat neatly on surface tops ready to be grabbed at a moments notice, with only his amour hung up along with a small chest sat atop the messily made bed. The fireplace glowing the room, casting Pero in a beautiful orange that lit his skin up like the sun shining down on gold. The fire dancing in his eyes bringing the brown out more attractively then the bright blues on Williams that everyone seemed to adore. Pero’s deep brown eyes were much more addicting to fall into if anyone asked you.

There was an awkward silence as you stood at the door, hands fiddling with your fingers as he stood a few feet away from you, his hands on his hips. His own fingertips tapping away as he finds your eyes and looking away again. “We don’t-” His head snapping up to you almost violently. “I just, I can leave if you’re not comfortable with me...being here.”

Fire crackling helped cover the sound of your heartbeat, unsure as to why you felt so nervous. Pero seemed to share that sentiment, fidgeting as he spoke. “No, no it isn’t that. I’m just not sure,” his voice fading off as he finds himself unable to find the right words.

You filled them in for him as you took quiet steps into the room, “Not sure why you invited me here?” He didn’t say yes, but the understanding in his face was your answer. “Pero, I,” Taking in a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to tell me all your secrets. I just want to know you.”

“Why.” His voice was penetrating, more demanding and rough. Unmoving and unblinking he stared you down, watching you stammer.

Maybe you should just tell him the truth. You’re not sure lying or making up a polite answer would satisfy him the way it may his companion. “I don’t know. I just know that I do.”

His dark eyes stared into your own softer ones, finding a plea to just let you in a sliver. Allow you to explore this strange interest you’ve developed in this mysterious man. And he does. Pero nods, finally moving over to the bed where he sits on the edge beside the chest waving you over.

Almost like baby steps you slowly walk his way, eyes darting between the empty space on the other side of the chest and himself, the idea of sitting with a man on his bed giving you pause. Pero rolled his eyes, reaching out to the side and loudly scraping a chair along the floor to sit in front of him before waving a hand there with a bemused glint in his eye.

Pero isn’t much of a talker, and it takes him a few moments to gather the right words to start. “You asked me about my travels with William. About the strange places we’ve seen. We have travelled together for a long time, much longer then you could imagine, hermosa. There’s very little we have not seen of this world now. Strangest of them all was far east.”

Your entire body was hunched as you leaned your arms into your thighs, eyes wide open as you listened intently.

Pero’s hand begun lightly tracing the edges of the small chest, eyes following his path. “We found ourselves with a group looking for an unusual substance rumoured only to be known by the Chinese.” Your mouth slightly agape, you know he said East but that must have taken such a colossal amount of time to get to. “Only William and I even made it. I told you hermosa, people will want to kill you no matter how far away you go.”

Regardless of your look of worry and the anxious nibble you were giving your bottom lip he continued. “What we found was even worse though. Things that a girl like you should never see.” Your eyes narrowed at the insinuation but stayed quiet. “What we did find as well, was what they had created.”

Pero’s fingers tapped harshly on the chest before he shot up from his seat. Making his way to the door, ensuring it was indeed locked he gestured you to bring the chest over to the small table in the middle of the room.

Lighter then you assumed, you brought it over and quickly moved your hands back in front of your torso not wanting to disrupt his things. You watched intently as Pero slowly opened the box, and brought out a few meaningless objects, but the most curious of them, some black looking powder.

Delicately he sat everything out before stretching his hand out to you. Placing it lightly into his, Pero grabbed your hand tighter and pulled you right up into his side. Closer than you ever had been, he seemed so large up close. His frame broad and all encompassing of your vision if you looked up at him, his dark eyes never straining from his task. His nose almost enticed you to touch it yourself, if not gently with the length of your own, than perhaps your lips.

“This hermosa,” your head swivelled to look where his hands sat, unaware that he indeed had caught out staring with a look of almost innocent want flurrying in you. “This is just one of the things we found out east, and this is what we are here for.”

Unlike anything you’ve ever seen, the black powder sparked and then lit aflame all in a second, until it burned itself bright and burst into nothing once more. Like a burst of heat and sound all at once that would have had you jumping back were Pero’s arm not suddenly behind you keeping your lower back pressed forward. You leaned forward at the smoke left behind, eyes wide in wonder. The flash of loud explosions from your dreams briefly came to mind. “What- I don’t understand. Is this a weapon?”

His fingers traced through the remains of the strange explosion, “It can be, the soldiers we were with when we found it used it as such. Nowhere else in the world has seen anything like it.”

“Except you. That’s why you wanted to come through the port.” Head turning up to his, “You wanted to trade it with someone, that's why you both are willing to wait it out?”

Pero’s head turned to you in return. “Yes. We have a man willing to pay handsomely to get his hands on this, more than any other offer we could get. There’s not much coin to be made in my line of work, hermosa,” his fingers moved from the table, holding up a dark stain of dirt like substance on his hands. “But this just may give us enough to breathe for a little while.”

Pero declined your offer to clean it all up, instead doing it all himself after washing the powder from his fingertips, gently placing everything back into the chest before carrying it to a wooden panel in the wall, loosened enough to slide the chest in, and hide it behind the panel once more from view. Crouched down he looked at you very seriously, “You need to promise me you won’t say anything to anyone about this, sí?”

The gentle nod wasn’t enough. Pero moved in front of you, his body once again towering over you. You could only imagine what being on this end of his violence or anger would look like. Pero calling your name, as his fingers nudge the side of your cheek to look up at him. “Tell me you swear you will not tell a soul about what I’ve shown you.”

Taking a risk, you grasped the wrist close to your face, “Pero I swear to you, I won’t say a word. Whatever you tell me, it’s our secret. I promise.” The tips of his fingers had only just slid from your cheek when you stammered out what you were thinking. “Why me?”

Pero leaned into you, his broad frame looming over you in the tense quiet when you asked again. “Why tell me?”

Was it your heart that was pounding loud in your ears, or was it his? Louder and louder it got the closer he found his face near your own. Once again his fingers found a path upwards, but the brush against your cheek was passed as he wound them through your hair. Tugging you just slightly, enough to finally let you feel his nose brush yours. “I shouldn’t have. If I were a better man, I’d turn you away and scare you off with the kinds of things I have done. Let you live this nice, quiet life.”

Trembling slightly your palms press against his chest, his breath stuttering ever so slightly as you do so. “I’m drawn to you, and I don’t know why.” Sliding up to touch the skin of his neck, Pero swallows thickly as you keep talking. “All I know is I want you to trust me.”

Pero’s other hand pulls the curve of your waist into his body more, his nose tracing down yours, before nudging at your cheek while he continuously rakes his fingers through your hair. The breathe from his mouth is so close you feel every pass of air. Tilting your head ever so slightly, not pushing but wanting to give him all the space in the world to press his lips against yours.

Like the touch of a feather, you just feel his lips skim your own. Your hands both tighten around each other as he tempts you with his kiss, but just as soon as you felt the brush of his lips, he forces your head down to press them against your forehead.

Soft lips leaving a loving warmth against your skin before he pulls away from you entirely. His brown eyes soft but conflicted, his posture hunched and unsure. One of his hands finds it’s usual home on a hip while the other traces his own mouth now standing a good few feet away from you, eyes filled with conflict.

Fingers clenching before dropping down to your sides with an audible plat. Your face grows hot, shame floods your lungs for thinking he would actually want that with you, maybe you pressured him into it. Looking at him with your stupid sad eyes hoping for him to open up more than he’s already given you. The shame burned too hot in your body to handle. “I’m so sorry, Pero.”

Just before you turn the door handle to leave, he gently calls your name. “You shouldn’t want me.” Looking back, Pero’s eyes were wide, bright but full of a kind of regret you couldn’t decipher. A regret you think isn’t just about an almost kiss. “I’m a killer, cariño. I’ll always be a killer and that is a life you don’t deserve.”

Once again a new wave of embarrassment fills you. You can’t look at those eyes, those eyes so big and full of unimaginable thoughts. You turn and watch your hand ready to turn the handle instead. “What I deserve doesn’t stop how I feel, Pero. It never will stop that.”

And you left him standing conflicted in the middle of his room. Your head didn’t even raise from it’s penetrating gaze on the floor until you came into your own quarters, unaware of the prying eyes from the bright blue eyed companion leaning against his now open door frame.

Laying in bed, haunted by the silence of the night, you also remained unaware of the quiet talks many rooms down the hall. Of William whispering just loud enough that had someone leaned their ear against the door, his words might have been heard.

“I’ve seen it to, Tovar. You can stand there and insult me all you like, but I see them too. They’re not just your dreams, you’re not the only one who dreams about what we’ve done. What we’ve seen.” William invades Pero’s personal space with no care about his tense agitation. His finger pointed at him, “Deny it all you want, but no amount of pretending you don’t feel something for her will change the fact that seeing her in our dreams means something dangerous.”

Pero huffs, pushing Williams point to the side as he walks to the table once more. Downing the ever warming mug of ale left in it. Wiping his face with his hand as his jaw clenches. “I won’t subject her to our life. We were chosen for whatever godforsaken reason,” whipping around his teeth almost gritted like a hissing feline. “But she is not us. She is nothing like us and I refuse to drag her down that life. A life she couldn’t possibly even understand.” Williams eyes fall too soft, too understanding. Pero had to look away. “We’ve lived more of a life than anyone we’ve ever met. Whatever life is in store for her has no place in the likes of us. She deserves better.”

William’s voice was quiet, so quiet it almost couldn’t be heard over the crackle of the fire. “We didn’t deserve this life either, Tovar.”

Pero turned away. A palm pressed against the wall, looking at the wood willing the memories away. “Maybe so, amigo. But she is not like us. Almost no one is. I won’t drag her into something she can never be.”

Fire crackled against the silence between them. It was rare they spoke of it these days, in fact they hadn’t spoken of it since the wall. It wasn’t something either of them understood, and sometimes it was just too much to think about. William broke the silence first, “My contact says our man’s willing to wait it out. He’s apparently holed up just like us.”

Pero’s eyes slid shut as he spoke. “Can we trust him? This messenger of his?”

The sounds of William all but falling into the chair accompanied the sigh he let out. “Right now? We have too. If Ballard was right, he’s the only one who knows what we have.”

Pero pushed against the wall, muttering curses in his own language. Pulling a chair out angrily as he joined William at the table. “Trusting him was a mistake.” The air around him turned cocky as he rolls his eyes towards him, “Leaving you to play hero to those people wasn’t, but I should have just done it on my own terms.”

Both men chuckled. William pouring more drink for the both of them. “You really just left him out there? Surprised you didn’t just kill him, with your temper.” The ale slid too warm down Pero’s throat, but it was better then nothing.

“Trust me, whatever death he found alone in those barren lands, no horse, no water? It’s crueler than anything I could have done to esa rata.” Both men chuckled into their drinks once more. Whatever the future held for them, at least they both could agree that letting Ballard take no part in it was for the best. Whatever the mans plans had been, Pero and William wanted no part in it.

The pot begun to boil the next afternoon. Pero and William having left before the sun had fully woken up, leaving you to stew in your thoughts in needed quiet. There had been very little activity through the inn that morning. Far off in the distance the view of smoke had taken up the sky, and soon the burning stench of rot had followed.

Whatever was spreading through the populated towns was cursed enough to desecrate the corpses of those it took. Little people passing by the crossroads wanted to stick around in case the smell lingered. Multiple times you had laid herbs and burned smells into the tavern air, keeping the air inside smelling fresh at the very least, but most didn’t have the stomach for a drink or a meal after that rot.

So you were left mostly alone, behind the counter with a scrap of parchment scribbling down what drinks were getting low, what needed to be purchased and what needed to be brought up from the cellar. The feeling of Pero’s lips just barley brushing against yours haunted you, your waist still felt the tight grip from his large hands like he seared his touch into your memory forever.

You dreamt about him again. This time, a much clearer dream, many men on some field, the sounds of yelling and clashing metal, followed by silence and nothing but dead surrounding them. You had been startled awake right as your brain conjured the image of Pero and William simultaneously rising from the dead, the shock must have ripped you away from the terrifying image.

He had said he was a killer. Was this the nightmare you could only imagine falling upon men like them? You didn’t quite know, but both men were in your dreams now and it took much effort not to let your sleeping imagination bother you in the waking hours of the day.

Two men wandered in at some point, plain and unassuming, likely just here for a drink. “What can I do for you gentleman?”

One of them was pacing slowly, a tall man looking around the tavern and the few people inside. The other walked up to the counter, “How many people you got saying here?”

Your head tilted in a slight confusion at first, not the usual way somebody approached asking for a room. “We have enough available rooms for you gentleman if you're looking for a place to sleep.” Just as you spoke, the tall man grabbed one of the people sitting alone with their drink by the back of their head, and slammed it down with a crash onto the table below. The weight of the slam so harsh, he lay unmoving.

Jumping back in place, you looked at the one in front of you with nothing but fear. “You got two men staying here, one Irish bloke and one dark skinned fella. Right, girl?”

Swallowing so hard you could hear the sound of it, your eyes flickering between the one staring into your soul, and the other standing casually with an arm resting atop of the chair of the unconscious man. Fervently you shook your head no.

The man in front of you didn’t blink once. “Where they at right now?” You could see the other in the background once again strolling through the tavern, the only other patron sitting in a corner as still and silent as you. You said nothing, you physically couldn’t.

You could still see the man on the table, unable to see clearly enough if it were blood starting to pool or just the spilt drink collecting around him. The other man now stood beside the only other patron, not a care in his entire stance at the fear of the person leaning as far back into their chair as possible. The one in front of you moved his head awkwardly to the side to slide into your field of view, snapping your attention back.

“Listen girl, those two got something that they shouldn’t. Something valuable.” The flash of fire and the banging sound passed quickly through your mind. The powder. “Just tell us where they’re at, and we’ll have no problem.”

You still couldn’t speak. Any faint memory of your mother telling you to run if you were in trouble failed you, you were frozen as if doused with ice. You didn’t even know where they were, but you knew where what they were looking for was being hidden, and if you spoke your fear might spill the secret Pero trusted you with. They weren’t satisfied with that silence though.

The tall man jumped the person at the table, wrapping his long arms around his head and neck as the others arms flailed uselessly in the air. Gurgling for air you could see him going limp before the one in front of you leaned in real close. His breath stinking the air must like the smoke outside, but this time filled with the wreak of food and dirt. “We don’t want to hurt a little girl like you,”

Suddenly he also reached forward, one hand grabbing at your hair as the other brandished a knife up against the side of your face. “But I will if you don’t give us what we want. We know they got it, just give it up and we’ll let you walk away without uglying up your face more then it already is.”

The tall man coming to his side, his voice spoke with a more elegance, an accent and tone much more like a rich man then the common folk in front of you directly. “We could make things much worse for you. Just cooperate and we won’t have to hurt you. You have no idea the kinds of people searching for what these two are hiding.”

Yanking your hair back as the knife pressed harder into your face, it threatened to break the skin as he spat into you. “Last chance before I cut into your ugly-” Blood spat into your face as hands fell from you and his face went shocked. You gasped and jumped back pressing against the wall of drinks as an arrow stuck from one side of his head to the other. He fell over with an unceremonious splat, as the other man looked at the direction it came from.

Another arrow flew out with such force it pinned the tall man against the surface behind him. The men they seeked flying into view, William with a bow in his hand now lowered down came to stand near you as Pero wasted no time slicing into the mans skin, causing gross yells as blood begun to seap from the wound. You could just barley hear him speak in his native tongue hissing and snarling words as William stepped across the floor beckoning you with a jerk of his head to come out from there.

His bow now back in it’s holding place, he held a hand out to direct you away from the body on the ground. “Did they hurt you at all?” Still unable to speak all you did was shake your head, looking past him at Pero quietly speaking with red hot anger at the man in the language apparently both understood. William put comforting hands on both your shoulders, body bent slightly to look into your eyes at your level, quietly saying your name. “I need you to do something for us.”

Your eyes tore from Pero at the instance the arrow was pulled from the mans body and a yell of pain filled the air. William unphased by the display behind him. “We will handle this ourselves, but I need you to promise me you will not tell anyone whats happened.”

Glancing to the unconscious men pair at their respective tables, “W-what about,”

Pero approached, throwing the man against the counter for William to turn and grab. Pero took just two steps to come in front of you and cupped both sides of your face with his hands. His teeth gritted in anger as he pulled you to see your face more clearly as he searched for any sign of injury.

William begun to direct the man out the back way as Pero leaned his forehead against yours. “We will take care of it, but you need to promise me. These are not good men, I do not want them looking for you too.” One hand moved to cup the back of your head, “Promise me, cariño.”

You nodded, eyes shut at the soothing sensation of his skin against you. “Not a word, I promise.”

Pero breathed deeply before pulling the back of your head into him to press a harsh kiss against the top of your head. “Go up to your room until we are done here. We will have this mess out by the time anyone else comes inside.” Pulling away he looks into your eyes, something otherworldly flashing in their brown depths. A ferocity you had never seen. “You’re okay, cielto. I will always make sure of that.”

By the time you had come down from your room, the innkeeper approached you grumbling about having to pick up the slack, saying something about being told you felt ill and needed to lay down. Not much sympathy though, since he once again just shoved you into the tavern to begin the night service.

Everything was as it was. No blood, no bodies, no nefarious men with vague threats. Just regular people yelling and laughing into their drinks, and people looking to be fed. Neither Pero or William anywhere to be seen, but knowing they had left with the tall man alive, maybe you didn’t want to know where they were.

You trusted Pero completely, even putting that trust more and more into William as well, but you also knew violence was not something you could stomach, not now at least. So you pushed it down, and got to work. Serving greedy bellies late into the night before you could finally seek asylum in your room and put the day behind you.

Cupping water from the small basin on a dresser, you drenched it gently onto your face. A wish for the water to drip off of your face along with this ever growing pit in your stomach. Dressed only in your shift, you allowed the coolness of the night air to flow into your room and caress your skin.

The cold, the smoothness of the water on your face, you slipped your eyes shut as your chest rose and fell with every deep breathe. Palms outstretched on either side of the basic with your legs stretched back you, you gave no regard for whatever sounds flowed around outside. The silence of your heartbeat and your breathing was the only thing you allowed yourself to focus on. So much so, it wasn’t until the jarring jolt of your door opening and slamming shut that brought anyone approaching your room to your attention.

Hand jumping to your heart, you had jumped back with a loud gasp as Pero stood braced against the door. Palms pressed into the wood as his dark eyes flashed deep with an unspoken desire roaming the exposed figure. As his eyes found your face, he quickly changed his stance. Holding an arm out as if to calm a spooked animal, muttering your name to gauge your reaction.

All it took was seeing you move one step towards him for Pero to close the gap. Grasping at your face with one hand and the other grasping the skin just below your chest holding you still. Roaming your face he properly looks at you watching him with concern. “You’re sure you are okay? They didn’t harm you, no?”

Head shaking no, your hands pressed against his chest like before. “I-” You had to look down as you took a deep breathe, unable to see Pero just barley pulling his eyes away from greedily watching your chest heave under the thin material. Looking at him once more, you pressed a palm gently against his cheek, the coarse scruff under scratching in a strangely soothing manner. “You don’t need to tell me, I just need to know you are not in danger.” When he didn’t answer you pressed further. “Tell me you are not in danger, Pero.”

His thumb rubbed your jaw back and forth, grip loosening on your waist but refusing to pull away. “I can’t involve you in this, hermosa.” Feeling you moving back he yanked you closer. “No, I cannot put any of this on you. The less you know, the less they can hurt you. These are men working for a cruel man, and I know exactly what they would do to you to get you to talk.”

Your fingers grasped at whatever material they could hold on his shirt, lips pursing as you thought. “And how do you know that?”

Pero’s eyes were bright, but full of a sadness. “Beacuse I know what I would do to you if I were them. I am not a good man, hermosa. I’m not in danger, I am only putting you in danger by being close to you.”

This time, it was you who pressed your forehead against his. Both of you leaning into each other, eyes closed as you felt the others breath grace the skin of your face. “What if it’s a risk I’m willing to take?”

If there was sadness in Pero’s eyes before, now it has morphed into pleading. The grip on your face rougher, his head ever so tilted as he finds your confidence. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

Your smile didn’t meet his eyes, but you know somewhere deep inside he felt it all the same. “You’re not asking. I’m telling you. You’ve already opened the door Pero, just let me in.” The faint muttering of words you didn’t understand left his mouth. His plead bled to frustration, perhaps even anger, and Pero only had one response to such anger. To act.

Pero pulled you in as he closed the gap between your lips. His lips were harsh and unforgiving, controlling your every movement as he kissed you. The first bite against your lip had you gasping, allowing Pero to taste you with his tongue.

Never in your life had you been kissed this way. The softness of his lips moulding against yours, pulling whimpers from you and needy groans from deep in his own chest, they were nothing like the soft kind pecks that the church had ever told you was appropriate. Pero didn’t kiss you like a man of God, he kissed you like he were drowning and his only rescue was found in your lips.

Greedy hands moved down your body, one holding your waist as he pulled you into his body more, the other grasping tightly at your ass. Something between a whine and a gasp left your mouth, enough to pull your lips away. Almost a snarl had left Pero as his grip on your ass tightened to a bruise as he reconnected your lips together.

His tongue explored inside your mouth with no shame, tasting and touching as if wanting to reach down your throat as his other hand cupped your breast. Jumping at the sudden contact your hands gripped his hips, the skin just below his shirt rising enough for your fingers to slip under and touch his skin. The hand on your ass moved to grip your shift in his fist, yanking himself away from your lips, watching the string of spit still attached to both of you, he leaned in just to give your bottom lip another bite. Pressing your palms against his stomach, Pero now held your shift in both hands.

His eyes shut for just a second as he heaved catching his breathe. Pulling the material just enough to get your attention, “If you don’t want this hermosa, then kick me out now before I go any further.”

For the brief seconds it took to find an answer, in your head it was as if a lifetime had passed. How had this man walked into your life and felt like he now consumed every bit of meaning you found in it? A childhood spent inside the walls called the house of god told you that this would deem you unworthy in the lords eyes. But the deepness in Pero’s? The brown sea that bore into your own, needing, wanting, desperate? The hellfire would be worth it, would be worth your time with this man.

You slid your palms up his stomach, slightly bringing the material with you. Before you could reach further, Pero yanked your shift up and off of you in an instant, tossing it with no care.

Bare for him to see, Pero raked his eyes any and everywhere he could see. A smile, a real genuine smile graced his handsome face as he looked at your softness. “Una criatura tan hermosa, realmente no soy digna,” Mutterings to himself you couldn’t understand, Pero ripped his own shirt off.

Giving you no time to look upon him as he did your body, Pero wrapped his arms around you as he kissed you again. His hands taking harsh gropes of the plush skin you graced him with. His mouth capturing yours like a man possessed, he begun to move you towards the bed. Him grasping at your ass while he did so. Finally pulling just away enough to look at you, your eyes shut still before you blinked away the haze. “Lay back for me.”

Nodding with little hesitation, you likely would do anything he asked at this point. The soft blanket beneath you as you watched Pero rid himself of the rest of his clothes. His broad frame no less intimidating undressed, but it was his cock that took the lead.

No frame of reference, you could not tell if it were big, but it certainly was not small, nor was it thin. Pero’s large hand just barley wound it’s way around the thickness of his cock right at the base, coarse hair covering the skin around him and just hiding his balls, thick and full hanging behind. Each step he took, his grip did little to hide the bounce such a size gave.

You know he told you to lay down, but you yearned to see more. Sliding to the edge of the bed, legs dangling at the floor, Pero came upon you, his cock so close for you to touch. His chest heaved as his teeth gritted at the sight of you. Gently you touched the skin of his thighs, low enough to simply pull his eyes to you. “Guide me, Pero. Show me what to do, how to make you feel good.”

Pero’s free hand ran through your hair, gentle whispering “I should be the one making you feel good, hermosa.” Nonetheless, his resolve was too weak. Moving just up enough he also pulled your head gently closer. The hand on his cock reached just low enough to pull one of yours up, using your fingertips to trace his length, then cupping you around him as much as your small hand could hold.

You leaned in, but stopped just before his tip, looking up at him all you found was a desperate man but one that still smiled. “Start with a kiss, just like before.” Grip in your hair readjusting for a better handle, he let you go your own pace.

Breathe hitching as you kissed his tip, then kissing down his length as your fingers did. Light strokes of your fingers joined the other side as you kissed him up and down and back to his leaking tip. Precum smearing over your lips making you brave, your kiss turning sloppy, messy as you kissed the tip of his cock then taking that wetness back down with your lips and tiny licks of your tongue.

The smear of your saliva and his own cum gave such a slick sound as you lightly stroked him. One again kissing his tip, licking him as you did so, whimpers unlike such a rough man left his mouth. Chancing a glace, you looked up to him. Eyes wild as one hand raked down his face, a sneer as he looked down seeing the tip of his cock just pressed up against your lips, staining white with his precum. It was enough to try.

Taking him into your mouth felt different then you thought it would. He was so hard, but the skin was unlike that on the rest of the body, almost like a rich velvet, but it filled as much as you could try. You shut your eyes hearing Pero groan your name and grip your hair tight.

Your tongue tasting as you went, trying to cover with your hand what your little mouth couldn’t, your other palm resting gently at the junction of his thigh. Pero’s fingers tipped your full mouth up to look at him once more, “Remember to breathe, hermosa.” You nodded as you slid back some, “Good.” His tone was rough, deep and almost with a husk as they turned to moans. He let go of your chin and nodded to continue. “Now suck.”

You don’t know how long you were there, sitting on the bed’s edge, licking and sucking at his cock, your slick mouth taking his cock in and out. Pero resisted thrusting, you could barley fit a third of his length, now was not the time to take more. He was so close though, he could feel it in his balls, he wanted to cum so badly. “So good, such a good girl.” Yanking your hair as he held it painfully harsh as his breathing heaved the closer is orgasm got. “Hot little mouth was born to suck me, weren’t you?”

Your own moan vibrating against his cock forced a hiss out of him. Part of you wanted to each out, touch his balls hanging just below the course hair you felt below your fingers. But would he like that? Now was not the time, not when sucking his cock felt too good to distract yourself from. He was hot and throbbed in your mouth as instead your palm slid against his hips, and grasped the cheek of his ass ever so slightly.

“Merida,” another hiss, “Going to make me cum, hermosa? Where do you want it?” His hands both gripped your head now, not forcing, but moving along with you as you bobbed up and down his soaked cock. “Maybe on these magnificent tits? Or down your needy throat?” You moaned against him again, “That what you want? For me to paint your throat with my seed?”

You couldn’t answer, but you moaned and nodded just slightly. It was all it took, Pero moaned out your name as he came in your mouth. Filling you with his warm seed both hands of yours gripped his hips to keep you steady. Barley moving your head as you took him all in, swallowing what he gave you with little care of how desperate it looked.

As you milked him for all he could give you, he slid out of your mouth as you gasped heavily, chest heaving as you did so. Pero’s cock was positively soaked, your spit and his cum still covering it completely.

Barley catching your breathe, Pero lunged down to kiss you, flipping so he could yank you onto the bed, your body pressed against his as he kissed you. Your thighs framed his hips as his half hard cock slid between your legs, soaked on their own with your own need.

For a while he simply held you against him, hands roaming your body as his lips and tongue moved with yours, the smack of your lips and moans the only sound in the room. Years could have passed and you wouldn’t have noticed. All you could feel was his hands, his lips, and his hardening cock between you.

Breaking the silence, Pero pulled your lips up off him, his nose rubbing against yours. “Would you let me fuck you, cariño? Fill you up with my cock?” You nodded, expecting him to simply slide you onto him, but he didn’t. Pero, ever the man doing the unexpected, flipped your bodies over so you lay against the bedspread.

He kissed down your chest, stopping to bite and suck at your nipples, drawing gasps from your mouth before he trailed down more. “I- I thought you were, going to fuck me?” Looking down you met a mischievous look.

Pero spreading your legs as his head lowered to your soaked core, “Oh I will, but first, I want a taste.” You stammered out, not quite understanding, but Pero smirked. “A taste hermosa, I’m a hungry man as you know.” Lowering his mouth to you clit, the spark of pleasure slammed your head back against the pillow with a whine. He licked and sucked against the tiny nub as two thick fingers traced up and down your soaked entrance.

You whined out his name, arms coming up above your head to grip at nothing. Pero shifted, giving one long lick up the length of your cunt before sloppily sucking at your clit as his fingers pushed into your tight walls. Your hips jumped as you gasped almost a shriek.

Pero chuckled against your cunt as his free hand soothingly stroked the skin of your stomach, pumping his fingers slowly in and out. The wetness filling the air as your slick mixed with his own spit as he too his time taking you apart.

Finding the perfect spot inside you, your body writhed in a burning hot pleasure, one that coiled through your veins as you moaned. His two thick fingers stroking against that wall as his mouth worked your clit, unintelligible mumbling spoken into you as he did so.

The hand on your stomach slid down, pressing against your pelvis, just above your pussy as his fingers picked up their speed. Your body tensed up as the fire inside you built up quickly. You begged his name, not knowing what you wanted. Him to stop or to never stop you couldn’t even think. His name and the burning core inside wanting to burst your only thoughts.

Right as his fingers stroked hard against your walls, Pero pressed down on your pelvis and you fell apart. Your orgasm striking every nerve in your body as you arched up into him, moaning and gasping his name.

Little reprieve was waiting for you as Pero started to kiss the exact path he made coming down, only in reverse. A gentle smile found you as he pressed a much softer kiss against you. Now your own hands roamed the skin of his own body as you panted into his mouth. “Please Pero..”

Pushing himself up onto his hands, Pero looked down at your adoring gaze, his own matching. “I’m not sure I could deny you anything, looking at me like that.” He pressed a harsh kiss to you once more before he shifted you both.

Pero kneeling back as he pulled your legs on either side of him, stroking the tip of his cock against your folds. Tiny whines left you as he prodded just his tip inside out, in and out as he grinned at your needy sounds. Finally, he laid back down over you, one hand holding the base of his cock, the other wrapping around your back and pulling you up into him.

Words sat at the tip of his tongue, but he pushed it down. Kissing you instead as he pushed inside you.

You gasped out as it morphed into a moan in the same breathe. His cock never stopping, but slowly sliding in and sliding back out as he let you get used to the feeling. Your face desperate and whimpering his name, Pero slid his tongue into your mouth once more as his now free hand grasped yours. Pushing it up over your head as he thread your fingers together.

Sliding slow as he kissed you, you pulled back from his lips and nodded. “Please, I can take it.” An eyebrow raised teasingly, “Please fuck me, Pero. I need it.” That teasing smirk graced him once more as he begun to thrust into you.

Whatever burning need his mouth had given you, this was imminently different. His cock pounded into you harder and harder with every thrust, grunts leaving his mouth as Pero made a home in your neck. Kissing and biting into the sensitive skin, his scruff leaving a red sting as it trailed behind.

One hand of yours reached up to grasp his hair, rake through it as he did yours. You wanted to watch, see his large body fuck you with such pounding need, but you couldn’t. Head thrown back and eyes sealed shut unable to handle such a sight.

Pero’s cock slid against your walls, soaked beyond belief, soaked beyond any need he had ever gotten from a partner before. He thrusted into you faster, growling into your neck as the obscene slap of his skin against yours echoed in the room.

Each pound of his cock into your cunt you felt his balls slap against you, pulling another moan of his name out, nudging your nose against him to pull his lips onto yours. The arm around you snaked to your front, rubbing into your clit, as the sound of slapping skin increased. He murmured in his own language, fingers threaded together as his knuckled strained from the pressure, mouth sloppy against yours as he licked into you.

His fingertips rubbed your clit and he had to push harder into you, the walls of your cunt clenching tight around his fat cock as he pounded harder. His fingers sliding to rub the heel of his palm against you as you burst. Your cunt hugged his cock so warm and so tight, your gasps of pleasure screamed in his ears and it was enough for him.

Grabbing your hip Pero pushed into you roughly before pressing his tip as deep as possible, holding it inside you as he came. You could feel his hot cum soaking inside of you, his face slack jawed and forehead pressed into yours. Your bodies grinded slowly against each other as you milked every drop of his cum into you.

He never slid out. Pero simply released your hand and kissed you once more. Eventually, as you both steadied your breathing, Pero turned you both onto your sides, your arms and legs entangled as he refused to leave the warmth of your cunt.

Small kisses against your nose making you give a breathy giggle. You traced his cheek with your palm, his deep eyes now calm, satiated, pouring not need or want into yours, just brightness. Pero gripped your hand on his face, pulling it over to kiss the back of it and holding it against his heart. “Promise me, cariño. If anything happens, you do not say a word. This is not your fight, and I won’t let them hurt you just to get through to me.”

You wouldn’t fight this time. You nodded, wrapping your arm back around his waist as you kissed him once more before snuggling into his warm chest. Pero wrapped protectively around your own frame he kissed the top of your head.

Fading into the night, you felt his hands caress your skin, and his deep warm voice speaking nothings into the top of your head. Just the word “amor” loud enough to make out before sleep overtook you. Sleep didn’t find Pero as easily.

He knew he should tell you the truth, he knew there was so much more to this, more complicated then you could possibly imagine. The black powder was why they were here, that wasn’t a lie, but why they were being hunted wasn’t because of that. How could he or William explain that to you? It wouldn’t matter if he did. You weren’t like him. Weren’t like either of them and deep down he knew he couldn’t change that, so why should he burden you with that knowledge?

The morning sun came earlier than he wished. He wanted to stay in this little world, your arms around each other in your warm bed. Imagining a life where if he were a better man, he could whisk you away, find some small little home in the mountains and grow old with you.

That was a dangerous fantasy, but one Pero decided to hold onto for just a little bit longer. Watching your eyes flutter open, before grumbling at the brightness and snuggling further into his chest, Pero decided he couldn’t give this up, not really.

His chuckles drew your eyes open once more, a playful glare sent his way as he pulls you to sit upright. “As much as I’d love to keep you naked between the sheets with me all morning, we both have things to do, hermosa.”

You looked away bashfully as Pero stood from the bed, uncaring of his cock on display as he walked around the room to dress. You on the other hand worked slower, keeping you covered as much as possible while you slipped on any coverings. As you stood in front of your small mirror, doing up the front of your dress, Pero slipped his arms around your middle and yanked you back into him, laughing at the ‘oof’ that came out of your mouth.

“Are you always this handsy with the women bring into your bed so early in the morning?” If someone were to ask, you couldn’t be sure why you felt a churn in your gut at the image of Pero doing what you two did with another. You aren’t stupid, he’s a man. A handsome, well travelled man, you could only imagine the people who throw themselves at him.

Scruff from his beard rubbed against the skin on your neck as he found a home nuzzled in there with his lips. “I usually have no interest in staying until morning.” You knew he felt you tense up, his lips stopped their path as soon as he said it. What did you truly mean to each other? Was this strange pull to this man all in your head? Were you just a passing fancy as he was trapped waiting for the port to open once more? That didn’t feel good. The worry that you had made this magnetic pull towards one another all up, just beacuse a handsome mysterious man gave you the time of day.

Your eyes met his in the reflection, and you stammered. “I didn’t assume, I mean- I understand if I’m not what you want- you didn’t need to stay is what I’m trying to say.” That was well put.

Pero’s eyes narrowed and spun you around, his hands on your upper arms as he made you look him in the eye. “You didn’t make me do anything, hermosa. Get that thought out of your head.”

You swallowed hard as you hoped your face looked nonchalant. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just-”

Pero’s brows furrowed more, not anger in his eyes, more like a frustration you weren’t certain was aimed at you. “You just meant if I was to throw you to the side now, you would say you were okay with that, no?” The slight tremble of your lip has Pero pulling your chin up with his fingers just slightly. “But you aren’t okay with that are you, cariño.”

It wasn’t a question. As his fingers slid up to cup the side of your face, you hand followed to cover his. “I’d respect whatever you’d want, but no. No I wouldn’t really be okay with that.” His eyes softened, a look that was likely not on him often. “I don’t quite know why I feel so..so strongly about you but I do. I have a lot of feelings about you, Pero and I think the last thing I want to do is to give them up.”

Pero didn’t respond right away. Instead you just watched his soft eyes, was it sadness or warmth you weren’t sure. But the kiss he leaned in for was chaste, sweet and emotional. Not a man of words, but whatever this was between you, you spoke that language perfectly.

You helped get him ready to head out for the day, securing his weapons in place as you dodged his cheeky attempts to grab you. Smoothing out the material covering his chest, Pero held both of your wrists. That serious firm look overpowered by the warmth of his eyes stared into you as he brought both hands up to kiss the back of both, before leaning into give you one last proper kiss. “Remember what I said, hermosa. You keep yourself safe. I can handle men like yesterday, but if they come to you again, you don’t know me. That’s all you say.”

Sighing, you nodded at him. “As long as you promise to come back to me in one piece.”

Pero let your hands go, bringing your head to his and kissing the top of it. “Always, hermosa.” Watching him step out the door, he didn’t even make it out before he was faced with a very amused looking William, already waiting outside against the hallway wall.

“What? You think you were actually quiet last night? Lucky I didn’t make a noise complaint.” While your eyes widened, looking away in embarrassment, Pero simply grunted at him with a roll of his eyes. Shoving him towards the stairwell as William yelled out to you laughing, “Good morning to you too!” Their voices fading as Pero hurled insults at the man going down the stairs.

The Lord mustn’t have been that upset with you, at least the common room downstairs was all but empty save for a few elder men hard of hearing. Your morning and early afternoon were normal, quiet. Giving you seemingly all the time in the world to replay the events of last night, how his hands felt on your skin, how demanding his lips were, how heavy his cock was on your tongue.

The innkeeper yelled at you only once for having your head in the clouds, but no one else noticed or said anything. Apparently only William was the one with good hearing.

By the time anyone had even come in, the most excitement was a one of the regulars dropping almost a full bottle onto the ground before you pushed him off to sit at a far away table. Currently you were kneeling on the ground with a bucket and rag cleaning up the mess when the door opened. Looking up from the floor you saw three men filling the door frame. “Afternoon Gentleman. Take a seat I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

They all walked in, slow heavy steps echoing in the room. The two by each side stopped just behind the man in the middle. He on the other hand walked right into your view, large stomping boots starling you as you trailed up the length of him to meet less than friendly eyes. “I think we’re okay right here actually.”

The three men staring at you with an almost smug smile on each of their faces made you pause. Slowly you stood up, leaving everything on the floor. Two of them wandering around each side of you, keeping distance but not saying a word. The third pulling a crumpled parchment out of his pocket and putting it in your hands. “Now tell me sweetheart, where are these two?”

Pero and William stood not far from the inn, the small stream beside them washing the dirt from their hands. Little had been spoken between them for over an hour, a small comment from William, a joke really, about how grumpy Pero would get after they leave for good.

It itched at his brain. Knowing one way or the other, at some point you wouldn’t be with him anymore, but coming from his own companion made it sting that much more. He had no idea how he felt, what he was feeling.

There was a tiny speck of light in his life finally, and that light was you. He only just got you and after a days ride of craving being back in your bed with you, he didn’t need the reminder of what they were running from.

His voice irritated Pero more, “You know being mad at me doesn’t make me wrong.”

Nothing but a glare was sent his way, Pero standing finally and shaking the excess water from his hands. “I’m not doing this with you, amigo. Not today.” He tried to focus on your face, the sweet sound of your voice and how soft your touch was against him. Tried to think instead about just how he would take you apart next, addicted to the breathy whines you gifted him when he bites at your lips.

“When then?” William walked over to him, uncaring of his mood. “When are we going to talk about it? When we’re half way across the country from her? Or are we going to wait until you finally realize you can’t just stay here and live out your lives together?” Pero desperately ignored him, but William stepped closer and his voice got louder. “I get it, it’s the last thing you want to think about but you have to, Tovar. I know how this feels-”

Pero’s blood boiled, whipping around and getting in his face, teeth gritting as he points at his chest. “You know nothing of how I feel. You know no matter how long you’re gone, she will be there when you get back. You have no idea how I feel.”

Rage radiated from his very being, while William had the decency to sigh, looking down in sympathy. They both know Pero’s loss will be drastically different then Williams. William had reassurance what to come back to. Pero had none, he had this time with you and they both know Pero does not feel love like this easily, or ever in how long they’ve travelled together. His voice was small, but honest. “You’re right. I...I don’t know how it feels.”

Pero's hand fell to his side, fists clenching and unclenching as he tempered the rage. “She is all I have, and this is all I have with her.”

“The dreams though-” Pero didn’t want to hear it.

“The dreams mean nothing, amigo. They never have. Just memories mixed with a made up future, and none of them have ever shown her with me. They never brought me to her, maybe something else did maybe fate meant me to find some kind of love with her, I don’t know. But reminding me of the inevitable isn’t fair.” His voice was quiet at that point, head lost in thoughts of you, wondering if meeting you was by coincidence or if he was destined to fall in love with you, as some kind of cruel joke on him.

For a long time they never spoke of this thing between them, it hardly mattered for a long time. Until China that is, and now it seems everything leads back to that one thing. He didn’t want to think about it now. He just wanted to feel your embrace, let him be at peace for just a while longer.

Your hands shook just as your head shook. “I’m not sure what this is about. Is this- are they wanted men?” If they were stupid, maybe they may have missed the waver in your voice, but by the smug smirk on the mans face and the chuckle that followed, clearly they weren’t.

He pulled the paper from your hands, looking at it in a pretending deep thought. “Good looking fellas, would be hard to miss wouldn’t they boys?” Agreements came from men now closing in on both sides of you as he folded it back up. “Now miss, I want you to be real careful about lying to me. I know they’ve been here. So why don’t you just talk to me like a civilized girl.”

You swore your body was starting to shake as well, whatever confidence you forced into your voice hardly covering up the trembles. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, now I suggest you either buy something or leave. I don’t want any trouble.”

The two remained at their position a number of feet away from you, but the third took another step forward. Watching your fists clenching in anxiety with a cocky grin. “No trouble, save for the guys from the other day that came looking for the same thing.” He took another step. “The ones your friends here killed just to protect you right?”

You felt a shiver crawling down your spine, edging it’s way into the nerves in your body at every angle. Your eyes were wide, flashing fear with little bravery left. You shook your head again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? Even if I know who they were, they clearly aren’t here anyways.” You gestured out to the room with little population.

Pero told you not to give them what they want, told you what they would do to you if they found out how much you knew them. The man in front of you was far scarier then the ones from the other day, this one looked at you like nothing you said would matter.

His voice was even more terrifying. “Stubborn. Must be the Spaniard's girl, right?” He chuckled at your shocked expression. “Definitely. Soft looking, stubborn resolve, probably easy to seduce too.” He looked to his boys with a laugh, “William’s the one who likes a challenge, found that one out the hard way didn’t we?”

As another step was taken, the personal space between you closing in, you felt cold. You just wanted them to leave, go away and wait for Pero to come back and hide forever in his warm arms. This grumpy man who came into your life and stole away your heart, you tried to think of nothing but him as this one spoke back to you.

“Look, girl. I’ve had a long ride getting here. How about you just make this easy and tell me what you know, and we can get our of your way. The more you tell me, the faster I’ll leave.”

Giving him up, either of them up wasn’t going to happen. The harsh and desperate way he held you last night, Pero didn’t give away his love easily, and what kind of monster would you be if you just threw that away now? You wouldn’t. “Get out.”

His eyebrows raised, “You sure? Not even a little yes or no?”

Your voice found grounding. Firm and steady, the shaking still there, but your voice found it’s confidence. “You get nothing. Get out.”

There was a minute of silence. You watched him and he watched you. If he thought you would just willingly give up the only man ever to truly show you real love, then he really was stupid afterall. Finally, his body relaxed. Slouching more casually as he shrugged, “Well boys, we tried.” He looked seemingly nonchalantly between them both, and tilted his head with a sigh.

Then they moved. Both men jumping you from the sides and grabbing your arms, yanking them behind you so harshly they burned in pain from the force. They were gripped tight too, giving you little room to move. Chuckling as he now stood in front of you, the man shot his hand up suddenly and gripped your neckline close to your jaw, a knife sliding up into your vision as he stared at you without a hint of emotion.

“Now, see were it just my two compatriots here, they’d just let you go. They’re a little more sympathetic you see, suckers for a good love story. Me though? I was sent by the big man himself, so you can imagine I’m a little less caring.”

You didn’t know what he was talking about, this kind of violence for some kind of explosive powder seemed excessive, too aggressive. You just wanted Pero. He’s all you thought about as the knife was dragged lightly over the skin of your cheek, the flat side tapping at the skin under your eye. “Could give you a matching one. Lovers who bear the same scars and all.” Then slowly, he dragged the knifes tip back down and just barley touched the skin of your neck. “But, like I said. I’m a lot less forgiving then the others.”

He watched you swallow deeply and smiled. Your fear desperately holding onto the memory of Pero’s touch, his lips, those soft brown eyes you could find stars in. But this man wanted to carve through that.

He stood watching you cling to thoughts of your lover as he lightly teased the skin of your neck with his knife.

Horses safely secured in an inconspicuous hiding spot, Pero and William begun making their way back to the inn. William, naturally, being the one to interrupt the silence. “You’re sure it’s buried enough no one will find it?”

Pero rolled his eyes impatiently over to him, “I can dig a fucking hole in the ground.” William laughed raising his hands in the air. After the other day, everything hidden in their respective rooms needed to be moved, a safe place no one would find either items.

Getting close to the inn, Pero noticed a smell in the air. Hand flying out to stop William in his tracks, he lifted his head to sniff. “What does that smell like to you?”

Recognizing it himself, William barley got out “Smoke,” before both men took off running. Barley visibly through the trees, he could see the inn, not engulfed in flames, but somewhere inside was undoubtedly burning, and wherever it was, it was spreading.

Breaking the tree line though, it wasn’t the smoke encasing the air on the second floor that Pero could see. It was near the door, a trail of blood smeared into the ground along with marks in the dirt like clawing hands.

The trail didn’t go far, it bled into a small clearing in front of the road pooling around you, crawling your way seemingly to nowhere. Pero’s heart lurched so hard in his chest it was genuinely painful, he yelled your name as he sprinted over to you, William pulling up the slack to see if the perpetrators were still nearby.

Knees falling to the ground, Pero carefully picked you up muttering your name, as he turned you into his arms, everything in his body sliced at him in agony. You were utterly covered in blood, skin fading in colour as the blood dripped more and more from a slice into your neck. A gruesome slash leaving you bleeding out and rasping for any air or words you could.

Pero reached for the side of your face, “No, no, no no, you cannot do this to me,” Your eyes were glossy and far away, but they seeked his. Your hand just barley making it high enough to touch the one on your cheek. “Please it’s not your time,” His hand raked through your hair as he leaned into your face. “I just found you, mi amor you can’t go yet.”

Pero felt like he was the one on fire, trembling he watched you touch his jaw and cheek, barley getting his name out, as you struggled to say anything else.

“Stay with me, mi amor, por favour.” He begged at this point, begged whatever power could keep you here, pressing his lips to yours in desperate need, he could just barley feel you kiss him back. Your lips brushed against his as he looked into your eyes.

“Pero, I- I lo..”

Nothing around him felt real. Your eyes fading away as everything in you stopped at once, the life leaving you entirely. It hadn’t been since he was a boy that Pero cried, but there was no stopping the tears now. He held you to his forehead, muttering raggedly in Spanish as he held you tightly.

It was cruel. The only light he’s ever found ripped away from him just as he found you. Pero’s heart shattered along with whatever soul existed within him. He could see William approaching. The horrific view, your body still in his arms soaked with blood, Pero cradling you to him now covered in it as well.

His own voice broke as he spoke, “Tovar,” When Pero looked up to him, it was a look William would never forget. A broken devastation on his face, tears staining his own cheeks and falling further as he looked back at you. “Tovar, it’s them. We-” He held a hand to his head, almost unable to look. “We need to go now, there's more coming, and the smoke-”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to, nor did he want to either. William looked away. Pero was right, he would never understand how this feels. William in fact was pretty sure Pero would never forget this feeling either.

Pero looked at you once more, pressing his lips against your cold ones, not leaving them as he spoke to you. “Mi corazón está contigo para siempre. Te amaré durante toda mi vida. Mi dulce chica.” One last kiss, and he pulled away. Gently standing with you in his arms, he carried you over to the softer grass beneath the luscious trees, not wanting to leave you splayed out in the road like that.

He brushed through your hair one last time, with a kiss to your forehead. He refused to wipe away the tears staining his cheeks as he and William were forced to run. He wasn’t here to protect you when it mattered most, this was his fault. Let him remember this pain forever, he thought to himself.

No matter how long that forever was. . . . . Journal of Father Raymond, 07-1196, AD.

“For some time I had been preparing for the burial of the young woman from the Inn fire with the slashed throat, when I noticed something unusual. She has been in my care for a number of weeks now, and there is no sign of death. No smell, no rot, in fact her colour seems to look less lifeless each day. More unusual, the wound on her neck, seems to be healing. I was unsure at first, but after observing her for a fortnight I can say that her deathly wound has begun to disappear.

The locals say she was a quiet girl, no signs of curses, punishment of sins, no signs of demonic presence. Just a girl working at an Inn, and rumours of budding romance with a man described as dark and foreign. Yet she continues to show no signs of death, despite the body and brain having no function.

I have moved her into the basement, her wrists chained in case I am indeed wrong about a demonic infestation. I have not told the Church of this matter yet, perhaps a sin itself, going against the good of the Lord. But I am also a man of science, and my years as a scholar tell me to understand this womans case further.

I will begin seeking any outside persons or men in the study of science who may have any idea of this phenomenon, or have an interest to join me in researching on our own.

It may take some time, but I am confident at least one such person exists that can help me. A healthy and healing, yet completely dead corpse of an innocent woman is not something I will ignore.

I pray the Lord and the Good Christ forgive me for such transgressions.”

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x y/n #pero tovar #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #the great wall fanfiction

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requestomaestro · 1 year

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Pedro Pascal's characters opening Christmas presents

Din Djarin

has low expectations when it comes to opening gifts because everybody usually buys him something that is actually meant for Grogu

or it’s a gift for him to help him raise Grogu (like a baby wrap)

so when he gets a small but thoughtful present that isn’t meant to actually be for the child he's so shocked that he doesn’t know what to do

will have to help Grogu unpack his gifts but goes back to admiring his present whenever the kid is occupied with new toys

however, these moments don’t last long because Grogu thinks that wrapping papers in different colors have different tastes and needs to try all of them

Francisco Morales

always says that he doesn’t need anything and you don’t have to buy him a present

you do it anyway cause Frankie absolutely deserves it

too busy and overwhelmed looking at his kid opening gifts and playing with wrapping paper he doesn’t notice that something is waiting for him under the Christmas tree

slowly unwraps the paper instead of ripping it apart just like his kid does

he’ll thank you but won’t say much more after opening his present

later, when everybody is getting ready to go into the snow he’ll embrace you in a hug that shows how much he’s grateful for the present but most importantly you

has low expectations when it comes to opening gifts because everybody usually buys him something that is actually meant for Grogu

or it’s a gift for him to help him raise Grogu (like a baby wrap)

so when he gets a small but thoughtful present that isn’t meant to actually be for the child he's so shocked that he doesn’t know what to do

will have to help Grogu unpack his gifts but goes back to admiring his present whenever the kid is occupied with new toys

however, these moments don’t last long because Grogu thinks that wrapping papers in different colors have different tastes and needs to try all of them

Javier Peńa

says that he wants whisky. Just it. A bottle of a fine, old whisky

when you refuse to support his drinking habits and buy him another bottle, deep inside he feels cared for but won’t admit it at loud

sends you off with "Whatever you say sweetheart” and no other idea for a present

after that, he thinks you won’t buy him anything so he’s surprised when there’s a present waiting for him under the Christmas tree

you decide to buy him a mustache styling kit and he’s impressed by the thoughtful idea

will absolutely use it and if he likes it he’ll buy another one when the one you got him runs out

Maxwell Lord

you have to buy this men-child as many gifts as possible

if the biggest box under the tree isn’t for him, Christmas is over

rips paper like a child

appreciates expensive gifts but usually, his favorites are small, funny ones

silly socks are his favorite, you make sure to buy him a new pair every year, it’s become a tradition

sweets are always welcome (will eat all of them the same day)

Javi Gutierez

he’s more of a giver rather than a receiver

loves handmade gifts and feels uncomfortable when you buy him something expensive

every year you get him something with Nicolas Cage (that sequin pillow with Nic’s face was one of your gifts for him)

likes gifts but the best present for him is spending some time with you. Just sitting on a couch, relaxing with some mulled wine and watching "Family Man" for the 500 times

Pero Tovar

hates buying gifts so every year he tells you to not buy him anything so he doesn't have to buy you something

you don’t listen

he accidentally finds his present a day before Christmas so he has to run to the mall and buy you something which makes him even more furious

opening gifts don't make him either happy or joyful but the Christmas food does!

will quickly open gifts and say thank you then go back to eating

Dieter Bravo

similar to Maxwell, he’s like a child

buying him a present is easy but hiding it from him is quite the opposite

no matter how much you try to hide them from him he always finds them

will throw the entire house upside down to find his gifts

one year you hid the presents at your parents' place, and he managed to corrupt them into finding AND OPENING the gifts meant for him

when it comes to opening presents on Christmas morning he’ll accept everything with the biggest smile even if he already knows what it is

Oberyn Martell

a perfect gift for him is some nice lingerie for you

so you buy yourself a set, put it on under your pajamas, and place a tasteful photo into the envelope

when opening a present he doesn't say much, saves energy for later when he can get his hands on you

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604to647 · 24 days

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Mi Galleta

Modern AU Pero Tovar x fem!reader

Middle brooding pic of our man 🥵 is a screengrab from this Merry Tovar season gifset by @pedrorascal

Mi Galleta (Spanish for “my cookie”) is a 4 part mini-series about Modern AU Pero Tovar, a Grumpy-Bouncer for exclusive high end restaurant 'Lin' and Sunshine-Rich Girl with a Heart of Gold™️ Reader. Pero rides a sports bike cause it makes him even hotter but this isn’t a Biker AU 🏍️😊 (Fluff throughout, Angst = 🥠, Smut = 🍪)

Each part is named after a cookie:

Part 1 - Ginger Molasses

Part 2 - White Chocolate Macadamia (light 🥠, 🍪)

Part 3 - Salted Caramel (light 🍪, 🥠)

Biker!Pero Boyfriend ✨Vibes✨

Hello Kitty

Sugar Drop (April Showers Challenge one-shot) new!

Part 4 - Oatmeal Raisin new! (🥠,🍪)

This series was born from a very vivid dream I had so maybe it doesn’t make any sense, but let’s just go with it and I hope you enjoy! Pero is my OG PBoi fanfic love and it’s been fun writing for the one who started it all 🥹

(Accidentally deleted the masterlist and had to repost 💀😅)

#no you didn't see that #masterlist #pero tovar #modern!pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au #no y/n

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pintsizemama · 1 year

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Hot Cocoa

Day 5

Summary: You introduce Pero to hot cocoa.

Pairings: Pero Tovar x Reader (gender neutral), Pero Tovar x You

Fandom: The Great Wall

Rating: Mature 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 574

Warnings: language…let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: This is a time traveler modern Pero snippet…I plan to write a longer version of this one day!

Day 4 Day 6 Christmas Masterlist Main Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist

The whistling of the kettle roused you from the couch. You had been half asleep, snuggled under a blanket, waiting for the water to boil. You grumbled as you threw the blanket off and padded into the kitchen. You were just pulling the kettle from the stove when movement in your peripheral caught your attention. You glanced up to see Pero rushing from the bedroom, sword in hand.

“What was that noise!” He asked, eyes darting around the room, looking for danger. You stood in shock for a moment before you answered him.

“Kettle,” you replied. You held up the offending item to show him.

“Kettle?” He repeated in his heavily accented voice.

“Yes,” you answered.

“What the fuck is that?” He asked with a scowl. You sighed. You forgot how much he didn’t know. Pero was not from your time. He had been fighting great beasts on the ancient Great Wall, and the next thing he knew, he was in the woods behind your house…in modern day. He had been heavily injured and you had nursed him back to health. Once you realized he wasn’t crazy, and had in fact time traveled, you took it upon yourself to be his guide to the modern world.

“It’s a tea kettle,” you explained softly. “You use it to boil water…to make hot drinks.”

“What are you making?” He asked, approaching cautiously.

“Hot cocoa,” you answered.

“Cocoa?” He parroted. “Chocolate?” You nodded. “Mmm…I like chocolate, though it is hard to come by where I am from.”

“Not so much here, Pero,” you told him. You poured the water into two mugs and pulled out the packets of hot chocolate. “Sorry it’s the cheap stuff. I don’t have everything to make the really good hot cocoa.” He nodded, but his eyes never left your hands. He was fascinated. When you ripped the packet open and poured the powder into the mug he jumped back.

“That is not chocolate!” He exclaimed. You laughed

“Yes it is,” you assured him. “It’s powdered cocoa and sugar.”

“This is incredible,” he murmured in aww. He took the empty packet from you and examined it closely. You added the other packet to the second mug and stirred them. You tossed the spoon and grabbed your milk frother. It always did a much better job of mixing the cocoa. You put it in the drink and stifled another laugh when Pero jumped back as it whirled through the chocolate.

“There we are,” you said to yourself when they were ready. You handed one to Pero. He eyed it suspiciously, but took a sip. His eyes lit up.

“This is delicious,” he exclaimed. You smiled.

“I know,” you told him. “Let’s go sit on the couch. It’s too damn cold in here.” Your heating was old, so the house never really warmed up enough in the winter. You and Pero settled into the couch. You snuggled up against him and pulled the blanket over both of you. You drank your hot cocoa in companionable silence. It was one thing you loved about him—he wasn’t much of a talker. You enjoyed the quiet, and so did he. He wrapped and arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

“Thank you for this,” Pero said quietly. “It means a lot to me.”

“It’s just cocoa,” your teased.

“I wasn’t just talking about the cocoa, preciosa,” he whispered.

“I know,” you whispered back.

Day 6

Join my taglist

If you enjoy my blog and would like to support it, you can always buy me a coffee. Not necessary, but always appreciated.

Taglist:

@wildmoonflower @kirsteng42 @maydayfigment @lowlights @xocalliexo @stevie75 @strangercoven @sleep-tight1 @juletheghoul @readsalot73 @athalien @javierpinme @falulagellerr @just-here-for-the-moment @maxwell--lord @gothicxbarbie @paintballkid711 @dihra-vesa @mswarriorbabe80 @peach-child @safe-teycar @greeneyedblondie44 @peoniarose @vinny-likes-to-play21 @ikinmahlen @mishasminion360 @agent-jbarnes @colorlesswhispersunknown @hayley-the-comet @ajeff855 @hypnoash @withakindheartx @jediknight122 @jasterslegacy @magikfanatic @lolliepopsicle @brieflyannoyingandfunny @pascals-cat @spotty-boo90 @ezras-channel-rat @microsoftcraint @3rddlifee @sirwaddlefuck @my-patronus-is-a-raptor @maievdenoir @tanzthompson @balekanemohafe @alexxavicry @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

#christmas writing challenge #Pero Tovar #pedro pascal #fluff #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #the great wall #pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fic

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sirowsky · 2 years

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Part 12 - We're Not Okay

Pero Tovar and Female Reader (nicknamed Bee) Modern AU

You're all struggling with the knowledge that something bad is gonna happen, trying to prepare as best you can. But of course, nothing ever goes according to plan.

Creator chooses not to use Warnings! This is 18+ONLY! I’m happy to elaborate on what to expect from this part via DM.

And I'm sorry again for the delay, my head's been in a Din kinda mood lately. But I'm coming back to this with a vengeance, so if you're squeamish about blood and stuff, you should steer clear.

Word Count: 5961 Masterlist(this story) Author’s Masterlist

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

When Abby had come to that day, it was the happiest you’d been for what seemed like a long time. Her left lung had been badly damaged and would never be able to function as well as it had before, but she wasn’t at all concerned by that. You’d hugged her carefully but for a long time, crying with relief and repeatedly thanking Pero for saving her life, and when she’d stopped crying herself, Abby had asked exactly what had happened.

You’d told her what you knew from your perspective, leaving Pero to explain as much as he’d felt comfortable with concerning his involvement, and you’d both been quite surprised when she hadn’t even flinched at hearing him describe what he’d done to her attacker. Together, the three of you had sat there in the living room, sharing your experiences and airing out all the questions and worries that had plagued you all ever since things had gone sideways. And afterwards, you’d felt such a peacefulness. But you should’ve known that it wouldn’t last.

Days passed without a word from Jones, making all of you more and more tense, because you knew that bad things were coming, and you were just waiting for shit to hit the fan. You all tried to keep each other’s spirits up, and there was plenty to be happy and excited about, but the dark cloud that loomed over you all managed to infect everything with a touch of fear.

Pero told you that even this was a tactic, making all of you nervous and interfering with your sleep so that you’d be good and anxious by the time they decided to strike, and as much as you tried not to let yourself fall into that trap, you still did. Piece by piece, the stress ate away at you, and there didn’t seem to be any way to stop it.

Because how were you supposed to sleep soundly when you knew that the house could be attacked at any moment, by people so skilled at their craft that they could kill people in a crowded street without being noticed? He was oddly calm, though. But then, this was the life he’d lived for a long time before William had left, and that time had been as safe and cared for as he’d ever felt before he met you. Still, it was boggling your mind that anyone could consider something like this ‘normal’.

“Is he always so… controlled? Under stress, I mean.” Abby asked one evening.

The two of you were sitting at the dinner table, having tea and looking at the pouring rain outside the windows, while Pero and Dean had gone out to bring the horses inside for the night. They normally slept outside, but the rain was icy cold with the looming winter chill, and you’d all decided that no one would go out alone, which was why both men had gone. Two of the dogs were outside with them, and the other two were in the kitchen with you, while Groot was leaning against your legs under the table.

“Pretty much,” you replied, “He’s not as detached or insensitive as he looks, but he’s very good at keeping himself sharp and prepared, even when his emotions are flaring. Pete was… an extreme situation.”

“Because of you.” she stated, but there was a question hiding in there too.

“Yeah. In that fight, he was more animal than man.” you said, still struggling to put words to what you’d seen that day.

“And you’re worried that he’s gonna get like that again?”

“Honestly… I’m mostly worried that something’s gonna happen to me, which I know sounds kinda self-absorbed, but I mean because of what he might do if he lost me. I’m not sure that he’d be able to stay human at all.” you confessed.

“He’s not gonna let anything happen to you, babes.” she cooed.

“It’s not gonna be that simple this time,” you countered, meeting her eyes and feeling your own fears creep into the words. “These guys are as well trained as he is, he’s not gonna be able to outsmart them, or have any advantage against them in a fight. Pete was a fly on a wall compared to the Falcons, Abs.”

“Then why is he still calm?” she challenged. “If he was truly afraid that he can’t protect you, then why is he okay with leaving your side at all?”

That was a good point. And it made you wonder if he had a plan of some sort that he wasn’t sharing with you. Some way of tipping the odds in his favour. You didn’t think so, but just the idea gave you chills, and you gripped your mug a little tighter.

“I don’t really wanna think about that.” you whispered.

“Okay, then here’s a completely different question: have you guys talked yet? I mean, have you had the talk?”

You knew what she meant by that. The future talk. The ‘where do you see us in ten years’ talk, the one where you decided if your interest, dreams, feelings and wants aligned. Joking about proposals wasn’t exactly a good way to judge whether you actually wanted the same things in life, and while you were prepared to both kill and die for the man, you didn’t really know much about what he wanted.

Obviously, you knew that he absolutely saw you in his future, but life was more than that. Life was where to live and work, what company to keep, what interest to pursue, whether or not to build a family and all the complications that that entailed. And you had no idea what he thought about those things.

“No. There hasn’t really been space for that.” you said after a minute, still whispering for some reason.

“Okay, just checking. Cause I know that I was all freaked out about him before, but obviously I’m no longer scared of his deadlier sides, now that I’ve been on the other side of that fence. But I’m still kinda reeling over how fast you two have become inseparable.” she said, and there was earnest curiosity in her voice.

“It’s really not complicated, I just love him.” you said with a shrug.

“All the more reason-…”

“To have the talk, I know,” you interrupted her. “We will, but we have slightly more concerning matters to focus on right now.”

“Not that that’s stopped you from engaging in carnal distractions every chance you get.”

She deliberately waited until you’d lifted the mug to your lips before she said that, making you splutter tea everywhere.

“Abby!”

“It’s not like I’ve eavesdropped, or anything, you’re just not exactly discreet about it.” she said.

And with her voice now equal parts mirth and irritation, you were reminded of the conversation you’d had with her in the woods behind your house that day when she first met Pero, concerning her lack of a porn-collection. It made you snort at her.

“I’m barely even aware of anything else when I’m with him, so I wouldn’t know.” you huffed back, and she coughed a little laugh.

“Well, good for you.”

She was smiling, but you wondered if it was as genuine as it appeared.

“Hey… I know it hasn’t been possible because of your injuries and being in the hospital and all but, how are you coping with the lack of carnal pleasures?” you asked, letting the playfulness fade away.

“You know, trapped in the hospital, even when I was getting better it never really occurred to me. It wasn’t until I was leaving and saw this cute guy at the information desk that I felt the craving, and obviously I couldn’t do anything about that because I knew that something was up with Kate. And now, I’m just happy to be safe. I don’t even feel that itch. Guess Pete cured me of that…” she finished with a kind of sad smile, and you sighed.

“Not to be the downer, but there’s no cure for addiction, Abs.”

“Not to counter, but even if my lung could cope with that kind of strain right now, I don’t think I’d want to.” she said, with a familiar little crease of confusion appearing on her forehead.

“Well then, there’s hope for you yet, darling.” you said with an exaggerated flare, just to draw another laugh from her, which worked.

“Time will tell, I suppose.”

“And you’re really okay with knowing what Pero did to him?” you asked, probably for the fifth time.

“Are you kidding?!” she all but erupted, as her emotions flared. “I wish I’d been the one to do it, I’d have gutted him too. Fucking prick and waste of space asswipe motherfucker.”

As odd as it might sound, that made you laugh, just because of the petulance in her frame as she delivered that highly improvised tirade of insults. You were short on laughs recently, and with the tension having been so high for so long now, every opportunity to smile was a welcome reprieve.

“I know I’ve said it too many times already, but I’m so happy to have you back, Abby. I’ve missed you.”

“Same to you, boo. Now, tell me: what are you gonna do about the studio?” she inquired, stopping your thoughts dead in their tracks.

You scowled at her, scrunching your nose and turning your face to the side, indicating your displeasure with the topic, but she wasn’t letting it go.

“You know you can’t keep avoiding it, it’s literally your future.” she pressed.

“I know that, I just…” you tried, but these were difficult thoughts that you’d kept well away from coming into any sharper focus, let alone tried to put into words.

You sighed heavily and rested your elbows on the table, staring out at the rain as if hoping that it could wash all your troubles away.

“I have the strength and resilience to rebuild it, if I put my mind to it, but I just don’t know if that would make any difference now.” you finally gave her, but your voice was stocking up.

Your eyes drifted down to your splinted left hand, tracing the lengths of the still swollen and slightly crooked fingers, and tears started building with the onslaught of hurt that the sight of it always caused you, but which you always held back.

“Fingers aren’t like other limbs, Abby. Once they’ve been broken, they rarely ever return to the same exact functionality and precision. I might never be able to draw that well again, so how can I start planning anything at this point? What am I supposed to do if it turns out I can’t draw at all anymore?”

Tears slowly trickled down your cheeks as your eyes fell shut, no longer able to take the sight of the damage. The potential loss of most of your identity.

“I’m not good at anything else. I never have been.” you croaked, feeling the truths of your circumstances settle in around you like water at a great depth, threatening to crush you.

“That’s not true,” she countered softly. “I know for a fact that you’re good at anything you put your mind to, and on top of that, you’re a great daughter and the best fucking friend anyone could ever have. And yeah, maybe you can’t make money off that, but it’s a solid base to build on. I know that none of this is particularly comforting right now, because what you want is to go back to how it was, but my point is just that you’re gonna be okay, Beebs. No matter what.”

You nodded meekly, feeling simultaneously weak for admitting that you felt helpless, but also relieved to have voiced your fears, finally, three weeks after the fire and the abduction. There wasn’t really much you could do about the future until you knew if your hand would retain full function, so you felt like you were just treading water at this point, unable to go anywhere.

------------------

Another two weeks passed without anything strange or worrying happening, which in and of itself was worrying, primarily because every new day threatened to drive you all insane. The need to let yourselves believe that you were safer the more time passed, colliding hard with the inescapable fear of the opposite, created a continuous tug-of-war inside your minds that you couldn’t stop or even surrender from.

Each day you grew increasingly tired and sick of this nothingness that somehow hung over you, as well as the maddening inability to do anything about it. And eventually, your nerves reached their limit.

“How fucking long are we gonna go on like this, Pero?” you demanded, setting your coffee-cup down a little harder than necessary.

You were alone in the house that morning, after Dean and Abby had gone to the store, and it was the staleness of the conversation between you that for whatever reason ended up being the thing that triggered you.

“Look at us!” you gestured to the general surroundings. “We sit here, day after day, growing more and more lifeless by the hour. Are we really just supposed to endure this shit until these assholes decide to kill us? Because if we’re about to die then I’d prefer to actually feel alive before they get to us!”

“Do not talk like this, pintora. We are not going to die.” he calmly declared, and somehow you felt dismissed.

“No? Because that’s what it feels like.”

“I have told you before, this is the tactic-…” he tried, but you cut him off.

“Driving us insane, or stressed enough that we make some giant mistake – yeah, you keep telling me that, and guess what? I’m starting to feel like playing into their hands just to get this shit over with.” you challenged, and something… rough appeared in his eyes.

“If you wish to die, then there are plenty of knives in that drawer over there.” he said, pointing to the correct drawer in the kitchen, while leaning closer to you from his seat beside you, with a hard expression set on his face.

But you just kept your eyes locked on his in defiance, until he sighed and allowed the frustration to fade away. He knew that this was fear, and he understood it, feeling the strain of the wait himself.

“I know what this does to you, my love. It is exactly what I have done to many targets over the years, so I need you to trust me,” he continued, letting softness find his features again. “I need to know that you can handle this.”

“And I’m telling you that I don’t know if I can anymore,” you tried, feeling the daunting weight of hopelessness threaten to drag you down. “I’m not trained, or experienced, or particularly hardened by life. I’m just an artist with largely normal problems before all this happened. I’m not like you.”

“And that is a very good thing. You should never be like me.” he said simply, with something unpleasant to his tone. Something judgemental aimed at himself. But it was only there for a moment. “We will get through this, Bee. However impossible it seems now; we will be alright.”

You wanted to believe him, but your brain and heart seemed somehow disconnected right then, unable to come together to let hope and love dilute reasoning and uncertainty.

“Is there anything you can do?” you asked almost timidly.

That was a question you’d steered well clear of until that moment, because you were absolutely terrified that the answer would be yes. That there was some scenario he’d considered which might give you an advantage, because it would likely mean he’d have to go off on his own. But you’d said it now, so all you could do was hold your breath and wait for his answer.

“Nothing that would increase our chances of survival. Not against these men.” he answered solemnly.

It felt strange to be so relieved and yet so disappointed at the same time. He looked pained as he bent over to grab your waist and pull you into his arms and lap for a comforting hug, although if it was to comfort you, or himself, was anyone’s guess. That day however, for the first time, it didn’t help either of you.

You tried to distract yourself as best you could for the rest of the day, spending a lot of time with the dogs and the horses since they at least kept you calm. But later that evening, it came. The call that you’d been dreading. The one that made it all too real and too horrible, even though it was what you’d been waiting for.

You were all at the dinner-table, everyone on edge but trying to joke and relax as best you could. It didn’t really work anymore, but you still had to try. The burner phone was always in your pocket, and you’d gotten so used to it just sitting there quietly that when it suddenly buzzed, you jumped two feet in the air, bouncing up to standing, before you realized what was happening and quickly dug it out.

“Kate?” you’d barely even gotten the one syllable out before she was already shouting at you over a terrible racket on her end, which you later identified as a roaring car-engine.

“Bee, they’re coming for you! I just got a rapport that two Polaris 4-seater RZR 1000’s got stolen from a local dealership! That’s the best all-terrain vehicle you can find here, and perfect for someone looking to get to a house in the middle of the woods without using any roads! It’s them, I know it!”

“Shit…” you turned your eyes on Pero, “They’re coming through the woods. Now.”

Kate paused only long enough for you to relay that, then continued.

“I’m driving as fast as I can, but they’ve got an hour’s head start! So, if you’ve got a plan, now’s the time to execute it! I’m gonna call you back in 30 minutes, and you better fucking answer!” she ended the call, and suddenly you felt numb.

The only thing going through your mind was: am I gonna be alive in 30 minutes? But then Pero’s hands were on your waist, turning you towards the front door and then his dark voice rumbled, “Boots, jacket, dark hat. Now,” and then he was gone, and you felt as though you lost all sense of balance without him. Abby was still sharp, though, and pulled you along into the front hall where you both started digging through drawers and throwing things on. She helped you with the boots since you couldn’t do laces with your hand.

When they returned, Pero was wearing a holster that held throwing knives in a snug fit down along his ribs, while Dean was in full tactical gear, except for his bullet-proof vest, discarded to allow faster and smoother movement, but with a gun strapped to his leg. He opened the front door to call the dogs in, and while he quickly fitted them with their vests, capable of withstanding stabbing, and deflecting glancing hits from bullets, although not direct ones, Pero handed you a pocket-knife.

It was a stiletto, the kind where you press a button, and the blade automatically stabs out of the handle. It was a light but seriously well-made piece, and you got the feeling that this one couldn’t be found at the local hunting shop.

“Put it somewhere you can easily reach it, and if you get the chance, use it. Do not hesitate, amor, do you understand?” he said, taking your head between his hands to make you look him in the eye.

You just stared at him, suddenly realizing how much you regretted ever thinking that you wanted this over with, because now all you wanted was more time. Tears quietly fell down your cheeks, and he quickly but tenderly kissed them away, before turning to Abby and handing her an identical knife.

“Same goes for you. Do not hesitate, because these men will not.” he told her with a stern nod, which she reciprocated while taking the weapon.

Then Dean announced that the dogs were prepped and ready, and a hint of comfort finally found your heart when Groot took his place beside you.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, looking from Pero to Dean, but it was your partner that answered.

“I am working off assumptions, mainly that they want me alive, but also that they will not spare any of you. But what is certain is that this house is not safe, not against them. It is too easy to break into, set fire to, or blow up, all without us ever seeing them coming. The dogs can tell us if someone is close, and give us a good approximation of where, but not exact enough to have a chance to shoot them through the walls. So, our only hope is if we can see them coming, and that will only be possible where there are no walls.” he explained quickly, and you felt your blood pump faster.

“You mean, going into the woods… on foot?” you said, and he nodded.

“I will lead, you and Abby will follow, and your father will cover our backs.” he instructed and then moved to the door and turned off all the lights, inside and out, with a master switch. “Stay close to me.”

And suddenly it was all too real. Too much, too fast. You wanted time to stop, or at least slow down, just for a while, just long enough for you to find your footing again. But that was a ridiculous thing to think, because even if you’d had months to prepare, you still wouldn’t have felt any less terrified in that moment.

Not waiting for anyone to confirm they were ready, he slipped out into the darkness, followed by the four dogs before your dad urged you and Abby to get going. With Groot glued to your side, you took your best friend’s hand and snuck outside, feeling more exposed than you’d ever felt standing naked in front of someone. And that was as far as you got before it all went wrong.

The dogs reacted so fast that at first, you didn’t even realize that they’d broken formation. They only ever barked or growled in warning, and under the command to defend with lethal force, no warnings were required. Like panthers in the grass, or missiles through water, they silently vanished all at once as they identified a threat that you couldn’t perceive, but which was close enough to set them on the hunt.

Groot remained with you though, and before you’d had a chance to grasp what was happening, Pero had grabbed your hand and was dragging you and Abby away towards the stables so fast that you were stumbling in your efforts to keep up. He wasn’t limping as badly anymore, but now, under the pressure of such danger, there was no trace of weakness, despite the damage his calf-muscle had endured. You’d only gotten maybe thirty feet when the first sounds reached you, and you tried not to listen.

95% of the time, the dogs were defenders, guardians, keepers of peace. But in those remaining five percent of the time, they were weapons, pure and simple. Deadlier than knives or even worse things, they were trained to silently approach, fixate on whichever soft spot was most easily accessible to them, and attack until their target’s hearts stopped beating.

Like most predators, they’d go for the throat if that was available, and if it wasn’t, the other places they’d target were the upper arms, trying to bite into the femoral artery, or the groin or inner thighs for the same reason. But if a person was armed, they’d also go for the hands, to disarm and make sure that no new weapons could be acquired. And they never held back or gave up. One would have to kill them to stop them.

Your back was to the sounds that came streaming towards you as you ran, and if you’d thought that seeing Pero cut Pete open was the most disturbing thing you’d ever experience, just hearing dogs literally tear people to pieces, instantly changed your mind. Because you could hear how the skin ripped, and the blood sprayed. The bizarre gurgling of crushed throats. The sickening thumps of bones breaking between jaws.

To their credit, they didn’t scream, but you did hear grunts as they attempted to wrestle the canines, and then the heartbreaking whine of a dog being badly injured. But no shots sounded, so it had to be a knife that caused the damage. You kept tracking as much of the events behind you as you could, even though you mostly just wanted to cover your ears, because you needed to know if someone came after you.

Four dogs vs. a three-man team. That was the presumption. So, even one dog down theoretically meant even odds.

You reached the stables gasping for breath, and turned to see how Abby was doing, since her lung had to be causing her pain after that sprint, and you were relieved to see her in good shape, albeit panting hard. Your dad was right behind her, but when you turned back to ask Pero what the next move was, he was gone.

Confused, you turned in a circle just inside the open doorway. Had he disappeared into the thicker darkness further inside? Or… Dean caught you and prevented you from running back out, when you realized that he had to be somewhere out on the yard.

You knew better than to scream at your father, or speak at all, since it could give away your position, in case the Falcons hadn’t seen where you went, but you squirmed harshly against his grip, even though you knew that you had nothing on the man. The outside lighting was turned off and there was no ambient light from the city reaching this far out into the wilderness, so the yard was shrouded in complete darkness, save for the tiny glimmer of starlight from the clear sky above.

But as your eyes adjusted, you could still make out shapes and movements in front of the house, you just couldn’t tell if it was dogs or people, or which people. Your focus was abruptly shifted, however, when Groot growled. Also under the command to protect, he wouldn’t make a sound unless he could tell that there was danger, but not where it was coming from. A head’s up to you, rather than a deterring warning against an enemy.

Out of seemingly nowhere, a black figure appeared in the doorway, and before either you or Dean had reacted, Groot launched towards it, jumping up at the head, undoubtedly aiming for the throat. They disappeared out onto the lawn in an audible scuffle, and then suddenly another figure appeared in the door, this one instantly aiming a gun towards the three of you.

But your father was holding his pistol too, so when a shot went off, you couldn’t tell which one had fired, only that you were pushed aside, further into the stables, and your mind screamed at you to run. Not your heart, though. Everything you loved was right there, you would never be able to just get up and leave them behind, but this was also entirely beyond your ability to do anything about, so you were left lying frozen on the floor.

Before any more shots went off, there was an odd thump, and then the black figure slumped into a pile on the ground. Pero had to have thrown a knife at him. That was probably why he’d left, giving himself a better vantage point. You were sure that he was close, though, and it was incredibly soothing to know.

But that momentary comfort was upended completely, when someone grabbed you from behind, put a hand over your mouth and started dragging you out through the back of the stables. Neither Dean nor Abby noticed, because you’d been out of their field of vision when he got to you, and the thick leather glove over your mouth and nose prevented even small sounds from escaping you.

Desperate, you jumped off the ground and tried to kick something, a wall, or a rake or pitchfork leaning against one, anything that might happen to be close enough, anything that would make a noise. But you only managed two kicks before the lack of oxygen made itself known, forcing you to stop.

He had you. And he was gonna use you against Pero, either as leverage to force him back into their ranks, or just to hurt him. Regardless, he’d be stripped of all options, either forced back to that animalistic rage, or robbed of all his strength and rendered powerless. Because that was the power you held over him.

You were so deprived of oxygen by the time the unknown man had dragged you through the backdoor, that your arms flopped down at your sides, and your right hand bumped against something. With little more than seconds left before you’d start losing consciousness, you dug the stiletto out of your front jeans pocket and tried to think where to aim.

Your brain was sluggish and uncooperative, but this was your one chance, you had to make it count, to cause as much damage as possible. The way his arm was wrapped around you restricted your reach to his lower body, so you’d have to go for the groin, but you also had to time it right. The way he was dragging you meant that his hips were regularly close to your backside, and regularly further away and you couldn’t afford for the small blade to not reach its target.

One step, then you bumped against him, another step, then another bump. On the third step, not sure about the timing but simply out of time yourself, you slipped your hand back to right at the top of your buttocks, with your thumb against your tailbone, and hit the release.

A barely even human wail of pain sounded behind you and the hand over your face vanished along with the grip around your chest, sending you crashing to the ground, gasping for air, but feeling better with each breath. Still aware that you were in danger, you rolled and crawled away from the man’s reach, while he squirmed on the ground, clasping his groin where a dark fluid was pouring out, leaving a glistening pool in the short-cropped grass.

You’d managed to hit an artery, meaning he’d be dead soon, but that was of no help to you if his friends were still alive, or if Pero believed that they’d succeeded in taking you, so you ignored the pins and needles in your arms and legs and got back on your feet. There were still stars sparkling around in your vision when you located the backdoor again, and headed inside, moving on unsteady legs back towards the front opening.

But getting to it, you found it empty now. No sign of your father or Abby, or Pero. So, you stepped out onto the front lawn, walking back towards the house, not even sure why but you just needed to move. Something was wrong, you could feel it. Everything had gone too quiet. A low whistle brought Groot to your side, closely followed by Abby. She was okay, thank goodness.

“Bee, what happened?” she asked, her voice betraying the still frantic beating of her heart, and chilling fear that sat under every inch of her skin. But you ignored her question.

“Where’s Pero?” you demanded, your own voice a lot steadier than you’d thought it would be.

Dean answered you, appearing from your left, carrying one of the dogs that was seriously injured, back to the house.

“It was all a ruse to keep us busy,” he explained while you fell in behind him, matching his pace and trying to understand what he was saying. “The people that the dogs first attacked weren’t Falcons, they brought a team of local talent to act as decoys. The Falcons were among the ones that came after us in the stables. The one Groot got was another decoy, but Pero got one of them.”

“And I got one behind the stables.” you interjected, and he nodded without prodding further.

“Good, then it’s just the one of them. He’ll have better odds that way.” Dean continued, but what he’d said confused you.

He’d reached the house then, and you opened the door for him, stepping in and turning on the master switch again, flooding the house and grounds with light, revealing all the dogs covered in blood and panting, but only one seemed to be harmed. Which was good news, but somewhat unimportant to you right then.

“Dad, what do you mean by that? Where is he?” you demanded once again, and he answered you without taking focus away from the animal in his care.

“He ended up in a fist fight with the last guy, and he didn’t win. The Falcon managed to lure him further away, then knocked him out and dragged him onto his ATV.”

Your stomach turned so violently that you had to swallow a few times to keep from hurling.

“They took him? He’s gone?” you managed to choke out, suddenly feeling faint again.

“Like I said, it’s one on one, and those are good odds for a man like yours. Now, I know you’re scared to death, buzz, but you need to stay calm. I’m gonna help you find him. As soon as I’ve got this under control, we’ll take the other dogs and track the vehicle with my four-by-four. I know these woods a lot better than them, we’ll-…”

You heard him cut himself off when you ran back out, and you heard him shout something after you, but it was lost in the noise of the wind as you sprinted to the stables and took Happy out of her box, just as your phone rang again. There wasn’t time to answer so you just threw the phone towards Abby, who’d followed you outside.

“Tell Kate what happened and that I’m going after them.” you shouted, before leading Happy out by her mane and spurring her into a run the moment she left the stables, swinging yourself up to her back using the forward momentum. She had no gear on at all, not even a halter, and you weren’t gonna waste time on putting anything on, you’d just have to hold on for dear life.

Groot was right there with you, just as you knew he would be, so you called out “Track Safe” and pointed towards the back of the property, which meant that he should set his nose in that direction, looking for any scent he recognized as someone you’d told him was safe. And since the only people you’d declared to be that to him were Abby and Pero, you knew that he’d track the latter.

You’d ridden a lot as a child, and even more after your mother had died, and Happy had always felt so attuned to you, so eager to work with you, and despite the stress and the odd circumstances, this was no exception. She allowed herself to be steered by just your legs while you held onto her mane and leaned low over her neck, seeming to know to stay on Groot’s heels, as the dog darted into the lead and took you into the pitch-black wilderness at full gallop.

===============

Link to Part 13

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

@idreamofboobear @deadhumourist @bison-writes @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @sj-draws00 @shsoba05 @radiowallet @thisshipwillsail316 @myfavpedrothings @cannedsoupsucks @bluegalaxyprime @tintinn16 @winter-fox-queen @shadesofnerdlygrace @tanzthompson @little-mrs-morales @hotchlover @gallowsjoker @yourvirtualheart @cosmicbreathe @criminalmind1927 @harriedandharassed @bruxasolta @bilibiche

#the stranger in the bar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #modern!pero #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero tovar x female reader #the great wall modern au #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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flightlessangelwings · 1 year

Text

Watch Over You

Pero Tovar x fem!reader (no use of y/n) Word count- 5.3k Dialogue prompt- “ i can look after myself, you know. but... i do appreciate you stepping in back there. you saved my life. “ Action prompt- [ INCAPACITATE ]: sender, seeing the receiver in immediate danger, intervenes by knocking out their assailant before they can harm the receiver. Warnings- smut (18+ only!), fingering, unprotected sex, needing a kiss to hide from bad guys, mutual pining, protective!Tovar, bodyguard, minor violence, minor character deaths, reader is a royal/high rank but her status is only vaguely described and left open for interpretation, reader’s country of origin is also never mentioned so it can be read however you choose, reader has no physical descriptions and is only described as wearing “fancy clothing” so it’s open to interpretation Notes- Month 2 of my Year of Protectiveness! Thank you @yearofcreation2023 for this event I’m having so much fun with it!! I also used an ask that @misspearly1 sent me as inspiration for this fic as well! Enjoy!

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You sat in your little carriage as the horses pulled it along the windy and bumpy road. You were a long way from home, but you had a duty to fulfill. So you accepted a marriage to the lord of a distant land in hope of fostering peace and trade between your kingdoms. Everything around you felt different, yet it still felt the same as you watched the world from the safety of your carriage. But there was a sight that brought you more comfort than any other.

Joining you for the last leg of your journey was a mercenary you only knew as Tovar. He was rough and fierce, yet there was something about him that you couldn’t tear you eyes away from. Especially watching his profile as he rode his horse next to your carriage, you became familiar with the outline of his face and his strong beautiful nose.

If only his attitude matched how beautiful his face was.

He was tough with you as he was with the other guards. He never let you wander too far or speak to anyone not in your caravan. And when you did stop to rest, he didn’t let you stay out of the carriage for long. Not to mention he called you the most infuriating nickname.

“Let’s get moving, princesa,” Tovar grumbled as he ushered you back to your carriage.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped back.

Your guard rolled his eyes before he looked around to make sure no threats were nearby. Secretly, the fire you held within you intrigued him. And you were the most beautiful person he had ever guarded. But this was a job, nothing more. With one final scan of the area, your caravan pushed on, and the two of you kept all your true feelings hidden and unspoken.

The sun lowered in the distance and became blocked as your caravan made its way around the winding path in the mountains. From your carriage, you watched out the window, taking in the majestic sights of the land, but something else constantly caught your eye. Tovar, the handsome, yet stubborn and grumpy guard was never far from you. And while the two of you bickered constantly, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of heat through your body when his gaze caught yours.

There were even nights that your hand slipped between your legs as you imagined it was his. You bit your lip as you kept your fantasies to yourself and you prayed he never heard you as he kept watch only a few feet away from you. A soft moan escaped your lips as you watched him atop his horse, his swords secured to his hip and his eyes sharp as he kept his guard up. You felt safe with him around, and you couldn’t quite explain exactly why.

But his service was about to be put to the test.

Out of nowhere, a scream echoed in the forest of the mountains and the horses were suddenly spooked. The men scrambled to calm the animals, but before they could, an explosion of dust blocked out the fading sun completely.

Tovar yelled your name as he jumped from his horse and ran towards your carriage, but before he got there, it tipped over after the horses bolted and the wheel hit a rock. You screamed from inside as you grabbed onto the side to keep yourself more steady as it fell sideways. All the air was forced out of your lungs as you hit the opposite wall on your shoulder.

Outside, you heard shouts and the clangs of swords and you knew that you were under attack. With a gasp, you pushed yourself up no matter how much your shoulder screamed at you. Ignoring the pain, you forced the broken door open with a few strong shoves and climbed out before you stumbled onto the ground. And the sight that you met made your blood run cold.

Dozens of men wearing uniforms you had never seen before attacked your guards and other members of your caravan. Fear pulsed through you as you stood frozen for several moments. And then your eyes landed on Tovar. He fought more fiercely than any of the others, and you watched him as he gritted his teeth and swung his sword with precision. The way his large hands gripped the base made you forget your fear for a moment… until someone yelled and ran towards you.

The man’s roar caught Tovar’s attention too, and he looked in your direction as he shouted your name. His own fear overtook him for a moment as he saw you in danger.

Thinking quickly, you grabbed a sword of one of the fallen guards and held it up just in time to block your attacker. Sword clanged as you grunted and held your ground as your attacker charged at you again and again, but again and again you blocked and perried his attacks. After a few bouts, you were able to dodge his swing before you used your sword and knocked him to the ground unconscious.

“Hmmf,” Tovar huffed as he flashed a smile.

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t impressed, and watching you hold your own sent a pulse of warmth through his veins. But now was not the time to dwell on that, and he quickly snapped back into focus as another man rushed at him with his sword drawn.

You joined the fight as you all sparred against the attackers. Tovar kept you in the corner of his vision while he tried to make his way towards you. While he pretended not to care, he had grown fond of you while traveling through the woods together and your safety suddenly became his top priority.

Once by one, the attackers slowly fell, along with many of your guards. Tovar didn’t care about the others though, just you. And once the opportunity presented itself, he ran towards you to be at your side. You didn’t notice as you were too focused on the assailant in front of you but another man snuck up behind you.

Tovar grunted as he hoped he reached you in time.

With one final thrust of your sword, you knocked down the man who gave you extra trouble. You exhaled heavily in relief as you took a moment to breathe, and you cracked a smile as you were proud of yourself for defending yourself. But, your relief didn’t last long and a rustle of movement behind you caused you to gasp.

But before the man’s bland hit you, another sword blocked its path and you heard a familiar voice at your side.

“Attacking from behind is the coward’s way, hermano,” he growled as he stepped in front of you, blocking you from the attacker’s path, “But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore,” Tovar sliced his sword and easily took down the man. When he hit the ground dead, Tovar turned back to you and grabbed your arm, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you replied back, sounding bewildered.

Before he could say anything more, another explosion of dust hit the group. Tovar acted before thinking and grabbed you and hurled you both down the side of the cliff. He kept his arms around you to keep you close and safe as the two of you tumbled down the mountain for what felt like hours.

Both of you grunted in pain as you took turns hitting the ground as you fell down the side of the mountain. The entire time, though, Tovar never let go of you, keeping you close to his body so you wouldn’t get separated. After hitting one final large rock, the two of you landed hard on the ground in a clear landing, Tovar on top of you.

“Ow,” you groaned as you blinked your eyes open. But you gasped softly when all you saw was the chest of your guard, and you suddenly realized how tightly he held you… and that he was on top of you. The pain you felt seemed to vanish as other thoughts flooded your mind.

“Shit,” Tovar grumbled as he pushed himself off of you, “Are you hurt, princesa?” he asked.

“Please don’t call me that,” you snipped back as you sat up and cradled your own body, “I think I’m ok though,” you paused as you looked into his eyes and noticed for the first time how soft they actually were, “Are you ok?”

Your question seemed to catch him off guard and his facade broke for a moment as his eyes widened, “Fine,” his tone matched yours as he slowly stood, “We need to get inside somewhere,” he extended a hand to you to help you up, “If we are where I believe we are, there is a village just down that way. We will find lodging for the night and get you back in the morning,” he explained his plan as he helped you up.

But even once you were on your feet, he didn’t let go of you right away, and it wasn’t until you gave his hand a squeeze that he realized and quickly jerked his hand away from you, “You will be on your way to your lord in no time, princesa.”

This time you chose not to comment on the nickname that annoyed you so, “You think I want to go back?” you asked.

Once again, your question caught Tovar off guard, “Why would you not?” he huffed, “How can you turn away from your life of luxury?”

Too filled with adrenaline from the fight, you couldn’t control your emotions as you burst out, “You think I want to go back to them?” your loud tone made Tovar blink, “I’m just a pawn in this whole thing. My father sent me to marry the lord of… I don’t even know where I am. The agreement was made to unite our lands and foster peace, but I don’t think that is their real agenda. I think they want to take our land for themselves. That’s how they always are. My father just wants to hope for the best though, so I did my duty to make him proud.”

Tovar stayed silent.

“Even a fancy cage is still a cage, Tovar,” you added in a softer tone.

He couldn’t deny that you weren’t wrong, yet it was still hard for him to imagine turning down a life of luxury after living the life of a penniless mercenary for so long. And there was something in your eyes that he just couldn’t refuse. You were unlike any of the other’s he had been hired to protect in the past. Something about you drew him in, even when you didn’t see eye to eye. But, this discussion would have to wait; protecting you was still his job after all, and the longer you stayed out in the open, the more vulnerable you became.

Before he spoke, Tovar shrugged his clock off and draped it over your shoulders. When you tried to protest, he shushed you, “Your fancy garnets will stand out here,” he murmured, “Keep this on. We need to stay discreet.”

“Ok,” you whispered as you adjusted the clock and threw the hood up over your head, “Thanks,” you mumbled.

“Come on,” Tovar nodded towards the town, “We’ll find an inn and get off the streets for the night.”

“Right behind you.”

Tovar’s broad shoulders stayed in your view as you followed him through the town. You had never been in a place like this before, and it fascinated you. Every scene was a wonder to you, and you loved just seeing people go about their business. The inn he found was small and quaint and he guided you to a table in the far end of the open space while he went to the innkeeper to find a room. In the meantime, you got yourself two bowls of… whatever it was, for you and Tovar.

You cradled the bowl in front of you as Tovar came back next to you, his legs straddling the bench so he could face you. When you looked up, his face was so close to yours and it made the breath catch in your throat for a moment. You felt the heat from him, and you wondered if he felt your own heat radiate from your body as your nerves flared.

“We have a room for the night,” he said plainly.

“And then what?” you asked in a hushed tone.

Tovar’s eyes narrowed, and you could tell he had something he wanted to say. Before he had the chance to, however, the front door burst open and three men wearing the same uniforms as the group who attacked you walked in.

“Shit,” he spat under his breath. When you tried to turn to face them, Tovar grabbed your face and forced you to look at him, “Do not look, they will recognise your face.”

“Shit,” you whispered as you looked into his eyes with a look of panic, “What do we do?”

Tovar looked deep into your eyes and his chest tightened. He wasn’t used to seeing you scared like this, and he did not like it. Looking around, he knew that fighting was not a wise option in the inn. The smarter move was to stay hidden, but it would look too suspicious if both of you got up and scurred off. As your lips parted and you let out a shaky breath, he got an idea.

“Do not slap me,” he warned in a low tone as he grabbed the hood and pulled you even closer to him.

Before you could react, Tovar crashed his lips to yours, his large hand splayed out across your face to cover as much of it as he could as he pulled your body against his. Your moan was muffled by his lips as you clung to his sleeve. But what surprised him the most was that you parted your lips for him almost immediately to deepen the kiss. And God you tasted incredible.

Tovar got lost in your kiss for a moment as he groaned against your face. His hand tightened on you as he laid the other on your hip and held you close. He tilted his head to allow your tongue to pass by his lips as a rush of warmth shot through his body and went straight to his cock. For a moment, he was so lost in you that he almost forgot about the guards that lurked just feet away.

“Disgusting,” one of them commented when he caught you and Tovar in your fit of passion, “There’s rooms upstairs. No one wants to see that.”

Tovar growled as he subtly pulled your hood up just a little more to hide your face. He wanted to lash out at the men, but protecting you was more important. His eyes fluttered open for a moment to make sure they didn’t come any closer, but he quickly closed them again to not look suspicious.

It was a few long moments before they mumbled amongst themselves and left out the door. Tovar lingered for a bit longer than he had to before he broke away from the kiss. His hand stayed on the side of your face, tenderly cupping you as you blinked your eyes open and looked at him with a bewildered expression.

“Tovar…” you breathed as you tightened your grip on him and looked as if you were disappointed that the moment passed. But, you collected yourself and glanced over your shoulder, “Are they gone?”

He nodded, “For now,” his voice was low, “We should get into our room before they come back again.”

“Ok,” your voice was hushed that you barely even heard yourself, but you knew he heard you. There was something about being in his arms that made you feel unlike anyone ever had before. The rough edges of his features softened when he looked at you, and it made your heart skip a beat. And you felt safe in his arms, as if the whole world could be after you but as long as you had him, you knew everything would be alright.

The room that greeted you was not what you had expected. Not because it was small and bare, but because it only had one bed. Your body instantly heated up as you thought about the possibilities and what the night could bring, and how things could change between you and your trusted guard forever. But, a grumble from Tovar quickly brought those dreams down.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “I will take the floor.”

“Oh…”

He looked at you; you actually sounded disappointed. And he had no idea what to make of that. Tovar felt an undeniable attraction to you, especially after seeing you fight on your own and showing your strength. But you were… and he was… No. It could never work. It was his job to keep you safe, to deliver you to the lord and then never see you again.

“You can slap me now,” Tovar said, “For… Before…”

The two of you stood together in an awkward silence for several long moments. You fiddled with your fingers as he stood still, his eyes scanning you up and down. Neither of you knew what to say next. Tovar anticipated your slap, and he knew it would hurt, but the longer the time went on, the more he realized you weren’t going to. Instead, your next words caught him off guard.

“Thank you,” you broke the silence in a meek voice, “I can look after myself, you know. But…” you took in a deep breath as you felt nervous, “I do appreciate you stepping in back there. You saved my life.”

He flashed a smirk at you, a gesture you knew was rare for him, “It was my duty princesa.”

You winced, “Please don’t call me that,” your voice was softer than times you said that to him before as you pleaded with him.

“What do you want me to call you then?” Tovar stroked the side of your face.

“Maybe my name?” you trembled as the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your skin.

Tovar was silent for a moment before the next sound left his lips, and hearing him say your name for the first time made you gasp softly. But what he did next surprised you even more, “Since we are sharing first names…” he leaned in and whispered something in your ear before he pulled back and looked into your eyes once more.

“Pero…” you repeated what he whispered to you.

And that broke the dam.

Pero yanked you closer and crashed his lips against yours in a heated and desperate kiss. He swallowed the moan you let out as he felt you cling to him, and he groaned when you hooked one of your legs around his to bring him even closer. Heat rose in the room as you both devoured the other, hands roaming all over the other’s body.

He tugged at your fancy clothes as he guided you back toward the single bed in the room, and his cock stiffened when you let him without hesitation. You tasted so good, and you felt so warm and soft under his touch that Pero couldn’t help but want more. He wanted to feel more of you, of your bare skin. He wanted to taste you wherever you would let him. He wanted to see what you looked like lost in pure bliss…

You moaned softly when he expertly unlaced your garments, and you felt a pulse through your body at the thought that this wasn’t his first time undressing someone who wore fancy clothes. But, that didn’t matter to you. No matter what the other had been through until now was irrelevant. All that mattered was you were here now, together.

Too needy to wait, you broke away from the kiss and with a deep breath, you helped Pero with the final layers of your outfit. You stayed steady as he yanked it off of you in one swift motion, and you felt hot under his gaze when he looked at your naked body for the first time. Nerves suddenly ran through you as he whispered a soft curse in Spanish before his hands were on you once more.

“Fuck you are beautiful,” he murmured softly before he pushed you back onto the bed and quickly stripped himself of his own clothing.

You felt yourself get wet as you saw more of his skin than you ever had before. Scars littered his body, but they only made him more beautiful to you. An involuntary moan escaped your lips as he bared himself to you in a way you were sure he didn’t do often. The vulnerability of shedding his armor and his weapons didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you hoped he knew that you trusted him just as much.

“Come here, Pero,” you whispered as you reached for him.

He exhaled deeply as he climbed on top of you without hesitation, silently accepting your invitation. He hissed through a clenched jaw when his already hardening cock rubbed against your body, and he felt you tense beneath him. The jolt pulsed through both your bodies, and it connected the two of you before he even touched you.

“I will take care of you, querida,” he murmured as he cupped the side of your face, “Do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” your voice was soft but he felt the strength and sureness in your words, “Please, Pero…”

You bucked your hips against his, and both of you groaned as your pussy rubbed against his cock. He growled as his hand ran down the side of your face and wrapped around your neck for a moment. Your eyes fluttered shut as the moan you let out made his cock twitch between your bodies. Pero didn’t squeeze your neck, but just rested his hand there for several moments as he rocked his hips against yours.

“Que hermosa…” Pero murmured as he released your neck and grazed the skin of your chest until he reached your breast.

The moan you let out echoed in the room as Pero’s rough hand squeezed your soft breast, and when he pinched your nipple you cried out even louder. “Fuck… Pero…”

He growled as the need overwhelmed him. Part of Pero wanted to take his time and savor you, but when you sounded this tempting and looked this sensual underneath him, he knew that wouldn’t happen. With one last squeeze, he let your breast go and trailed his hand down your stomach to your cunt.

Pero cupped your pussy for a moment, his palm rubbing at your clit, before he slowly pushed a finger inside you. He groaned as you cried out in pure bliss. You clawed at his arms and dug your nails into the skin of his biceps, but Pero didn’t care. In fact, it added kindle to the fire that burned between you and spurred him on more.

He pumped his finger a few times before he added a second, groaning your name as your tight wetness consumed him already. You whined as you felt stretched by Pero’s thick fingers, but your mind swam in the pleasure they brought you. And when he hooked them and hit that spot inside you perfectly, you screamed his name.

“Pero…” you moaned as you felt like your body could burst at any moment. Never before had you felt anything like this, and you knew no one else would ever compare.

As much as he wanted to pull away and wait until he fucked you to let you cum, Pero found he couldn’t stop. He sped up his thrusts, and aimed at that sweet spot inside you over and over again until you completely fell apart. With a loud moan, you came hard on his fingers, thoroughly soaking them as he buried them inside you as far as he could.

You clung to his strong arms as you floated in your pleasure until you felt completely spent. With a heavy sigh you collapsed flat, letting go of Pero as you went limp on the bed. His cock strained with desire as he watched the show you put on for him, and when he saw you go limp, he carefully pulled his fingers out of you. Pero leaned forward and kissed his way up your body until he took your lips with his own in a deep and passionate kiss.

“I know you can give me more, querida,” he groaned in your ear, “As beautiful as that was…” Pero bucked his hips against yours so you could feel how hard he was.

“Y-yes,” you breathed as you kissed him again, “Please Pero… I need you inside me…”

The fire blazed behind his eyes as he growled and lined himself up without missing a beat. As he pushed the tip at your entrance, Pero felt the evidence of your first climax, and something overtook his mind. He grunted and murmured your name as he thrust himself inside you in one swift motion, perhaps a little too rough for you but in the moment neither of you cared.

You let out a loud scream as you felt stretched and filled beyond anything before. The burn quickly gave way to a pleasure unlike anything you ever felt before, and you immediately wrapped your arms around Pero’s broad shoulders and pulled him against your body.

He took that as all the confirmation he needed to keep going, and Pero thrust in and out of you in a fast and harsh pace. It was rough, it was needy, it was desperate, and it was everything you both craved. As he covered your body with his own, Pero whispered soft praise in your ear, contrasting with the harsh way he fucked you.

“Yes… Pero… Please… More…”

Pero growled your name as he grabbed your hips and snapped his own against your body over and over again. The passions between you could have burned the inn down, but neither of you cared. In fact, neither of you even remembered where you were at the moment as he thrust into you with his fast and harsh pace.

Your breasts swung with every snap of his hips, and Pero found himself mesmerized by you. The way you writhed in pleasure beneath him, the way your mouth hung open and allowed the sounds to spill freely, the way you gave yourself to him… it was almost too much…

“Fuck, querida,” he groaned, “I’m going to…”

“Me too…” you whispered before you added in a lower tone, “Inside.”

“Ay fuck,” Pero grunted before he lost all control.

He thrust into you with everything he had as his climax quickly overtook him. With a low groan of your name, Pero came hard, spilling himself inside of you, and when you squeezed your inner muscles around him, he knew you were just behind him. It only took a few more thrusts for you to join him, and your second orgasm hit you with a loud scream as you clung to Pero’s body and dug your nails into his back so hard he bled.

When he had no more to give and both your climaxes were ridden out, Pero collapsed down on top of you, his cock still buried deep inside you. His weight was a welcome warmth and you immediately wrapped your arms and legs around him to keep him close. Heavy breaths filled the room as you both came down from your highs.

“Do you need me to move, querida?” Pero asked in a hushed tone.

“No,” you pleaded, “Stay…”

He let out a single huff of a laugh, “Whatever you want, prin… querida.”

The sun hit your face as you blinked your eyes open. You groaned as your body had never felt more sore, yet it was a welcome soreness. Before you even focused your eyes, a smile lit up your face and you reached out for Pero. But, when you felt nothing, you shot up with a gasp. The bed was empty, and he wasn’t in the room at all. You grabbed the sheets and pulled them up to cover yourself as your mind ran.

But before you were awake for long, the door creaked open and you braced yourself, “Pero?” you asked in a whisper.

The scowl on the mercenary’s face melted away when he noticed you were awake, “I am sorry querida,” his tone softened as he locked the door behind him and made his way to sit next to you, “I thought I would be back before you awoke.”

“It’s alright,” you traced a random pattern on his arm with your finger as you noticed that he only left in his tunic and pants. You sighed contently as you felt his muscles underneath the fabric as you scanned over his figure until you noticed what he held in his hands, “What’s this?”

“This,” Pero stood and showed you what he held, “Is your choice,” he leaned over and placed it on the bed next to you before grabbing your discarded fancy garnet from the floor and placing it next to it.

It was a dress. Nothing extravagant, just a simple peasant dress. It looked to be in just your size too. Pero watched as you looked over both outfits before you met his gaze.

“Whatever we do now is up to you,” he told you, “If you want to go back and marry the lord, I will take you there safely. If you want to go back home… Or stay here and disappear,” Pero fought to keep his voice level, “I will protect you,” he looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he only said, “I will go outside while you dress and get us something to eat.”

Before you could say anything, he was out the door again, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the choices in front of you. Pero had come a long way from the grumpy guard with the sour face that you had first met. Something about him changed, and it made your heart flutter. And he was the first person to give you a choice, something you did not take for granted.

You bit your lip as your heart fluttered in your chest. You stood and grabbed your choice and dressed yourself. Whatever lay next, you knew you would get through it because you had Pero Tovar on your side. You knew what no matter your choice, you were safe with him. And you were sure you made the right choice.

With a deep breath, you reached for the door and pulled it open, ready to take the next step in your life… with Pero Tovar at your side.

Tovar turned and for the second time that morning, the fierceness melted away into something more tender. He looked you up and down as he whispered your name, “So, you have made your choice.”

You bit your lip and nodded as you ran your hands along the scratchy fabric of the pain dress he got for you, “I have,” you breathed.

He closed the gap between your bodies and rested his hands on your shoulders, “I promise I will keep you safe, querida,” his voice was sure, “But, if you are to do this, you will need a new name… I am sure the attackers believe you are dead, and I would like to keep it that way.”

You smirked, “How about Tovar?” you gave him a mischievous smile.

Pero’s eyes narrowed, “Careful querida,” he warned, but his tone held no malice, “One day at a time.”

“One day at a time,” you echoed before you took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

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perotovar · 5 months

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i need your help lol

so like, for anyone that's interested in my holiday pero fic, would you give a shit if there was no romance? like, it was just kind of like a character study? this fandom is horny as hell so i feel like i know what the answer will be, but i need to know if anyone is gonna fucking read this or not lmao

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fic #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x ofc #pero tovar smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #ppcu #polls

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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the warrior and the witch - part one

summary: tucked away in a quiet village that constantly questions your true nature, pero tovar stumbles his way into your life, and you are both quick to realize that things will truly never be the same.

warnings: a decent amount of worldbuilding/exposition, this is not even slightly a slow burn, depictions of magic (is that a warning? idk), canon-typical violence, blood, cursing, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v (wrap ur shit), Pero Tovar is a warning all his own cuz fuck me

a/n: the first of the autumn adventures! I’m having so much fun writing these already, and this one has sparked something magical in me let me tell U 🧡 and huge thanks 2 my sweet sil @psychedelic-ink for beta-ing this for me and hyping (and feeding) my pero obsession 🧡

🍂kay’s autumn adventures🍂 PART TWO PART THREE

There were whispers about you from the very first day.

It didn’t shock you — nothing did, truly — and you traversed the gossip as you always had: by ignoring it. People ducked across the cobblestones when they saw you coming, refused to meet your eye as you walked through the square, murmured nasty rumours that often made you snicker to yourself.

I hear she killed her last husband. Poisoned him and used his body for her potions. Wretch.

You see that scar on her cheek? A bear. She cursed a man who spurned her and turned him into a beast! What a bitter woman she must be.

You know she’s actually thousands of years old? These witches don’t age like us normal folk. It’s unnatural.

Wretch. Bitter. Unnatural. The taunts were endless, and though you weren’t surprised by the words, and did your best not to take stock in them, they lurked overhead like a looming storm, pricking at the back of your neck like the static that comes just before lightning strikes. It’s not the first place you haven’t felt welcome, but that’s besides the point.

Taunts and names thrown your way each day, and yet, when one of the more soft-spoken women of the village came knocking on the door of your cottage one night, tears on her face and blood on her lips, you didn’t hesitate. The smithy’s wife, you’d often seen her by the fountain in the square, doing her washing with the other wives, a small boy clinging to her skirts.

One look at her, and it was obvious that the smithy had a temper.

You tended to her wounds, bandaged her crushed fingers and wiped the red from her skin. You brewed the tea without question, gave her a warm bed to sleep in for the night, and refused to take her coin when she offered it the next morning.

“I don’t need your money,” you told her, returning her newly mended dress and cloak. You’d spent most of the night scrubbing the woman’s blood from the fabric. “Just your trust.”

She was grateful, you knew it to be true. She promised to tell the town how giving you had been, how safe she had felt in your home, how she was tended to and healed without question. You looked for her in the square the next day, but she was nowhere to be found. Not even two days later, and the smithy was empty, the entire family gone from the residence above the shop.

Of course, the town blamed you.

It was to the point where you considered leaving. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last, but you were loathe to let them force you out. The cottage was comfortable; you’d made it so. It had been abandoned when up first arrived, but you’d felt the pull, known that your ancestors had once tread the land, that the foundations of the house was filled to burst with magical potential. The first night you’d arrived, you’d planted a single apple seed, pulled from a fruit you’d eaten somewhere along your journey.

When you woke the next morning, the tree was full grown, it’s branches laden with the sweetest apples you’d ever tasted. And curled up beneath the trunk, a small black cat with amber eyes, peering up at you, head tilted to the side and a curious chirp reaching your ears.

“Well, hello there.”

You couldn’t leave. Not yet. There was work to be done, something you were meant to do.

After the departure of the smithy, you were more of a pariah than before. The sneers and insults were darker, but you kept your ground. You were determined.

You sold your apples in the square, and the children of the town were your most loyal customers, darting up to your basket and tossing their silver coins at you before running away with their goodies. The cat, who you affectionately named Soot, always accompanied you, and some of the braver children would hang around, petting the cat’s soft fur and giggling when he offered loud purrs and happy meows.

When the seasons began to change, the heat of summer giving way to the chill of autumn, you started baking. Tarts and little pies with faces cut into the top, sprinkled with sugar and making your entire home smell like cinnamon. The children were overjoyed, and a few of the older folk grew curious. The tavern-keep even asked for your recipe.

It didn’t gain you their trust, not entirely. They still whispered, still warned newcomers not to travel past your cottage after dark, to make sure they always paid you in full for your goods if they were to buy from you. The smithy remained empty for a long time until a new man and his young family moved in and took over the shop.

You walked into the shop and requested a set of small knives, to replace the set you currently used for the herbs and plants you collected. The new smithy looked at you for a long moment, scrutinizing you beyond belief, and you found yourself holding your breath until his face softened.

“You know, you’re not nearly as terrifying as they make you out to be.”

You’d actually laughed, grinning at the man. “Good to know.”

You paid him more than he asked for the knives, agreed without question when he said it would take him three days to complete the set, and left one of the larger pies on the tabletop before you left the smithy, happier than you’d felt in a long time.

When you went back three days later, he greeted you with that same smile, and this time, his wife was standing there as well, as soot-covered as her husband, their grins almost identical.

“You must be the witch.”

You grinned back. “You must be the wife.”

It became a quick companionship. Her name was Lena, his was Tomas, their young boy Roland and their girl Wren. Lena was one of the most boisterous women you’d ever met, shouting her way around the smithy, often giving Tomas orders instead of receiving them. A stark contrast to the smithy’s wife that had appeared on your doorstep before the arrival of your new friends.

Lena ran the shop, essentially, and was endlessly curious about your…abilities. She peppered you with questions daily, and was always the first to buy apples or pastries when you arrived in the square.

“I don’t suppose you have a potion that would stop my hair turning grey, would you?”

You’d laughed initially, but the next time you stopped in to the smithy to have new shoes made for your horse, you slipped a small vial of dark liquid that smelled of chestnuts into her hand. “Two drops a day,” you said quietly, and tapped a finger to your head. “Just around the temples.”

Her jaw had dropped, and you’d stifled your chuckle.

You turned away any coin she offered, and in turn, she always did the same for you. Your mare was well taken care of, your knives sharper than ever, and when the chill started to come harder, she sent Tomas over to your cottage with bundles of firewood and two new cast iron pans. Roland came along as well, hiding behind his father’s leg when you offered a tart, Soot twining his way through the child’s legs as you packed up a bushel of apples to send back with them. “I think he likes you,” you commented, winking at the boy, and he blushed crimson, but crouched down and gave the cat plenty of pets before his father called him to leave.

“Oh, I’m meant to ask you,” Tomas said as you walked the dirt path from the cottage to the main road that led back towards the village. “Lena asked if you’d have supper with us at the tavern tomorrow. Her parents are visiting us, and they’ve agreed to watch over the children for the night.”

Soot had followed you out, chasing his new friend Roland down the path, and you laughed as the two zipped past, ruffling Roland’s hair as he went. “A night free of your children and you choose to spend it with the likes of me?” you asked, jesting, and Tomas went red. You touched his arm lightly. “I’m honoured. I wouldn’t miss it.”

And you haven’t, leaving the cottage again shortly after returning from your day in the square, your basket empty. Soot is less than happy to be left behind, perching in the window and yowling loudly as you close the door behind you, shaking your head at the silly creature when he paws at the glass.

The tavern is bustling with people, and you quickly spot Lena and Tomas in the corner, the table laden with large mugs of ale, a spot left open for you to sit. They greet you warmly, Lena getting to her feet and kissing your cheeks before letting you sit. The conversation comes easily, as it always does, the three of you chattering away, drinking your ale and ordering bowls of stew with hunks of bread. It’s a perfect evening, in good company, your chest warmed by the hearty food and ale.

Well, nearly perfect.

You get up from the table to supply the next round of ale, and a large shadow blocks your path.

“The fuck’re you doing here, witch?” a familiar gruff voice growls and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Of all the taunts and torments and dirty looks that still follow you around the village from time to time, Farrell has been the most persistent. You’ve had men despise you before, but the hatred that rolls of the man and coils towards you is more than emotion. It’s dark, the shadow that passes over you in his presence leaving a chill on your skin and a sickly taste in the back of your mouth. It looms like a snake, poised to attack, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Your grip on the glass in your hand grows tighter, and you grit your teeth, electing to ignore him, trying to side-step the large man to reach the bar, but a rough hand grips your shoulder.

“I asked you a question, bitch. You’re no’ welcome here.”

“Oh, that’s very clever of you, Farrell,” you spit, already fed up, your words fuelled mostly by the buzz of ale in the back of your mind. A dangerous thing, for a witch. More dangerous for the man daring to lay hands on you. “The witch and the bitch. You even made it rhyme, how charming.”

In a flash, your back slams into the wall of the tavern, shoulders shaking with the force of it. Magic surges beneath your skin, angry and hot in response to the threat looming over you. The glass in your hand cracks; it doesn’t shatter, but you can feel the edge slice in your skin all the same. Farrell plants his other palm against the wall, making any sort of escape impossible. His grip on your shoulder tightens before it disappears, and you see fingers heading for your throat.

Suddenly, there’s a glint of metal flying through the air, the sharp tip of a blade finding its mark, plunging right into the centre of Farrell’s palm. He shouts loudly, face pinching in pain, and tries to spin towards the source of the knife, but goes the wrong way, finding himself stuck against the wall. You use the flurry of movement to your advantage, ducking under the large man’s arm. But before you make a clean escape, the hand that had been heading for your throat grabs the back of your dress, yanking you back and throwing you to the ground. The glass shatters now, blood dripping from your hand, and all of your breath is knocked out of you as you hit the wooden floor. Faintly, you hear Lena call your name over the commotion.

A different shadow steps over you now, a dark cloak fluttering as the knife-thrower steps between you and Farrell. You slink back across the floor, trying to avoid the shattered glass as you take in your saviour. Dressed in heavy chainmail over plain clothes, a thick leather belt, two swords at his back — one straight blade and one curved. More knives like the one lodged in Farrell’s hand hang from his belt, another fastened to the lace of his boot.

You can barely see his face from your spot on the floor, treated only to the messy dark hair, the patchy beard along his strong jaw. His shoulders are broad, hips tapered slightly beneath the mail, but everything about him just screams strength, protector. A warrior, through and through.

“It would do you well, I think,” the man sneers at Farrell, his voice carrying the trace of an accent, somewhere far from here, “if you let the lady be, don’t you?”

He’s only supposed to be passing through.

The village was a speck in the dirt, the name barely legible on the map William had supplied him with. In plotting his course, he’d barely considered the place, planned to pass through it on his way to the larger town down the main roads. But his horse had broken a shoe, the chill in the air was making gooseflesh rise on the back of his neck, and the sky had gone dark. He didn’t have much of a choice but to stop in the village, buying a room for the night from the tavern-keeper, leaving his horse in the stable.

It was quiet when he arrived, the sun starting its descent, the main square mostly empty of people. Someone pointed him in the direction of the tavern, and an hour later, he was sat at table tucked in the corner of the room, a hot meal and a large mug of ale in front of him.

He hadn’t moved from the spot, and was still sat there when you came in, carrying that intoxicating scent with you, and instantly, everything in Pero Tovar’s body was on high alert. His eyes followed you across the room, watched you shrug the cloak from your shoulders, your hair braided down your back. You laughed with your companions, baring sharp white teeth and a wickedly curved grin. You’re beautiful — of course, you are — and he grit his teeth at the thought. He knows what you are.

Witch.

After the Wall, he knew there was nothing in the world that could shock him, not anymore. The Tao Tei had been beyond anything his mind could have imagined, so you are a paltry notion to begin with, but his brow pulls down further as he studies you from afar.

Soon after the dust had settled, before he and William had parted ways, they had came upon a village not unlike the one he has set foot in now. Similar in size, but with fewer inhabitants, most of the buildings abandoned and falling to pieces, some of them still smouldering from a recent fire. William, ever the kindhearted, tried to help, asking those who still remained what had happened, offering food from their saddlebags.

Pero found himself wandering, sword gripped tightly in his hand as he stepped through the rubble. Deeper and deeper into the village, until he could no longer hear the conversation of his travelling companions. Until he was sure he’d passed the same building five times over, and when he turned a corner, a cloth tent stood in the middle of the road, the outside painted with shapes and symbols he had no name for. Smoke billowed out the top — not on fire, but a fire inside — and he could not stop his feet, his body seeming to have a mind of its own, pulling him forward and through the open flap before he even realized what was happening.

I have been waiting for you, Pero Tovar.

The tent was much bigger on in the inside than it appeared on the outside. Darker, too, the large fire in the centre crackling away. Crystals glittered in the firelight everywhere he looked, sparkling like stars on every available surface. Bundles of herbs, jars of liquid, stacks of books. Clutter covered the space, and Pero nearly stumbled backward when he spotted her.

You needn’t be afraid, child.

Her lips didn’t move, but he heard her voice as though she were speaking to him. Old and weathered, eyes like hunks of amethyst glittered at him from the depths of a leathery face. She was covered in necklaces, her thin arms stacked with metallic bracelets, fingers heavy with large rings. A moth-eaten shawl draped her shoulders, a dress made of a patchwork of fabric peeking out. Something in her lap moved, and it took him a moment to realize there was a large white cat curled up there.

A fortune teller? Something darker? He wasn’t sure. The woman smiled, gestured to the seat in front of her, across the table covered with stones and books and cards.

I only wish to tell you what you seek.

His feet carried him to the table, sat him down in the chair that slid out as he approached. He sank onto the cushion, lost in the feeling that his body was not quite his own for the time being. The woman surveyed him, those strange purple eyes taking in every part of him. She reached for a stack of cards, shuffled them in her ring-laden hands, drew two from the pile. She looked at the cards, then at him, then back at the cards again.

Give me your hand, Pero, the strange mind-voice said, and he reached across without a second thought. The woman surged up to grip his hand in her much smaller ones, lurching out of her seat and over the table, upsetting the cat in her lap and earning a loud yowl from the creature. She hissed at the cat, baring her teeth, before turning his hand palm-up and staring down into it. Then she smiled.

You seek a woman. A witch, no less.

He couldn’t stop himself from scoffing. It had been a long while since he’d had a woman, too long a time spent in the company of other men, no time to sneak away to ease his aches by anything other than his own hand. And the women at the Wall had barely given him a second thought, most of them much too preoccupied with William to give his scarred companion a second glance. But a witch?

This one is different, Pero Tovar, the woman continued, and he felt the tip of her finger trace a line in his palm. Her soul calls to yours. She is who you seek. Find her, and find yourself.

Something in him twinged. Dreams riled themselves in the back of his mind, pulling images to the surface. Soft skin bathed in moonlight, hair that sifted like silk between his knuckles, eyes that kept him nailed in place but begged questions and gave answers. A wild woman. His woman.

He’d dreamt of her that first night on the Wall, after he and William had barely scraped by with their lives, everything they thought they knew torn asunder by the strange creatures that attacked. The dreams had come quick, as soon as he’d shut his lids, landscapes he didn’t recognize, the pleats of a dress made of dark silk, and those eyes.

Your eyes.

The same eyes pinning him in place now, staring up at him from your spot on the ground. Your gaze is wild, a fire in your irises he’s never seen before, but ignites something in his chest. He wants to run to you automatically, every muscle in his body screaming for him to move, but then the man he has pinned against the wall barks at him.

“She isn’t welcome here!”

A hand flashes toward him, but Pero is quicker, snatching a knife from his belt and jamming it into the man’s other palm, pinning it to the wall, a mirror of the injury he’s already sustained. The man howls and Pero grins. Something feral in his stomach roils in pleasure, keening and possessive; don’t touch my woman.

“Where I come from,” Pero starts, pulling another knife, getting closer to the man, pressing the tip of the blade into his fat chin, “you know what they do to men who put their hands on a woman?” He grins. “Much worse than what I’ve done to you, amigo, much, much worse.”

He flicks his wrist, leaving a tiny cut in the man’s chin, before sheathing his knife and reaching for the others.

“I want you to listen close, yes?” He curls his hands around the hilts of each dagger, wiggling them slightly. He can still feel you watching. “I’m going to pull these out, and you’re going to run. There’s lots of veins in your hands, you know, so there’s going to be a lot of blood. You’ll be fine, if you move fast. So, you’re going to get out of here, scurry home to whatever sorry woman has been unlucky enough to marry you, and leave the lady alone, you understand me?”

The man whimpers, the sound pitiful, and Pero just grins again, yanking hard on the knives. A path of dripping blood follows the man out, and Pero wipes the blood from his blades, sheathing them once more.

Then he turns to you.

“Tell me your name,” are your first words, your pretty mouth parting as he offers you a hand, pulling you to your feet. Your skirts swish as your body rights itself, your skin warm against his. A wince pulls at your lips as you flex your other hand, and he bristles at the sight of blood pooled in your palm.

“He did this?” he asks, taking your wrist carefully. You’re still watching him.

“I asked for your name.”

“Pero,” he answers instantly this time, eyes flicking up to your face from your palm and back again. “Pero Tovar.” He can feel your pulse racing against his fingertips. “Did he do this to you?”

“In a way,” you reply, glancing at the shattered glass on the floor. “Thank you, for that.”

He says nothing. The dreams rise in his mind. Since the woman told him to find you, he’s played the scenario over and over in his head a hundred different ways. What he would say, what he would do. He should have known it wouldn’t happen any way he imagined.

All eyes in the tavern have turned on the pair of you, the blood on the floor and the stranger in their midst, but no one makes a move to remove Pero from the tavern. A few eyes flicker your way with disdain, but no one says a word. There’s fear in some faces, but he’s more preoccupied with your eyes on his own.

“Sit with us,” you say, your voice soft, melodic to his ears. “Let me buy you a drink for your chivalry.”

Pero opens his mouth to say no, but his body follows you back to the table you’d been sat at before hell had broken loose. “Your hand,” he says as you pull a chair back for him to sit. With a grin, you close your fingers with a flourish, and when you open them again, the blood is gone, the cut sealed, your skin unmarked.

Witch.

The woman you’re with jumps up and hugs you close as soon as you’re within reach, and Pero sinks down into the chair beside you. A man he assumes to be her husband eyes him, but ultimately reaches over and offers his hand. “Tomas,” he says, grunting slightly when Pero grips his hand tight. “That was quite the spectacle.”

“I don’t like men who make games of harming women,” he replies simply. “Witch or not, there’s no reason for cruelty when it’s unwarranted.”

Tomas raises a brow at him. “How do you know it’s unwarranted? You know her?”

You’ve disappeared from his line of sight, and he turns his head to see you standing at the bar with Tomas’s wife, your bottom lip pinched between your thumb and finger, watching him. A chill shoots down his spine when your eyes lock.

“In a way,” Pero replies, mirroring your earlier words.

The night passes quickly, the sky outside darkening further and further until it feels as though a blanket has been draped over the world. There are no stars tonight, the moon hanging behind clouds, offering little light. The tavern empties slowly, a barmaid coming to clean up the blood at some point. Pero watches you shoot up from your chair, helping the girl, watches her eyes go wide and she scurries off, leaving the bucket and cloth. You clean every drop of blood from the wood, and he wonders idly if your magic could do it faster, like you’d healed your hand.

When the hour grows even later, Tomas and his wife — who Pero learns is named Lena — take their leave. Tomas claps Pero on the shoulder as they go, Lena kissing your cheeks before they depart. “Your friends are kind,” he tells you, a nearly awkward silence settling over the two of you, leaving him desperate to break it. “They do not fear you like some of the others in this village.”

“Well,” you say, your voice growing soft. You lean forward on the table, planting your elbows, and his throat grows dry at the way your cleavage shifts with the movement. “They have nothing to fear.”

“Do I?” he asks, his tone nearing suggestive. It’s easy, talking to you, flirtations starting to roll off his tongue. But gods, it’s been a long time since he spoke to a woman like this.

“How did you know what I was?” you ask, one hand reaching down until your fingers brush the back of his, sparks shooting beneath his skin at the feel of your touch.

I’ve been dreaming of you. He almost says it. A woman in a tent told me my future, told me I had to find you. He almost says that as well. But what comes out is: “I heard what he said to you. He called you witch, called you bitch.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I intervened.”

The corner of your mouth quirks in a grin. “And I thank you for it, truly.” Slowly, your finger drags over the back of his hand, tracing the ridges of is knuckles, the ink tattooed into the web between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll have to think of some way to repay you for your chivalry.”

He looks down his nose at you, sinking his teeth into the inside of his cheek at your sultry tone. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

He continues his chivalry. The tavern-keep starts to shuffle those who remain inside out onto the street, and Pero fetches your cloak for you, standing all too close as he drapes it around your shoulders. “I would not want you to be cold, amor,” he says, his voice low in your ear, fingers brushing the back of your neck.

It’s not lost on you, the ember that’s igniting, turning to flame on the kindling of conversation and stolen touches. Something has burrowed itself deep in your chest, spanning through your rib cage and taking root around your heart. It’s foreign, this feeling, but the ache that blooms between your legs at the mere sight of the warrior, your saviour — protector, your hindbrain screams — is all too familiar.

The skies have cleared, and moonlight pours over the both of you as you step onto the cobblestones, and you tip your face towards it, basking in the glow the crescent moon offers. You can feel him watching, those dark eyes on your face, examining your features intensely. He’s standing so close your sides are pressed together, your shoulder at his bicep.

“You’re staring, Pero Tovar,” you comment, keeping your eyes shut, a smile winding across your face.

“I have a habit of staring at beautiful things,” he replies, and you feel his fingers brush against yours.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, blinking up at him. The expression on his face is not lost to you either, the mix of lust and want, the same emotions swirling through your gut with every second you spend in his presence. “A friend in the village?”

He juts his chin towards the tavern behind you. “A room upstairs.”

“Ah.”

You feel his hand twitch against yours now, and his pinky curls around yours, his skin rougher and hotter than your own. “I will not sleep a moment,” he tells you, body turning towards yours completely now, your hands linked and his other coming up to knock a knuckle beneath your chin, lifting your face to his, “until I know you are home safe, amor.”

Your breath is catching, rioting in your chest like a caged bird, and the words fall out of you. “Come home with me.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you wait for the hitch, for him to be pushed away by your forwardness. You curse yourself internally, the voice in your head grating. You couldn’t deny your own attraction, and he hadn’t been shy about his own, but had you crossed a line? Was the heat you felt building still nothing but a farce, a trick of the light, a cruel machination of your own lonely mind?

But then you feel the bad of his thumb across the lower curve of your lip, riding the line until it rests right in the centre, pulling ever so slightly on your skin. You inhale again, your heart climbing up into your throat. “Yes,” he says simply, as if you’d asked the easiest question in the world.

The walk to your cottage from the village has never felt longer. Pero does not let you stray far, your fingers still linked, falling into step with one another. The moon lights the path, and that strange something in your chest only grows heavier, hungrier. As does the ache.

You have a feeling you can cure both with the same antidote.

Soot greets you at the door when you both step through, chirping with interest and coming to inspect your guest. You shrug out of your cloak, stepping through the rooms to light candles. When you turn back, you see Pero crouched on the ground, arms resting on his knees, scratching the cat under the chin with one hand. There’s an almost boyish grin on his face, and you just watch him for a moment, leaning against the wall.

“He’ll never leave you alone if you keep that up,” you say, jutting your chin to the little ball of fur when Pero looks up at you. “He’s a menace for attention.”

Soot meows loudly, as if disagreeing, and you both chuckle. But, surprising to you, as Pero stands, he disappears into the shadows, off to chase a mouse or lounge in a dark corner. You step towards Pero as he lifts the belt holding his swords over his head, hanging them carefully on the hook by your door. His hands lift to unhook his cloak, but you beat him to it, your hands faster than his, knocking his palms away when he tries. He just watches you, dark eyes simmering down at you, as you pull the cloak from his shoulders, folding it and setting it down.

It leaves him in his chainmail and boots, the metal hanging heavily over his frame. You cock your head to the side, searching for some sort of clasp or fastening, but your patience wears thin, and you snap a finger, feeling a surge of magic through your arm. In a flash, the mail is gone, piled atop his cloak, and Pero just continues to stare, a rakish smile pulling on his lips.

You leave him to his boots, unlacing your own and setting them by the door. You ensure the door is properly locked, and when you turn away, you feel hands on your hips a moment later, the growing beast in your chest keening into the touch. The grip isn’t tight, but it promises to be, something possessive in his hands. “Show me to your bedroom,” he murmurs, his mouth by your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your lobe. It sends a chill down your spine, “or else I will ravish you right here on this floor.”

You wrap one hand around his wrist, stepping far enough out of his grip that you can tug him behind you, leading him through your small home and towards the bedroom. You wave a hand as you enter, the hearth erupting with flame and the door swinging shut. You hear his sharp inhale, releasing your hold on him, and you turn to face him, stepping backward until he follows a step, then another.

“Do I scare you?”

Slowly, he shakes his head.

Your cheeks heat, the gravity of the situation you’ve found yourself in making your mind spin. You turn again, facing away from him, but feeling his gradual approach until his heat covers you one more. With careful fingers, he brushes the braid from the back of your neck until it hangs over your shoulder.

“Tell me where you’ve been hiding, amor,” he whispers, lips nearly touching your skin, your pulse leaping in response. His hand trails up your side, palm flattening against your ribs. “Tell me why I’ve waited so long to find you.”

You can’t hold back any longer. The feeling — the something — is too much.

Spinning on your heel, you startle him, his pretty mouth dropping open as you surge up to meet it. It’s nothing short of euphoric, like every kiss you’ve ever received has lead up to this one. The hand at your ribs stays there, fingers pressing through the fabric of your dress, while the other roves around your body, snaking up your spine until it rests at the back of your neck, spanning so wide you can feel his fingertips press either side of your throat.

He tastes like everything you’ve ever dreamed of, a taste that was only meant for your tongue. You can’t stop yourself from moaning into his mouth, a whine tumbling from your lips when he sinks his teeth into your lower one. It’s nearly enough to draw blood, and it only feeds the feeling in your chest, what you can only describe as a beast keening at the attention, rallying for more, making your heart riot harder.

You could snap your fingers and have you both naked as the day you were born, but something stops you. The hurried movement of hands, both his and yours, pulling at ties and pushing at fabric, his fingers hooked into the strings of your corset, yours in the laces of his pants. The way he murmurs slowly in that foreign tongue of his, words you don’t understand but hang off of all the same.

“He viajado por todo el mundo por ti, mi amor. Y con mucho gusto lo volvería a hacer.”

You can’t stop to ask, your mouth too busy gasping for air when he manages you out of your skirts and corset, your shirt nearly shredded by his hand. His lips leave yours only to travel down your chest, tonguing at your collarbone and laving at your nipple. It makes your body react in a way you’ve never known, one hand plunging into his hair, keeping his head at your breast, while your hips push towards him, chasing a feeling that hasn’t been granted yet.

“You are needy, amor,” he murmurs into your skin, licking at your sensitive skin and pressing a soft kiss to the curve. “Tell me, how long has it been since someone touched your body like this, hmm?”

You’re completely bare now, your shirt a puddle of fabric at your feet, the combined heat of Pero Tovar and the fire making sparks shoot across your vision. You’ve managed to divest him of his shirt, his chest a broad expanse of bronze, scarred skin. He looks up at you from his bent position at your chest, the brown of his eyes nearly eclipsed by the black of his pupil. He stares you down, lips closing around your nipple, and you yelp when he gives you the slightest bit of teeth, both hands holding your hips, thumbs rubbing at your bones.

“Tell me.”

“Too long,” you breathe out, head tilting back on your shoulders as he sucks at you, one hand dipping down to squeeze the meat of your ass. “Far too long.”

He descends lower, kissing along your skin like he’s drawing a map of you, outlining every inch. You take another step back and your thighs hit the bed. He uses his grip on you as leverage, tilting you backward until you’re splayed on the blankets. As soon as your shoulders lay flat, your knees are pushed apart by his big hands, and you blink up to see him situated between your legs, his mouth now pressed to the hinge of your knee.

“Then I must fix that,” he murmurs into your skin, palm skimming the outside of your thigh. “Would you let me taste you, amor?”

You barely have a chance to breathe out a yes before he’s dipping his head between your legs, open-mouth kisses pressed along every inch of you. The heat is nearly too much, the beast in your chest screaming for more, and when his tongue finally touches that most intimate part of you, it finally goes silent, sated for the time being.

Instead, all you feel is pleasure.

He’s a skilled man, to be sure. Unsurprisingly good with his hands, and even more talented with his tongue. He draws shapes along the insides of your thighs, sucks on that little bundle of nerves until your back is arching up off the bed, plunges two fingers into your cunt at precisely the right moment. You thrash in the blankets, at the mercy of the man before you, already feeling that sometimes unreachable peak skidding towards you. You’re almost hesitant, not wanting your body to catapult over the edge so quickly, if that means this will all be over sooner.

But then you chance a look down at the bulk of Pero between your legs, broad shoulders keeping your thighs wide. His hair is a mess, the work of your own fingers, and you watch the trail of his free hand over the length of your leg, squeezing in a different place with each pass. He lifts his head slightly, mouth detaching from you, and you catch sight of his fingers disappearing into the very depths of your body, his skin glistening with your slick, and the image makes you gasp.

His head lifts then, dark eyes locked with yours, and he grins. “You like to watch?”

Mouth dropped open, you just nod.

He thrusts his fingers hard, curling his knuckles, and the pads of his fingers brush against something absolutely devastating inside you, white-hot shocks of pleasure shooting through your limbs. At the same time, he lowers his head, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he does it, going so slow you’re sure you might die with anticipation, until his mouth touches you once more.

The edge is right there, and you have no choice but to tumble over.

It’s the most intense feeling, every muscle going taut and then loose and then taut and then loose. You’re half-sure your eyes roll back, your vision spotted with black dots, and it doesn’t seem to stop. Your vision returns after a moment, body still quaking with pleasure, and Pero grins, pulling his mouth from you, but keeping his fingers in place.

“Tell me what you want, amor,” he breathes, leaning up and over you, his knees keeping your legs wide, offering you a kiss that tastes of your own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

His fingers prod that spot again, and your hips lift into his hand.

“More.”

Your orgasm hasn’t stopped, you’re quite sure, spurred on by his fingers still thrusting, your body still twitching. You can barely catch your breath, but then you glance down again, and see he’s as naked as you are, pulling his fingers from you only to coat his cock with your slick, leaning his hips forward to drag the tip through your wet folds. He’s big, thick and achingly hard, the head weeping. When he bumps your clit, you moan. “You want more?” he asks, nearly taunting, and you lift your hips again, trying to notch him inside you.

“Please.”

He gives you exactly what you ask for. As soon as his hot cock slides into you, it’s like the air has been punched from your lungs. You scrabble for him, hauling him down onto you until his chest is pressed to yours. You know you’re leaving scratch marks on his back, but you can’t bring yourself to care, stealing breaths from the man above you as his mouth searches for yours.

His hips snap into you with a ferocity you have no name for, a fervour you’ve never experienced before. You can’t catch your breath, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

None of it, except for him.

As the realization settles over you, the beast in your chest purrs with delight. You hold Pero closer, hips lifting to match his thrusts, doubling the feeling for you both. The sounds he makes are absolutely sinful, but it’s the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard, spurring your body back towards the edge. Your blood is singing in your veins, your mind a mess of pleasure and emotions you cannot describe.

You topple a second time, tossing your head back and baring your throat. He takes the bait, closing his mouth around your pulse, and you fist your hand in the back of his hair, keeping him as close as possible. Your body feels as though it might implode, an impossible amount of pleasure surging through your veins.

His cock twitches hard, and with a groan more akin to a growl, Pero rips himself from you, fisting his cock and cumming in thick ropes across your stomach. You watch his face as he cums, the hard pinch in his brow, the way the scar on his eye ripples with the movement. His lips part, heavy breaths falling from him, and you reach up with one hand, covering his hand with your own as he continues to stroke himself. The other reaches down, and you wait for his eyes to open before you drag two fingers through the mess he’s left on your skin, bringing them to your lips and sucking off the taste of him.

“Mierda.”

Pero collapses beside you a moment later, broad chest heaving with exertion, turning towards you to press a heavy kiss to your mouth. You return it with enthusiasm, testing the bend in your legs a moment later, planting your feet carefully before trusting your shaky knees with your weight. You find a rag to clean yourself with, disappearing down the hall and returning with two cups of water. Pero grumbles his thanks, his voice low and raspy, and steals another kiss when you settle back into the bed with him. It strikes you for a moment how at ease he looks, as though the empty side of your bed is where he’s been his whole life, how perfectly he fits.

He looks up at you, same as he had when he was between your legs, and you reach out, cupping his cheek in your hand. Your thumb rides the ridge of his scar. “What did you say to me earlier?”

You get a roguish grin in return. “I just said a great many things to you, amor. You will have to be more specific.”

“The things you said when you undressed me,” you say, your voice growing soft, still stroking the raised skin of his scar. “I don’t know the language.”

“Ah,” he murmurs, understanding. You shuffle closer to him, and his head leans into your palm, his hand reaching out to trace shapes on your thigh. “He viajado por todo el mundo por ti, mi amor. Y con mucho gusto lo volvería a hacer.”

“Yes,” you nod eagerly. “What does it mean?”

He peers up at you again. “I have travelled a world over for you, amor,” he answers, and the beast in your chest sings happily, “And I would gladly do it again.”

You sink lower until you’re laid out beside him, pulling the blankets over you both, seeking his warmth beneath them. “And amor,” you repeat, trying to mimic his accent best you can, “what does that mean?”

“Love,” he says simply, like it’s obvious. “Mi amor. My love.”

—————

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