#Pero Tovar drabble | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nerdieforpedro · 1 year ago

Text

One Failed Search - Security Log Drabbles

Part of the Secret Springs Creative Shenanigans

Frankie Morales x Chloé Thomas (plus size AFAB OFC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Lieutenant Chloé Thomas is trying to investigate Frankie Morales - the Harvey Air pilot that she can barely find information on. It does not go well, or perhaps it did?

Warnings: Jokes and puns, fluff, food reference, very bad nicknames, an angry and flexible York, implied smut? (That came early), double M’s, our pilot being a menace, lots of ass and sass, a sprinkle of Spanish, anxiety, crime listings

Word Count: over 2.3k (Drabble? I mean, it’s what I told myself originally.)

Notes: I decided to make it a personal log because that made me giggle the most, I apologize in advance @secretelephanttattoo but you do have two M’s so we’ll call it even. Possible guest mentions (they didn’t ask and neither did I but I thought of them and then stuck cute things in the graphic so here we are) of @goodwithcheese @maggiemayhemnj and @tinytinymenace

You’ll find yourselves. 😎 ❤️❤️❤️

Thanks to @megamindsecretlair and @soft-persephone for listening to me babble about it. @angelofsmalldeath-codeine & @fhatbhabiee for the Spanish. I may use what I asked later.

Main Masterlist/ Frankie Morales Masterlist

My name Chloé Thomas - head of Top Flight Security for the Secret Springs resort. I would write this out but the thought of annoying York with the sound of my voice delights me greatly. I’m starting my little bit of fun now. That's funny because my code name used to be siren because…wait.

Anyway, I’ve just finished messaging York again about final preparations for security of the Secret Springs resort. He is still refusing the red short-shorts, I told him that the guys work out to stay fit, why can’t they show it off a little? We might even want to think about a calendar at some point, this was a joke, but Dave got mad. I told him he could put a pair to sport around for his Lady Gouda Cheese and he promptly messaged me back in all caps, “DO NOT MENTION HER AT ALL. I WILL NOT HAVE YOU GIVING HER IDEAS!!!” He used all sorts of angry emojis but I know that he’d do it for her. He also said not to call her that nickname but it’s a fancy cheese. I think. She also has a thing about ties and leather jackets. I never gave her ideas. He blames me, but she tells me what she has him do. I didn’t know York was that flexible. Good for him I say, also it explains why he doesn’t want anyone touching his neck.

Everyone has their kinks. Mine seems to be voices and hands. A strange combination. I also found another one - broad men.

Correction - this is about one such man. The pilot of this charter plane for Harvey Air. I swear it was only because I couldn’t find any information on him other than his name, his date of birth, nationality and current address. It sounds like plenty but I’m usually able to see past work history, convictions or court cases, financials and such. He has none. It’s all blacked out. Dave said he vetted him but it’s still strange. The mayor’s Pooka Shells (her main squeeze Marcus Pike) and Silver Rim (her second squeeze Marcus Moreno - they’re still workshopping his code name. She said she would let me know the final one. Gotta tell the difference between those Marcus’s) both vouch for this man.

It makes me more curious, which is why I spoke very kindly to the flight attendant and she let me slide by into the cockpit. I think she was too busy trying to flirt with a man who had been wearing a flannel shirt but took it off and now he’s in a white t-shirt. We haven’t taken off yet and the pilot isn’t here so I poke around, maybe there’s a clue.

I’m caught red handed, bent over laying on my stomach over the seat because I’m too damn short, trying to reach a small duffle bag next to the pilot’s chair. “Can I help you Miss? And careful standing up, you might give me more of a show than you already are.”

I freeze, embarrassed that I’m not only caught but might have my ass out. Mayor El said, ‘Wear a dress, you’ll look pretty in pink.’ I mean, yes I do and I love how I look in fuchsia but I don’t want to show the man my cheeky undies, no matter how much I like that they’re peach and match my bralette. I lean back and put a hand carefully on the control panel? I forgot to ask him what it’s actually called. I don’t stand up yet because I feel a little too much air on the back of my thighs and it feels like he could already see my drawers or will be soon.

“I’m going to reach under your arms and lift you up. That alright Miss?” The pilot asks and I agree. I’m horrified, how he’s going to be touching me and feeling my arms. He might not even be able to and then we’re both going to be on the floor in this cramped space and might delay the flight. God I’m going to hear about this from the Mayor, York and everyone. His tone thus far has been one of concern, I’m not sure why, I was trying to go through his stuff. To be honest, I kinda just want to lie here and not face him, I’ve never had a good poker face and I’ll likely have my mouth open from his resonant voice. My body is a different type of tense now.

Surprisingly, I’m up on my feet while I’m still working out how I’m going to get off the floor when we both fall. We did not. His hands are sitting underneath my arms for a few moments before he retracts them. I turn to face him and it’s horrible. Just the worst possible outcome.

One of his large hands is on his chin. He’s wearing a hat that says, ‘Standard Heating Oil’ and it’s covering onyx curls that frame his face and circle the back of his neck. Stroking the scruff on his cheeks, he asked me a question and I could only respond, “Run that by me again please.” His eyes are the color of my favorite flavor - chocolate. Damn it all to hell. His scant file did not have a photo, he is a beautiful man who has a slight scowl on his face.

He sighs and repeats, “I said I’m the pilot and is there a reason you’re in my seat trying to get my bag?” Very good question. Important question. At this point, I should have gave it a moment and then responded but I did not. Because, well I am me.

“I didn’t know pilots came that broad or strong. What do they feed you? Sure it isn’t some deluxe hearting oil?” There have been many moments in life where I have wanted to hide under a blanket or lock myself in a room. This is a whole new level and I need to be in a padded room. The only blessing is that instead of kicking me out of the cockpit, he laughs. I’m not embarrassed, I’m way past that. Who needs shame when his entire face has brightened? Good thing my emotions tend to change quickly.

The booming sound of his laugh coupled with him throwing his head back and holding his chest, enables me to have a small grin. I’ve made him laugh, I might be able to distract him a bit more. Slowly, I move toward the door and at his side. Frankie steps past me and picks up his bag. It has his wallet, a guide book to the Secret Springs, cell phone and a water bottle. “Am I cleared Lieutenant?” His question makes my eyebrows raise, he has a shit-eating grin. “I know you’re in charge of security. Both Marcus’s told me.” Pooka Shells and Chrome Rim or Silver Dollar - whatever the Mayor actually calls him, I’ll shake the both of them when I get there.

“I see. So they told you my title, did they tell you my name Francisco?” I cross my arms and lean my weight back on my right leg. A stance I use when I’m trying to seem pissed, really I’m hiding my shock. Apparently, I truly am easy to read and he puts the bag down and his hands up. Messing me, I might be a bit pissed now.

“Surprisingly, they did not. Said you’d get mad if they mentioned it. They weren’t supposed to know your name is but it was…teased out of the Mayor. Not sure which one did it.” My hands are over my face. Dammit Mayor….bad enough they know and they can get information out of you. It should be fine, maybe. That’s something I’ll need to follow up on.

“Just, not everyone needs to know. We’re going to have plain clothes guards to ensure safety at the resort. I’ll go back to my seat now. Sorry for trying to look through your things. I don’t like unknowns. Your file was scant and even though the double M’s, York and the Mayor said things were fine-“

“You trust but verify. Understandable. More people should. Well lieutenant,” Morales crosses his arms and takes a step toward me. “You’re welcome to sit in here with me. I can fly this bird without your help, but you seem interesting company teniente (Lieutenant).” His sizable palm pats the backrest of the co-pilot’s seat and snort. Why did I snort?! I avoid that even when I laugh really hard. Dangerous, but I sat down anyway. I was invited after all.

The flight over is smooth as butter, with the exception of a spot of turbulence and landing the plane, I didn’t notice the time go by accept it was too short. And that Frankie mutters while on the ascent and descent and it nearly has me arching my back in my seat. Thankfully I did have a silver of composure and fiddled with my headphones. All the guests are off the plane so I exit with Frankie and the flight attendant who is despondent that Surly Flannel (I didn’t call him this to his face. His resting face is a disapproving glare) has not agreed to see her after disembarking. Instead, he meets a woman who’s holding a boom box and they laugh about a flower. I didn’t get to hear what kind.

The Mayor competes her speech with one Marcus on each side, everyone is excited and there don’t seem to be any reports of thief, violence or the like so far. People are just having fun. It’s nice and peaceful. Where do I go now? I’m in this pretty dress with no where to go for the afternoon.

I mill around the security HQ and decide to explore in the evening when it’s cooled off a bit.

But of course the pilot finds me. “You still on duty lieutenant?” He’d been wearing a simple red shirt and cargo pants with fifty pockets on them earlier. Now he was on a white tank almost silk looking shirt with pink shorts that hit just above his knee. If they were a little higher, I’d be able to see a bit more thigh…

“Always on duty. Are you enjoying yourself so far Francisco?” I ask mainly to distract myself and focus on his face instead of looking down at his shorts. I was transparent about it so I’m sure he noticed. I need to be away from him, I’m just going to keep raking over his body with my eyes and it’s not right. But also…it’s not fair that he looks and smells amazing.

“Yup. Scrounging up people for the bar and the games.” The bar part fits, picturing him pouring drinks and shaking that silver mix cup thing with his arms flexing, biceps curling that devilish grin on his face. I meant to exhale but didn’t open my mouth and just hummed. I can normally present like a sane person, he makes my brain short circuit.

This is the first time I’ve seen Frankie react besides laughing. Humming is pretty weird and I’ve only met him today. “Why games at the bar? The drunk people should be enough to handle.” It sounds like a horrible combination and ripe for problems. I don’t need to go to this bar or any bar with him.

He shifts his weight and tilts his head. Then holds his hand out, “Come see teniente (lieutenant). Judge for yourself.” I shouldn’t have taken this hand, more like I couldn’t help it. I’m weak against that grin of his. Morales has charmed many a person with curling lips like that.

Now Frankie is pouring the drinks and I’m on the outskirts of a twister game that is all giggles and ass. There’s a darts game going on in the corner, a lady keeps trying to start karaoke but three of the other local shop owners keep unplugging her microphone. There one man with a scar on over his eye, shirtless and has a woman and her dog who has an adorable rainbow collar on and curls almost as fluffy as Frankie’s sitting in his lap as he drinks out of a chalice.

Where did he get a chalice? Should there be darts over there? Who brought a karaoke machine in here? Why do the twister people have no pants? Like all have nice asses but everything is overwhelming and the two blueberry mint juleps I’ve had are not helping.

Squeezing through a row of cheeks I’m not sure how I ended up in the middle of, I am back at the bar and Frankie has his hand resting in the palm of his hand. “Teniente (Lieutenant), you ever relax? You seem on edge. Have some fun and maybe another drink.” I ordered a mojito this time, change it up a bit. The bar stool I had to hop up on so my feet are hanging. Seeing the bartending pilot at eye level has me clear my throat and swallowing my own spit. My mouth is watering. I need to grip something and there’s only the bar counter. My hands flat against the surface keeps me from floating away.

“Like I said, I’m still on duty. Water please after this drink.” He pours me some on ice to have after my mojito. I remember drinking it. There was some sort of music and he was holding my hand or was holding his. Then my hand was on his chest. I think we were dancing and he switched out with someone so he could come from behind the bar.

I awoke in a room that wasn’t mine and was able to make it back in time for the morning security briefing with the double M’s, York and the Mayor. It did not help that I was wearing the same dress from yesterday. There were lingering looks, but no one asked.

Thankfully, York has agreed to wipe the video if I never mention red shorts again. It’s a great loss, but I concede. Hanging over a concrete barrier is never a good look, thankfully Frankie helped me down, but what was I trying to do? Was it that bad that I blocked it out?

Ending day one log:

Violence - None

Public intoxication - Three (sadly I was one of them)

Public Nudity - Five (not as many as I expected)

Destruction of Property - One (I don’t remember that either)

Injuries: Minor = six, Major = none

Chloé’s well-being: took majors blows but might recover TBD

Security Log Two

#secretsprings #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #Frankie morales x ofc #dave york #Joel miller #pero tovar #Security Log Drabbles #a Nerdie fic #a Nerdie series #resort getaway

29 notes · View notes

furious-rogue-stuff · 2 years ago

Note

He was fun to write! I love the grumpy Spaniard merc~

Hope you enjoyed him being in love 😁

CONGRATULATIONS!!!! Your trully really deserve it!! So can I request 🗡🥺🐣please?

Sending u love and hugs🫶🏻🫶🏻

My dear friend! I'm sorry for the ridiculous wait on this, but I finally got around to this wonderful prompt. This is my first time writing Pero Tovar, so I hope I've done him justice.

Thanks, as always, to @just-here-for-the-moment for putting up with my ass and beta reading to make sure this wasn't complete trash and smutty enough.

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Spanish woman, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 6,500+

🚨Author chooses not to include detailed warnings, but the following: Mentions of marriage, impersonating a soldier, past violence, scars and war wounds, breeding kink, graphic depictions of unprotected sex, and period-accurate tropes.

Yearn

The air outside was crisp with chill, making it all the more pressing for him to traverse the muddy road towards the small cottage. The smoke from the stone chimney signaled you’d started a fire for supper, and the twinkle of candlelight from the condensation-covered window facing outward to the road and frosty meadow beyond told him you’d intended to keep your promise from that morning.

The gnaw of hunger had settled in from the long day of labor, but the ache behind his sternum was one of longing, one he’d been nursing since the day before, and it took precedence over any need to fill his belly. He quickly trotted the steed into the rickety barn he’d yet to get around to patching the holes in the roof of, and once the animal was stabled, he trudged determinedly up to the door of the cottage.

He entered quickly and shut the chill out behind him, dark eyes adjusting to the dim lighting once he furrowed his brow and loped towards the weathered hearth. The steps that led to the loft above, where your marital bed was housed in a snug, insulated nook, were empty, and the table was already set with bread and wine while the savory stew kept warm in the caldero tucked near the fire. Yet, no sign of you.

“…Are you aloft already, condesa?” Pero speaks firmly, so his query can be heard clearly from above.

There is no answer, so he paces towards the steps, senses on high alert now. His instincts bellow for him to retrieve his sword from whence it’s stored, hidden in a nearby trunk, or to at least unsheathe the hidden blade he keeps on his person. He palms the handle of his dagger, tucked in its scabbard at the back of his leather belt underneath his well-worn poncho. His expression becomes stony, scar over his left eye resembling an etching, one that reveals the capacity of brutality suffered and meted out in return.

It's the soft flutter of clothing he hears first before he sees the movement from the shadowed corner that has him pivoting and effortlessly catching you as you leapt out at him from your stealthy ambush spot – the pantry cubby you’d climbed up into and waited for the right moment to pounce.

“Gotcha!” he growls triumphantly as he swings you around with impish delight, making you encircle your arms to hold onto his broad shoulders while you squeal mirthfully whilst your tunic skirts flutter about. “Trying to get the jump on me? Really, tigresita?!”

Not to be foiled completely, you wrap your legs around his hips and toss yourself backwards, creating a momentum that forces him to swing around until he’s able to break both your falls onto the bench you’d improvised using two bales of hay and an old tapestry draping you’d found discarded upstairs.

Pero lands with an exhaled huff, and you victoriously use his distraction to grab his thick wrists and pin his arms above his head.

“Bueno, I’ve bested the great guerrero, the most fearsome man with a blade, who said I was too noisy for my own good to ever get the drop on him, was it?” you’re gloating as you stare sultrily into his sardonic, handsome expression. “Well? Do you yield?”

“You are much too playful for me to try besting, my love, so…” Pero draws in that graveled rumble of his, musing and melodic before he suddenly bucks you off of him and rolls to pin you under him instead. “No, I do not yield.”

You scoff haughtily, arching a smug brow as you chime, “Good, because this is where I wanted to end up anyway.”

“Oh, is that right?” he husks, unable to muster the faux scowl any longer, so he smirks and croons in that bass-filled melodic murmur, one that always sets your nerve endings on fire, as he intensely stares into your eyes. “You wanted to end up on your back and underneath the tired and dirty mercenary-turned-farmhand that’s made you his wife? Well, I should hope so, mi amada.”

You smile enchantingly at him and arch your hips up into his. “It is so, mi marido,” is your silky purr as you lean up and brush your soft lips over his.

Pero grunts approvingly and deepens the kiss, hand cupping your jaw possessively as he plunders the cup of your mouth with his voracious tongue.

Equally as possessive are your hands as they grope and cling to his thick tunic under his poncho before eagerly shoving upwards in order to tug at his undershirt in an attempt to slip beneath to touch his skin. He smells of soil, grain and leather, musky scent heightened by his salty sweat. It makes your head spin with lust, and has arousal cloying from your center. His mouth is warm, and you ache to feel his powerful and overheated body against your bare skin as he presses into you with need.

You are desperate to undress him, and he realizes how much so when you dig your heels into the back of his trousers and groan into his mouth a pleading command.

Breaking the kiss, Pero pants against your gasping mouth before grumbling, “What was that?”

“I said I want you inside me now, Pero,” you airily repeat, the tone of your demand though is softened by your excitement now that he’s pointedly ground his arousal into your tingling center. “Mmm, please—”

“Such a needy little thing, begging so,” he chuckles ruggedly, timbre hitting that octave that has desire beseechingly pulsing in the seat of your core. His dark eyes crinkle as if he can sense how aroused you are, and just as you whine for him to comply, he slips a hand between your bodies and hikes it up the front of your skirts to cup you at the haven of your thighs. “And here I thought you were simply keeping your promise to wait up for me, no matter how late my return from the merchants. But instead, you try to best me into submission so you can have me fill this warm cunt, eh?”

His fingers trace along the crest of your sex before gliding along your warm, wet seam, parting your folds just as his thumb presses into the hood of your clit. “Ah, Pero!” you whimper, hands clutching at his sides and gripping sturdy fabric as you roll your hips, seeking the plunge of his fingers into your sheath. “Please—”

He revels in how desperate you are for him, so he presses his luck by testing how far his depraved desires can muster getting you to that fine line of wanting to give into your urge to be dominated versus having dominion to ensnare him into succumbing to his own needs.

So, he licks your plump bottom lip before grazing his teeth over it licentiously.

At your gasp and jolt against his edging fingers where you ache for them, Pero mutters coolly, “Is that all you can say, condesa? My fierce little noblewoman-turned-warrior can’t use her words when her sweet cunt is touched?”

The way your eyes sharpen is exactly what he wanted just before he plunges two thick fingers inside you.

You moan that glorious sound of pleasure that makes him feel like he’s touched the sun and it’s filled him with grace, and the beatific expression of rapture that comes over your lovely face has him straining in his trousers to replace his fingers with his cock.

But, he persists in this carnal play, and coos, “Look at you, bebita. It’s almost like you’ve yearned for my touch all day—”

“Pero,” you whine when he finger-fucks you slowly while taunting you so. He chuckles at the pleading way you arch up into him, so you dig your nails into the layers until you can feel his solid torso, and hiss, “No me tortures, por favor—”

His musing hum is rich and earthy, and to your aroused senses, it’s like a warm wine hitting your bloodstream. Feeling his broad, strong frame pressed over you, and the teasing prod of his ramrod cock only heightens your need, as does the musky smell of him, the sweat that clings to his skin and the heat of his mouth grazing along your cheek now.

Scenting your hair by nosing into the locks at your temple, Pero laconically rumbles, “I’d never torture you, sweet girl. I just want you to be mi tigresita valiente and admit you’ve been in heat for me, that you’ve been thinking unchaste thoughts all day—”

He feels your molten sheath clench around his fingers at his words, but the defiance is starting to scintillate in your eyes before you snap thinly, “And what sort of filth have you been thinking, husband?”

Pugnaciously, he smirks like a cunning tentador before husking, “Oh, this very thing. Of having my fingers in your warm cunt – making you restless and insolent, desperate to have my cock inside you instead.”

At the indolent pump of his fingers changing to a pleasurable curl that brushes the digits against the nested pleasure point inside you, a gasped mewl falls from your mouth as you writhe up into him.

“I thought about all the ways I’ve given you pleasure, and all the ways I still intend to give you pleasure,” he tells you in that damnable aloof way that makes you burn and melt. “Tell me one naughty little ember that’s kept you hot like this all day, esposa, and I’ll put my mouth on you until you reach bliss on my tongue.”

With a proposition like that? You are turned to clay, features heating from your blush as you confess, “I thought about you, undressed before me, and letting me worship your body with my hands and mouth before getting bare for you so you could make me yours by the fire.”

His fingers pause inside of you and he looks at you with unfettered hunger in his dark eyes.

You expect him to shift up so he could make that fantasy a reality, but instead, he grunts – as if placated, before receding his fingers from you, crawling down your body to bunch up your skirts so he can bury his face between your thighs.

The lascivious swipe of his tongue through your drenched folds has you gasping and hiking your knees up to make room for his broad shoulders, writhing in ecstasy as Pero devours your cunt and rubs his fingers over the hood of your pleasure point. He groans when your thighs squeeze around him, and chuckles against your mound when you bury your fingers into his hair and tug.

The look he shoots up at you from below his brow while he nuzzles shamelessly into the heady curls above your sex makes your pulse spike with exhilaration, and when he shifts your wool-stocking-covered legs further apart for him to angle your pelvis further up to better access your honeyed cunt, you groan imploringly, “Mi amor,” and bite your trembling bottom lip.

It’s exactly what he wanted.

He is unabashed and libidinous with his mouth after he bows his head between your thighs once more, and true to his word, you’re climaxing in minutes on his tongue while you ride his rapacious appendage and grip the thick tufts of dark hair at the crown of his head with one hand whilst moaning blissfully into the back of the other.

The deliriously exquisite feeling that washes over you is divine, and you sigh softly while he laps at your climax and grunts, as if satisfied with your state of euphoria.

So, when you feel cool air between your thighs, your eyes glossily open to stare dazed up at him, confused as he looms over you and grumbles a humored, gloating hum before popping his sullied fingers into his mouth and sucking your slick orgasm off.

He then stands from the makeshift bench and declares, “I want to eat,” before pivoting to lope unhurriedly to the wooden stool nearest the table so he can plunk down on it and scoot it closer to the fireplace to dutifully stir the stew with the ladle.

You’re flabbergasted.

Sitting up on your elbows to gape – comically appalled – at him, you watch as he serves himself a bowl of the savory stew while trying to keep the wry grin from pulling at his full lips. He fails miserably though when he looks over at you with that droll expression on his features before he smiles behind the bowl he raises to his lips. It does little to conceal his goading amusement, and you’re glaring at him now that your wits have returned to you.

Once he’s had a few hearty sips of the flavorful meal, he gruffly drawls, “Come stay warm by the fire, mi amada.”

You decide then that two can play this game.

Straightening your tunic skirts down and squeezing your knees together, you sit on the edge of the improvised bench and start unfastening the corseted vest that keeps your tunic and smock cinched to your form.

“I am already very warm, thank you,” is your blithe lilt as you stand and shed the vest.

Pero turns to watch you with clenched jaw as you remove the dark top tunic, leaving you now in just the green smock and a thin pale linen chemise that teases the shape and ample swell of your breasts. You can feel his eyes on you as you shimmy out of the smock next, leaving you now in just the chemise that hits just above your ankles. The glow from the fireplace hits the light linen and creates a spritely silhouette of your curvy, supple form hidden beneath, and when you hike up the hem just enough to allow you to adjust a wool stocking back up to your knee, you finally look over at him and smile.

“How is the stew?”

“…Come here.”

“Is it not to your liking, my love?”

“…Come here, mujer.”

“Do you prefer mead over wine with it?”

“…I prefer for you to cease teasing me so and come sit with me,” Pero tells you in a guttural croon as he sets his bowl aside on the table and holds his hand out to you in an assertive petition.

You feign meekness as you susurrate, “You said you wanted to eat, though. I am loath to disturb your meal—”

“Come sit on my lap and eat with me already. You’ve made your point,” he yields in a snarky huff, but the smile in his eyes is evident before they crinkle from the appeased smirk that warms his chiseled features when you slyly grin and saunter over to him.

He swoops you into his lap before you’ve completely maneuvered around, and you scoff sassily at him as you loop your arms around his shoulders. He nuzzles into your neck and fondles his big, warm hands along your curves, making you sigh dreamily and lean into him.

“Have you eaten?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Hm. Next time, you fill your belly first. Don’t wait on my account, ternura.”

“I will, precioso,” you retort affectionately, earning the expected eye roll and dubious snicker from him. “No seas tan gallardo, y come,” is your fussy quip as you grab his bowl, maneuver nimbly in his lap to reach for the ladle and add more stew to it before handing the bowl to him so you can grab a piece of bread and tear a chunk off to add in as well.

He smirks broadly, so much so that his boyish dimple is unearthed from his right cheek. “No seas tan porfiada y come, condesa,” is his dashing counter, putting the bowl into your hands before grabbing the other from the table to serve himself some stew.

You eat together, and you enjoy the warmth of his body as you remain perched on his lap while he leans his back into the wall and gorges himself. He asks where you sourced the meat that’s in the stew, and is proud when you tell him about the rabbit traps you set. You’re resourceful and smart, cunning, yet tender-hearted. It makes something warm and vast expand in his chest, having you be his, and how content you are to belong to him.

Once the ache in his belly is quieted, he licks his lips before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, eyeing you intensely as you sip from the shared cup of wine.

He belongs to you, too. It stirs blazing desire in him, and fills him with serenity, knowing he’s yours, and how fiercely you made it so.

The longing of before tugs at his heart now as he’s reminded of how you’d sat opposite him the evening prior, balancing the small tyke on your knee as you’d both shared dinner at the farmer’s homestead. The former soldier had settled this land years prior, married, and started a family. Winter had been fast approaching, and after a chance encounter with the man on the road, you’d both accepted the offer to board at the vacant cottage on his land, exchanging labor and help prepping for the winter for room and board.

Pero had watched you while the farmer and his wife chattered about the foodstuffs stored earlier and the barley he’d help transport to the merchant market the following morning, how long the journey there and back would be – ‘M’afraid it’ll take up most of the day’ – all while you’d entertained the little one that had become mesmerized by your smile and the silly faces you made to amuse him.

A heavy desire had settled in his chest, one he couldn’t place, until you’d passed the small toddler over to his mother and offered to pick up the infant that had begun to cry in its woven bassinet. Seeing you hold the wailing baby to your chest and rock it softly as you sat back down and showed the mother how to use the feeding bottle that you’d made out of an old clay pot with a spout you’d improvised in order to supplement her milk with that of the cow’s? How gentle you were once the babe was sated and you could maneuver her in your arms to make sure to burp all the gasses out of the little baby before cradling the sweet infant to sleep?

It had suddenly awakened something in him that made him feel clumsy – out of his depth.

He shakes the reveries off when you hum and offer the cup of wine to him.

“Do you want more?”

His features take on that stoic look, becoming marble as he nods and takes the cup to drain it of the remaining wine.

Thinking he’s become weary from the day now, you take the bowls to be set aside for rinsing in the makeshift dish tub you’d fabricated from an old wine barrel.

Pero watches you hesitate before setting the bowls onto the shelf near you, and then turn back towards him to ask gently, “I have clean water. Would you like me to bathe you?”

His scarred brow cocks up at you, sarcastic as he deadpans, “Would you like me to bathe? Do I smell that bad? Is my stink too odious, condesa?”

Mischievous smile lighting up your features, you feign remorse before shaking your head and chiming, “No, not at all. I happen to like your stink, anyway,” at his amused snort, you continue silkily, “I was just thinking you’d like to feel the warm water over your skin. I heated it over the fire once the stew was ready. It’s tepid now, but still nice.”

He grunts as if charmed, then nods and stands to remove the poncho from his shoulders before tossing it over with the rest of your discarded garments. You pleasantly work to maneuver the tub with the clean water across the floor closer to the hearth and end up smiling when he chivalrously comes over and picks it up for you to be set right next to the stool.

“This is poor substitute to the bathhouse, I know—” you begin to chuckle.

“You mean the one you went into while impersonating a soldier? Or the one you snuck into to seduce me?” he counters roguishly as he removes his belt, knife, and tunic next.

“No, travieso. I was meaning the one with the eucalyptus leaves and lovely oils that they put in the bath water – from the place we stopped at in the merchant’s quarter?” you deride playfully as you soak a rag in the tepid water before wringing it out. At his sardonic grunt, you stand and turn to bossily grab the waist of his trousers before yanking at the fastening. “Now, be good, husband, and let me undress you.”

His cock has been filled out since he collapsed onto the bench with you, but at your sultry tone, it throbs in response as it stands ready, arousal outlined prominently against the inseam of his trousers.

You take your time removing the remaining layers of clothes from his torso, then kneel at his feet in order to remove his dirt-caked boots before you finally resume stripping him of his pants.

The glow of the firelight illuminates his tan skin and the myriad of scars that map his body across contours of muscle and vast expanses of flesh. Some are old and worn smooth by time, others are silvery pale and etched, others are a darker olive and raised. He’d once been self-conscious about your gentle, appraising touches – of the doting caresses over the jagged reminders of brutality and pain that had been carved into him by steel blade, arrowhead or iron-made punctures. But now, he yearns for your touch, relishes how you brush your lips over a scar along the curve of his ribcage, and burns with pride at the reverent way you glide the wet rag to scrub the dirt and sweat from his skin.

He's not even bashful about standing in the nude before you while you remain in your chemise.

No, instead his timidness is palliated by the new fixation crossing his mind’s eye. One that’s conjured you in a kaleidoscope fantasy, where you’re standing before him in the same chemise, but instead it is clinging to a rounded little belly while your beautiful smile broadens as you look upon him. How you would look nude and with child, the way you’d react to his erotic touch – one hand between your thighs, with the other caressing your soft womb.

Before he could get carried away with the curiosities – would she taste sweeter between her thighs, would her scent be more ripened on her warmer skin, how sensitive would she be to being touched and kissed – Pero cleared his throat and his mind as best he could in order to guardedly watch you tend to him.

“So, this is what you’d fantasized about?” he murmurs warmly as you lean back on your haunches after crouching down to rinse the rag in the tub and wring it out once more.

The chill is warded away mostly by the fire in the hearth, but truthfully he’s so aroused by you that he’s become even more of a furnace than he is normally. You’re glad for it, loving the extra excuse to touch him and revel in his masculine scent.

“The bathing is a windfall, but yes,” you quip as you stand now so you can scrub up into his underarm and whisper conspiratorially, “Another thing I thought of? Was how gorgeous you look when your face is flushed after I suck your cock until you spill in my mouth—”

“Misericordia, mujer,” Pero exhales in a floored scoff as he pauses your scrubbing and cups his hand at your jaw in order to tilt your brazen smile up to him. “You cannot say such depraved filth to me and remain clothed,” is his raspy taunt as he crowds you against the edge of the table. Your titillated stare has him smirking as he tugs at the neckline of your chemise and orders, “Take this off. Now.”

You plop the rag down into the tub and do as you’re told, undressing before him.

He watches you with his dark, intense eyes, shadow cast by the fireplace shrouding half of his features as you discard the chemise, then your boots, leaving you in only the wool stockings.

You’re about to ruck one down when Pero surprises you by kneeling and doing it for you.

“So, how was your day, aside from the erotic daydreaming?” he’s asking in that melodic baritone as he chucks the stocking over his shoulder before moving to the next one, as if his face isn’t an inch from your womanhood and his gloating stare can’t see the debauched effect he’s having on you.

“It-It was fine. I spent most of it in their root cellar, helping stock the things from the barn,” you stutter as he hums to indicate he’s listening while he tosses the other stocking aside and starts fondling his hands up your supple thighs. “With the little ones clinging at her apron, she needed help milking the cow and feeding the chickens—”

“How were the little piglets today?” he jokes, wry glance up at you clear indication he’s referring to the children rather than the actual piglets from the sow in the barn.

You playfully pinch his shoulder. “Que malo,” is your sardonic giggle before answering, “The baby was needy for milk. But she’s practically tapped after the little one has his fill, so I tried to get him to eat some porridge—”

Pero grunts musingly and brushes a sloppy, open-mouth kiss over your womb. “The little glutton is old enough to eat. La pobrecita will be malnourished if she doesn’t get enough milk,” is his aloof grumble, kissing a path up your body as he slowly stands.

Arousal swoops into your stomach and curls tantalized tingles into your thrumming core.

“I-I know,” is all you can breathe out as he boxes you between him and the table at your back before looming at his full height to stare hungrily at you. “H-Hopefully they can wean him s-soon—”

“You wanted me to fuck you by the fire?”

Your clench hard at that, nipples studding and desire making you wet with anticipation while his broad frame stands so close, yet so far still. You know he’s being cheeky, trying to put you off-kilter to his whims, but you’re tickled more than anything that he’d try.

“I said I wanted you to make me yours by the fire,” you retort with a spritely look in your eyes.

“That’s the same thing, isn’t it?” he says in a contrarian drawl, lips pouting at your snickered response. “Well? How is it not?”

“Because! You can fuck anyone, but you can’t make just anyone yours,” you declare with a logical air, hands gliding up his chest now to loop around his neck so you can slink up against him and his warm, bare body.

“Hmm…makes sense, I suppose,” he judiciously replies before confidently hoisting you up.

You giggle effervescently as he carries you over to the makeshift bench, makes short work of shoving it to be closer to the hearth before laying you onto it and hitching himself between your welcoming thighs.

Pero’s kisses are greedy as he ruts his ramrod shaft between your dripping folds, eager to slicken it in order to spear it into you and make it feel divine for you both. Your hands cling to his muscular back, mouth seeking the warmth of his own for a luscious interlude before you feel him notch the head of his cock at your dimpled entrance.

He’s content to let you pillage his mouth with your tongue before twirling his own against it, desire a stoked fire in his center that he intends to nurture for as long and as many times he can bring you to climax before he’s overcome with his own release.

“Por favor, mi amor, dámelo,” you supplicate in a honey-sweet tone, eyes pleading as your body clings to his strong frame.

He can’t deny you any longer.

His thrust has you arching, pelvis angling up and knees clutching at his sides as he fucks into you to the hilt while you moan his name and he swears in awe at how sensational this feels every time.

“Cristo amado,” he groans as he thrusts into you again, passion boiling over in him at the way you mewl against his jaw approvingly. “Wanted this. Needed it—”

“Oh, Pero,” you exhale as he sets a pounding pace and holds you to him like you are liquid, and in danger of coming apart in his arms. “Want you all the time—”

“Yeah?” he groans, nuzzling your neck to suckle a possessive kiss into your delicate skin before he grits, “Need you, amada—”

“Tell me, husband. Mmm, tell me what you need,” you stammer out as he keeps rocking into you in that toe-curling way that has his cock grinding into the ruinous parts inside your fluttering sheath.

Ardently, he growls, “Need you—need to fill you up, keep you full of me. Want you to be mine—”

You moan in that glorious way again, and it almost drives him over the edge, so he adjusts to loom over you so he can concentrate on your pleasure. To make you reach bliss before he lets his baser, primal desires carry him off.

He keeps pounding into your squelching cunt as he begins suckling on your nipple while he presses the pad of his thumb over the hood of your bundled pleasure point.

It sets you alight, and you wail in overawed pleasure as he plucks you so with his cock, fingers and mouth. “Ah, D-Dios mío—” you cry out when he sucks hard on your pebbled flesh and grinds his wanton pleasure to ignite a scintillating climax to burst free.

You moan as your sheath squeezes around his cock and floods him with your warm orgasm, carried off by the throes of ecstasy he’s unleashed in you.

Punch-drunk from the achievement, Pero moans before he licks a path to the other nipple to toy the tip of his tongue along it until you shiver and whimper from overstimulation when he purses his lips around it.

“Pero,” you whine airily, eyes heavy-lidded as he frees your nipple and leans up to gaze rapaciously at you. He tenderly pets your sweaty hair from your face and traces his thumb along the apple of your cheek before you sigh, “You didn’t do it.”

He frowns, trailing his thumb to your mouth, intending to caress it over your plush lips before you kiss it dotingly. “Didn’t do what?”

You exhale girlishly before cupping your hand to his cheek. “You didn’t fill me,” is your silly reply, eyes warm with mirth and smile affectionate when he grunts and scowls. “And you held back. There was something you wanted to say—”

“There was, but it…” he pauses before shaking his head and scoffing, “I’m still inside you, amada. Let’s forget it—”

“Pero Tovar, are you timid, so suddenly?” you can’t help but razz, smiling slyly at him when he gives you his intimidating glower. “Oh no, that will not work with me, marido. Your nostrils flaring crossly are cute—”

“You are a maddening woman,” he huffs in that gravelly tone, but the amusement is clear in the creasing of his eyes. “I…I have been thinking things I haven’t before. At least that I haven’t ever considered, and, they are clumsy thoughts. I—I’m unused to being unsure, ternura…”

“Unsure about…what?” you ask and lean up to lovingly gaze into his tense stare. When he hesitates, you can’t help jump to conclusions for him, knowing how reticent he is about discussing his feelings. “If it’s about things here? We could always take William up on his offer – go north to visit him in the spring? Or if you’re not content with, well, this,” you gesture to the shabby interior of the cottage, “we could ask to stay in the hut next to the barn? It’s dryer and closer to the work—”

“It’s none of that. Although I haven’t done well enough of a job in that, I know. Not found us much of a life out here…” Pero grouses, but at your frown, he amends, “This is not the life of nobleza. It’s beneath your stature—”

“Fuck my stature,” you scoff and sit up to roll your positions so you can straddle his lap while he gapes up at you. “I’ve told you plenty of times now that my station in life is for me to decide, and I’ve chosen to be happy and free, with you. Now, mi guerrero obstinado, tell me what you’re unsure of, and I shall tell you if you have cause to be unsure.”

He’s still inside you, and the way his cock throbs in your still tingling sheath while he gives you a penetrating look with those dark brown eyes tells you this is something very primordial.

“I want to fill you up, make you full of my seed until your belly is soft and round with my child.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, but your hands caress his chest in a soothing, encouraging way that has Pero shutting his eyes and letting out the breath he’d been holding.

“Our life is not suited for such a…we travel, and such a life would mean settling down,” he tells you firmly before opening his eyes.

He’s disarmed by the fond, radiant look softening your countenance.

“Well, sure, we would need to settle down, but only for a brief time. Until the little one can come along with us on our travels,” you tell him as you idly undulate your pelvis, grinding his pulsing cock along your silken walls before squeezing your sheath around it for good measure while your breasts bounce from how vigorously you begin fucking yourself onto him.

The wind begins to howl outside and seep through certain cracks in the door and window, but neither of you seem to care enough to notice as you sensually grind down on him, hair swaying with the way you lean forward to passionately kiss Pero when he groans and clutches your waist tightly, powerful fingers dimpling your flesh as he starts guiding you to ride him harder.

His breath is ragged as everything starts to spin up between you, his lust and adoration tangling around the incredulous realization that you’re in tune with the clumsy thoughts he confessed.

Still, it scorches something feral and covetous to singe through him as he husks, “You w-want that…? You truly want to be mine—to be with child?”

You moan and plant your palms to his warm, flexing pectorals as you ride him with desperate vigor now, expression beaming with delight.

“There’s nothing I want more,” you declare with genuine enamored satisfaction, albeit pantingly so as you ride him and mewl in pleasure.

Pero is torn asunder by your words as much as by how exquisitely you’re riding him, and he’s so propelled to the precipice of climax and primal need to triumph in it that he effortlessly sits up and manhandles you to flip positions so he can fuck you with passionate zeal and get you there with him just as his cock swells and twitches in imminent release.

“Mi alma, I’ll fuck my seed deep—make it so nothing spills free from you—have you filled full with it, and rejoice once a child is in your womb,” he’s professing against your jaw as he hammers his cock into your fluttering sheath while your heels dig into his lower back and your fingers knead below his shoulder blades, rapturous pleasure engulfing you with every ferally growled word, until he flings you into a blistering orgasm by moaning, “Will keep making you mine even then. Give you everything—keep you pregnant, protect you and our sweet ones—keep you forever—”

You cry out and arch up under him, rapturous sob catching in your throat as you reach a zenith of bliss that has you clinging in enthralled desperation to him, which snaps the tether of control loose from him and spurs his own fierce orgasm.

Pero moans hoarsely against your neck as he spills his climax deep, cock buried to the hilt inside you as he holds you possessively to him and hums soothingly at your loving nuzzles and whispered words of, “Te amo, precioso.”

Huskily, he rumbles, “Te amo y te adoro con todo que tengo, mi alma.”

You sigh wistfully at his words and melt further under him, reveling in the decadent bloom of warmth that diffuses through you.

The crackling of the fire is the only other sound of consequence over the ragged, shallow breaths you’re both trying to steady into calm once more while you come down from the soul-shattering lovemaking.

“Pero...?”

“Hm?”

“Would you still love me if I became plump and had little ones constantly hanging on my skirts?” you whisper meekly, hands languidly caressing along his sweaty back. “And if I even became shit at fighting?”

“That’s impossible, tigresita,” he laconically rumbles against your neck. At your fretful hum, he props himself up in order to loom over you and give you his steely, no-nonsense stare. “I started to love you when I thought you were an awkward, short soldadito, my love. I think it’s safe to say I’ll love every version of you to come,” is his bass-filled retort, sincere affection not dulled by the humor of his tone.

You press your forehead to his, appeased.

He pulls out of your now tender cunt, and avidly watches his seed begin to drip in his wake, so he scoops his fingers to prevent it from spilling further, and pushes the pearly essence back into you.

You shiver and sigh, resting a hand over your womb while you caress his shoulder with the other as you shut your eyes in the moment of blissful tranquility, post-coitus.

“I just hope I make a worthy enough father.”

You don’t mean to snort, but you do. “You will, mi amor. The real concern is whether we’ll be able to muster the stamina to work on the farm chores and fuck like this until you put a baby in me,” is your vivacious chuckle as you hook your arm around his shoulders to guide him back down to lie on top of you while he scoffs irreverently at you.

“I have plenty of stamina, always,” he purrs against your mouth before brushing his lips against it.

“Good. I yearn to be ravished by you daily, after all, so you’ll need it,” is your alluring coo before kissing him amorously.

You only break the kiss to bat your lashes at him before susurrating, “I want you to make me yours again and again, until dawn comes, and then all over again, precioso.”

He chuckles that deep, gravelly laugh before crooning melodically, “As you wish, mi amada.”

_____________________________

Spanish-English Glossary:

Caldero = Cauldron, for cooking over a hot flame

Condesa = Countess; a woman of nobility

Tigresita = Tiger Lilly; little tigress

Bueno = So; also ‘Good’ or ‘Well’

Guerrero = Warrior (male)

Mi amada = My beloved (female)

Mi marido = My husband

Bebita = Little baby (female)

No me tortures, por favor = Don’t torture me, please

Mi tigresita valiente = My valient little tigress

Tentador = Tempter (male)

Esposa = Wife

Mi amor = My love

Mujer = Woman

Ternura = Tenderness; akin to saying ‘sweetheart’

Precioso = Precious (male); gorgeous one

No seas tan gallardo, y come = Don’t be so gallant and eat

No seas tan porfiada y come, condesa = Don’t be so stubborn and eat, countess

Travieso = Naughty/Mischievous boy

Misericordia, mujer - Mercy, woman

Que malo = So bad (male)

La pobrecita = The poor little thing; poor little girl

Por favor, mi amor, dámelo = Please, my love, give it to me

Cristo amado = Christ beloved

Amada = Beloved

Ah, D-Dios mío = Oh, my God

Nobleza = Nobility

Mi guerrero obstinado = My obstinate warrior

Mi alma = My soul; passionate term of endearment that eludes to the profound love someone feels, aka to the soul

Te amo, precioso = I love you, precious boy

Te amo y te adoro con todo que tengo, mi alma = I love and I adore you with all I have, my soul

Soldadito = Little soldier (male)

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

Taglist:

#Pero Tovar #The Great Wall #Pedro Pascal characters #drabble prompts #Pero Tovar drabble #ROGUEFURY's 400 Followers Drabble Prompts #ROGUEFURY's 400 Follower Drabble Prompts #Thank you kindly for the reblog!

72 notes · View notes

berryispunk · 8 months ago

Text

⊹₊⟡⋆ Hi, I’m Berry and I accidentally built a whole emotional universe around one broken man ⊹₊⟡⋆ This masterlist is mostly Frankie Morales; soft chaos, poetic regret and smut with feelings. Sometimes it’s healing & sometimes it hurts like hell. Either way he always lingers.

If you're into longing, slow burns, and love that refuses to be quiet... you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

✧ Welcome to the ache. Bring tissues. ✧

🤍 Start Here 🤍

new? confused? here’s your starter pack:

⋆ Reader-favorite: “Slow Motion” —Best friends. Always there, never quite enough. He broke your heart without ever knowing he held it—until everything fell apart, and the only person he wanted was the one he pushed away. (one-shot)

⋆ My personal fav: “Like A Song Stuck In My Head” — This story isn't about happy endings. It’s about almosts. About the kind of love that brands you and ruins you and lives in you even long after. (finished series)

find me here as well : Ao3 , Twitter & Instagram

emoji key: 💔 Angst 🔥Smut ☁️ Fluff 🩹 Hurt/Comfort click on titles for direct access !

Francisco Morales 🤍

Series

What Burned Between Us x (brothers best friend x ofc) (ongoing) 💔 🩹 Series Masterlist

Complete Mess (xf! reader) (finished) ☁️💔🔥

I Stole Your Heart, You Stole My Life

You Make Me A Complete Mess **

She Keeps His Shirt, He Keeps His Word **

Rain Down on Me (xofc reader) (finished) 💔🔥☁️ Series Masterlist

Like A Song Stuck In My Head (rockstar! Frankie) (finished) 💔☁️ Main Navigation

Nothing You Can Do Will Save Me (priest! Frankie x ofc) (paused) 💔🔥☁️ Series Masterlist

One-Shot's

How To Fall In Love- Your Guide To The Perfect Meet-Cute ☁️

Mouth(y) Confessions 🔥

10 Minutes 🩹💔

Love Cracks Through Tiny Spaces 🔥💔

Under The New Year's Sky ☁️

Eres Mi Vida 💔

Tidal Wave 🔥

Grocery Shopping 🔥

What I Didn't Say 🩹

Insomniacs 🩹

Your Home’s Only a Town You’re a Guest In 🔥🩹 💔

A Little Extra Care 🔥

What’s Left 🩹 💔

Just for Now 🩹

Blurred Lines 💔

When Words Fail, Let Me Stay 🩹

Everything But Us 🔥💔

Haunted by You (1/2) & What Lingers (2/2) 💔

Slow Motion 💔🩹☁️

What It Feels Like 🔥

All In ☁️

Where You Left Me 💔

Poetry in a Room Full of Noise (1/2) & Serendipity (2/2) ☁️

In The Wake of Our Ruins 🔥💔

Insatiable 🔥

Stars Above, Us Below ☁️🔥

The Way You See Me (1/2) & The Way I See You (2/2) ☁️ 💔🩹

Chicken Soup ☁️🩹

Just For The Record ☁️

Thunder 🩹💔

More Than This 🔥

Did You Have Fun? 🔥

Don‘t Let You Go ☁️

Heatwave 🔥

Borrowed Time 🔥💔

Drabble Challenge 11/24 (finished)

to find under the tag #glimpsesofus

Other works

101 Reasons To Love Francisco Morales

In The Depth Of You

Build Up Walls

Francisca the Fierce

Sundress

Mouthful of Worship

🎞️ Other Pedro Characters 🤍

Kermit - Late Nights 🔥 ⟡ Cream and Sugar, Baby ☁️🔥

Joel Miller -The Road To Hell Is Paved With Temptations 🔥

Javi Gutierrez - The Art Of Giving ☁️ ⟡ Under The Surface ☁️

Oberyn Martell - Happy Accidents ☁️

Pero Tovar - By The Fire ☁️

165 notes · View notes

letsgobarbs · 6 months ago

Text

You can find my fics on AO3 as well. Please leave a comment and reblog to show some love <3

❃ MARCUS ACACIUS

❥ SERIES (◉ Completed, ◎ Ongoing)

➙ His Priestess: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader.

◉ Marcus Acacius finds his life spared at the behest of a Vestal Virgin who faces unimaginable consequences for challenging the Emperors. Accused of unchastity and sentenced to a live burial, Acacius follows his saviour through her last night in this world. He knew the Gods could be merciless, but to tempt him with love before ripping her away from him was an act of cruelty he had not imagined.

➙ His Young Wife: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader.

◎ A spin-off series of His Priestess. An alternate life of Acacius and his anaticula, where she never became a Vestal and they married young.

❥ MOODBOARDS

➙ Marcus Acacius | Jodha Akbar (2008)

❃ HARRY CASTILLO

❥ SERIES (◉ Completed, ◎ Ongoing)

➙ A FOOL'S TRIP: Harry Castillo x Wife!Reader.

◎ Just as Harry Castillo is about to divorce his wife, who is obsessively in love with him, he begins to hear her thoughts. And she doesn't seem to be as enamoured with him as she had led him to believe.

➙ The Oracle: Coming soon...

❃ DAVE YORK

❥ SERIES (◉ Completed, ◎ Ongoing)

➙ Homecoming: Dave York x Queer, Muslim!Reader.

◎ Just like any other war, coming home was no easy feat. He had returned from his fight with McCall more broken, lost and alone than ever before. He'd lost his friends, his brothers. His family had moved on with their lives. With both his legal and not-so-legal jobs on hold, he finds purpose, direction and an anchor in Maryam. She is the bright spot in a world he has stopped caring about, and far too sweet and innocent for the likes of him. Dave is nothing if not a selfish man, and he will find a way to bottle his personal ray of sunshine— if only he can convince her to take a chance on her friend’s ex-husband.

❃ PERO TOVAR

❥ SERIES (◉ Completed, ◎ Ongoing)

➙ A Groom On The Bride Train: Hard of Hearing!Pero Tovar x Facially scarred, F!Reader.

◎ Short of employment opportunities in a cold winter, Pero decides to interview for the servant's post advertised on the tavern wall— a decision that lands him abducted and bundled into a wagon full of women, bound for a mysterious town where he is supposed to be married.

❃ JACK DANIELS

❥ SERIES (◉ Completed, ◎ Ongoing)

➙ Christmas With Jack And Marley: Jack Daniels x F!OC.

◉ Agent Whiskey invites himself to Agent Gin’s family Christmas celebration as a cover for a very important mission. He only has a day, just until the Christmas Gala Dinner, to complete his mission. But will he be able to complete his mission? And evade discovery? Especially with Gin’s niece watching him too closely over Christmas Eve.

❥ DRABBLES

➙ Retired!Whiskey x Neighbour!Reader

❃ TIM ROCKFORD

❥ SERIES (◉ Completed, ◎ Ongoing)

➙ Love, Marriage & Affairs: Tim Rockford x F!Reader.

◉ Convinced your husband doesn’t want you, you turned to Jack for some help. The situation unravels and all secrets come to light.

❃ JOEL MILLER

❥ ONE-SHOTS

Just smut. You forgot to place an order with the local lumberjack that your boss Joel has asked you to. Logan takes a little fee to expedite your order; Joel doesn't like that Logan got to you first.

➙ Woodworking: Carpenter!Joel Miller x Reader x Lumberjack!Logan Howlett.

❥ DRABBLES

➙ Joel Miller x Black, Muslim!Wife

➙ Sunflower Proposals: Joel Miller x F!Reader.

➙ Joel Miller with his family...

➙ Old Man!Joel Miller x Reader

❃ JAVIER PEÑA

❥ ONE-SHOTS

➙ The Plant Nanny: Javi P x GN!Reader.

Fluffy and sweet. Javier Peña fails to keep up with his New Year’s Resolution and reminisces about life with his sweetheart after quitting the DEA.

➙ Sari In A Bar: Coming soon...

❥ DRABBLES

➙ Javier Peña x Muslim!Reader

❃JAVI GUTIÉRREZ

❥ ONE-SHOTS

➙ Crying Cryptids and Canoodling Cupids: Javi Gutiérrez x Plus Size F!Reader.

Javi G has a very bad day and accidentally makes his soulmate cry. Meet ugly.

❥ DRABBLES

➙ The Apple Orchard: Javi Gutiérrez x F!Reader

➙ Javi G x F!Reader: Continuation of Crying Cryptids and Canoodling Cupids

❥ MOODBOARDS

➙ The Poet: Javi Gutiérrez x Muslim!Poet

❃DIETER BRAVO

❥ DRABBLES

➙ So This Is Love?: Dieter Bravo x Muslim!Reader (Fic coming soon...)

➙ Dieter Bravo x Reader

❃FRANKIE MORALES

❥ ONE-SHOTS

➙ Ramadhan With Frankie and Family: Frankie Morales x Muslim!Reader

❥ DRABBLES

➙ Stalker!Frankie Morales x F!Reader

❃CLINT FLOOD (Freaky Tales)

❥ DRABBLES

➙ They Don't Know Him Like You Do: Clint x Reader

❃KERMIT (Close Encounter 50th)

❥ ONE-SHOTS

➙ Kermit (Pedro Pascal Close Encounter 50th) x AFAB!Reader

❃MARCUS PIKE

❥ MOODBOARDS

➙ Marcus Pike x wheelchair user Reader

❃REED RICHARDS

➙ Reed Richards Series of Smutty Ideas

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #masterlist #marcus acacius #dave york #jack daniels #gladiator 2 #joel miller #the last of us #equalizer 2 #tim rockford #agent whiskey #javier peña #narcos #javi gutierrez

65 notes · View notes

freakrenaissance · 7 months ago

Text

Protective hotties. My favorite thing, EVER. This whole collecting of drabbles is simply delicious 😌

A drabble Masterlist for

A/N: My brain can't handle full fics so I'm trying to work through it by writing drabbles for this prompt 😌

Dave York

Oberyn Martell

Javier Peña

Pero Tovar

Javi Gutierrez

Din Djarin

Matt Murdock

Frankie Morales

Bruce Wayne

John Wick

Dream of the Endless

Dieter Bravo

Frank Castle

#drabble time #dave york #Pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #drabbles #pero tovar #din djarin #javier peña #oberyn martell #matt murdock #bruce wayne #fanfic rec #fanfic blog #reblogging is love

334 notes · View notes

leslie-lyman · 8 months ago

Text

Election Night

A Euclidean Geometry drabble

Summary: Election night 2024 does not go as they’d hoped.

Pairing: modern!Pero Tovar x Frankie x Jack x nameless!OFC/f!reader (written in third person, reader is only referred to as she/her/their girl, with no physical descriptors)

Word count: 1.1k

Rating: G, just some election-related angst/hurt/comfort

a/n: Trying to work through my feelings about the 2024 election results. Would like to have three large Pedro boys comfort me. Had a breakdown. Wrote this.

Masterlist.

———

She hadn’t wanted to stop watching the results come in.

Not even after the swing states had started to fall, one by one, like red dominoes. But at some point the hands she’d pressed tightly over her mouth had begun to shake, tears spilling down her face, breath catching in her throat with each shallow inhale.

Frankie had finally turned off the tv, slipped her phone into his pocket, and carried her to bed. They’d pressed in tight against her as she sobbed, soaking the front of Jack’s tshirt as he held her against his chest, crying so hard she nearly made herself sick.

I don’t understand, she’d said, over and over. I don’t understand. This can’t be happening again. I can’t do it, I can’t face another four years of this…

In that moment the worst thing is how helpless they feel. The three of them are smart, strong, capable men, men who are trained to protect, to figure out how to get out of impossible situations. And if they could they’d burn the world down if anyone or anything caused their girl to hurt like this. But there’s nothing they can do to fix it.

She’s scared for herself, yes, but they know she’s far more worried about the three of them. The horizon of possibility stretches terrifyingly wide before them.

Pero has his green card, but will that matter? How careless and indiscriminate will the promised deportations be? At the end of the day, being a tan-skinned, Spanish-speaking immigrant may be more than enough to put a target on his back. Frankie and Jack are citizens, but neither has to branch out terribly far in their respective family trees to find relatives who are undocumented.

To say nothing of the fact that the four of them live together in a queer, polyamorous relationship. Where even now they have to be vigilant in public, wary of how obvious they are, always aware that simply being who they are out loud could result in unexpected attack. How much worse will it get? How much harm will be caused?

And as they do their best to soothe the woman they love, they know this reaction isn’t just about fear, or frustration, or anger.

It’s grief.

It feels like suffering through a death because that’s what it is. The death of a hope, of a dream, of what could have been and what should be if there was any justice or common sense or decency in the world. And even though this grief inwardly pummels them black and blue too, they know they will never truly feel it the way their girl does. The unique pain of women, who hope so much for so little, for even just the opportunity to be equal, and to be denied so resoundingly. To have gotten so close to a woman president and to have that chance ripped away by a man as odious as he is dangerous not once, but twice? It’s just cruel.

They do what they can for her, holding her close, letting her cry it out, murmuring soft words of reassurance.

It’ll be okay, sweetheart. Just let it out.

We’re here. We’ve got you. We’ve always got you.

I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m so sorry.

Tears roll down their cheeks and they try to muffle their sniffles for her sake, but the looks they share with each other are pained and haunted.

At last their girl quiets, having cried herself into a fitful doze. The clock on the bedside table reads 1:37am.

Jack, Pero, and Frankie all lie awake, ingrained military instincts refusing to let them sleep when they have something precious to keep watch over.

Jack breaks the silence.

I’ll call our lawyer later today, he half-whispers. Make sure we have all our paperwork in order. Wills, power of attorney, that sort of thing. So we’re as protected as possible, legally speakin’, should anything happen to one of us.

Frankie and Pero nod in silent agreement.

We should sit down with Robert soon, Frankie adds, mentioning their financial advisor. Reassess where we’re at, have a contingency plan in case we decide we need to move.

She’ll want to increase where and how much we donate, Jack adds, looking down at their girl with her head on his chest, one first curled into his shirt.

This is good. This is a plan. This is what they need.

We should go away for a bit. Pero’s voice is low and deep in the dark. Take some time somewhere remote, just the four of us.

I can think of a long weekend in January when I wouldn’t mind be disconnected from the rest of the world, Frankie quips humorlessly.

There’s an old Daniels family cabin in the U.P., near Mackinac, Jack says. Snow-covered trees, big roaring fireplace, little to no cell service…

Their girl shifts to blink sleepily up at him, just awake enough now to interject.

What about someplace warm, Jack?

Oh you’d be kept plenty warm, sugar. Don’t you worry about that.

He softly brushes her hair back from her tear-stained face, placing a delicate kiss to her forehead.

How are you feeling, querida?

She reaches for Pero’s hand to anchor herself before she answers him.

Sad. Scared. Angry.

That is how you should feel, Frankie murmurs, and the validation is strangely reassuring.

And tired, she says, tears starting to clog up her throat again. Fuck, I’m so damn tired. Tired of fighting, of resisting, of feeling like I’m screaming at the top of my lungs to have my and others’ basic humanity recognized by people too devoid of empathy to care. I’m so, so tired.

I know, querida, I know you are. And it seems overwhelming right now. But the alternative is giving up. And that is the only thing that truly feels impossible to do, no?

Her hand squeezes Pero’s as she nods, reluctantly conceding that he’s right.

But not at this moment, Frankie says. We should rest. There’s nothing else we can do at this moment.

Their girl turns to face him, making sure she’s still touching all three of them before closing her eyes and snuffling down into the pillow.

Should call our lawyer, she mumbles, starting to slip away into sleep again. And Robert…make sure we protect ourselves…as much as possible…

The three men share an amused look.

Those are great ideas, baby, Frankie praises her quietly, pulling a blanket up to her chin. We’ll do that.

And maybe…find a place to go…a beach somewhere?

Muffled chuckles break out around her.

Whatever you want, darlin’, says Jack.

It doesn’t matter where they go. And whatever happens next, they can face it, as long as they’re together.

41 notes · View notes

popcornforone · 6 months ago

Text

Pure

Day Eight of the Seasons of Life Drabble Challenge

A Pero Tovar Fic

MASTERLIST

We’ve been going over a week, we are now into Spring & the prompt of Blossom. I’ve never written for Pero before, so I’ve tried not to make him as grumpy as he actually is.

Synopsis:- The Cherry Blossom isn’t the only thing catching his eyes

Word count:-290

Warning:- Arranged Marriage

Thanks as always @lady-bess @berryispunk @fanfictionoverload I do have a question though. I have 2 short linked fics for the same day a bit further down the line, can I post them both? It will make sense I promise.

Also thanks for the support & for reading these peoples.

There you stand. Admiring the cherry blossoms. So free. So fresh. So at one with everything. A sheer sight of beauty. A sight you will never forget. You softly smile as you touch some of the blossom, some of it falling into your hand. A light dusting.

“It’s how ive always imagined” you say.

“Only the best for you my beautiful bride” Pero says. He is admiring your innocent beauty. Enjoying the view of the beautiful trees & blossoms but also you, in your white dress, your bare feet & the way you caress the flower. You softly turn around & face him.

“& I will only be the best wife for just my husband.” You are an arranged marriage to Pero but he selected you over four other ladies. You blushed as pink as the blossoms when he kissed you. Felt as light as a petal as he held your hand. & now here you stand. The light touching you, making the scene even more angelical, a beauty he has never seen before.

“& I…” he steps next to you & holds your hand “…promise to be the most loyal & loving husband. I promise to respect you & love you forever”

“Is that a smile?” You tease. Pero is well known for being very moody & grumpy. His moustache twitches & his eyes dance, draw into your glorious beauty.

“Like I said, my wife gets the best.” His head leans into your personal space. His large hand capturing your face, before those red plump lips embrace yours. You will get this smooth sensual kiss every day for the rest of your life with your charming husband, who’s only happy when he is with you, his beautiful bride.

28 notes · View notes

nerdieforpedro · 1 year ago

Text

Her smile was worth it

Pero Tovar (modern AU) x plus size female reader (La jefa)

Word Count: 1882

Warnings: DARK FIC, mobs and their enforcers, mentions of general violence and graphic violence, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of injuries, solving problems Tovar style, comfort food and tea

Summary: Pero Tovar only has a few people he chooses to interact with willingly. The bookstore owner is one of them. Someone made a very stupid mistake, Tovar will handle it and still have his tea.

Notes: This was written for @iamasaddie ‘s writing challenge 2.0. My color was Mob Enforcer and the prompt was “Hurt/Comfort” and “Who did this to you?” We're longer than a Drabble again, we dribbled quite a bit. Such is Nerdie.

I may have leaned too hard into the ‘hurt portion’ but we’ll see. 👀

Main Masterlist/ Pero Tovar Masterlist/ Writing Challenges

The only good thing about doing collections, was that most of the time, Pero wasn’t using violence. Just intimidation. The shopkeepers knew why he was here and knew the amount they needed to pay to The Family. It’s been the same amount for the past six months, in was raised temporarily for some needed repairs on the club the Valentino family owned. The actual story was that a few of the younger members had been ordered to torture a few members of a rival family and went overboard. The walls, floors and everything needed to be scrubbed.

Tovar’s been with the Valentino family for fifteen years and as one of their premier enforcers for the last seven working his way up from errand boy. His height and broad frame discourage crossing him, and even if someone is dumb enough to do so, they find themselves bloodied, battered and with at least one thing broken.

Today’s last stop for collections was planned and one that Pero normally did by himself. The bookstore owner also functions as the town’s librarian since the town doesn’t have one. It’s a smaller town and to get to a library you must drive two towns over. She normally offers him tea and some type of baked goodies. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s grown to have a slight sweet tooth. Maybe. Really, he could care less about the sweets, he usually chats up the owner and barrows books. Considering he is collecting money from her, he felt he should pay but she always said no. He got the sense it wasn’t out of fear, she liked knowing his thoughts on different books. At first, he didn’t like the idea of discussing them. The enforcer wasn’t sure if he could really talk about different themes, symbols, characters and the like he often heard people talk about when discussing these books.

La jefa (the boss) as he often greeted her didn’t judge him on his answers or lack of them. He’d talk the best he could about what he read, even if he didn’t understand it all. She listens and sips her tea, then asks him questions to draw more answers out of him. It fustrated him at first. But he grew to enjoy the bi-weekly sit downs with her.

The chime of the bell goes off as he opens the door. The sun is at Pero’s back as he enters the bookstore. He comes early in the afternoon around two. She’s not at the counter, though the shop is listed as open. Calling out for her, she doesn’t answer, and he sucks his teeth. It isn’t like her at all. There’s no tea out either. There are no books that appear out of place and making his way behind the counter, nothing appears to be wrong with the register.

The enforcer goes into the back of the shop, he only knew where the bathroom was back here. He was looking for anything that resembled an office, as he walked down the hallway, there was a sniffle. As he kept going, they got louder. Taking a breath while he stood in front of a door that was slightly ajar, he tried to prepare himself. Maybe it was a bad day, maybe she got a papercut or was reading a sad book or something. Tovar instantly knew none of those were the case when he opened the door.

Sitting behind the desk, her shoulders were slumped, and her hands were covering her face. He saw the scabs on the back of her hands, defensive marks. “Jefa dejame ver. (Boss, let me have a look).” Her sniffles stop for a moment as she shakes her head, turning her body away from him in the swivel chair. His eyes widen at the mark on her neck he spies it when she turns, it looks like it could be from a palm. Moving to her side, Pero places a hand on her shoulder, “I need to see cariño (sweetheart) or just give me a name. Who did this to you?” She finally drops her hands, but she turns her face away.

“I don’t want you to see. The envelope is on the desk Pero. Please.” It is on the table, and he’ll put it in his jacket shortly - it is why he came here in the first place, but he can’t just leave like this. On top of her being one of a small number of people who he wants to be around, it could get around that the protection money the shops pay isn’t worth a damn because you could get beat in your own shop, and nothing will happen to whoever did it.

“Then tell me a name.” It’s sterner this time, but he’s released her shoulder and instead picked up her hand, his thumb tracing the scabs on her knuckles. She’d tried to fight back at least. She’s biting her lips when she finally looks at him, most of the discoloration is on the left side of her face though there’s a cut on her chin and one on her bottom lip. A large bruise is on her chest across her right clavicle, partly covered by her shirt. Pero’s able to keep his face motionless. “Por favor cariño (please sweetheart).” He doesn’t recognize the name she says, but he kisses her forehead and wraps an arm around her. “Gracias (thank you). I’ll be back princesa (princess).”

Pero puts the envelope in his jacket pocket and heads out of the office. “Close the shop now and have the tea ready when I come back. Between eight and nine tonight.” He’s going to be quick about dropping the money off and he’s texted one of his associates with the name she gave. Within fifteen minutes, Pero has a picture to go with the name and a location. Marcello talks way too much, but he’s the best Tovar knows at tracking people.

Pero finds this man himself and tells Marcello to tell the higher ups that he needs to demonstrate a lesson in messaging with the family. He’ll need the basement and he’ll keep the clean up to a minimum. It’s not that there wouldn’t be blood. There might be too much blood so the powers at be approve the basement use but ask that Marcello and a second enforcer be there so that the man isn’t killed. There’s only murder when necessary and it wasn’t they viewed in this case. Pero sucked his teeth for the second time today but would make sure the man in question lives. Just not with all functioning limbs.

After the submission of the money and subsequent torture was complete, the man’s body was bandaged by one of their doctors on the payroll and dropped off at his home, during a time they knew his family would be home with the message, “The Valentino family suffers no fools.” Pero carved it into his back to emphasize the point. He was still alive but would not be the same. Not after, as Tovar saw it, he’s violated one of his favorite places.

La jefa has long closed her shop and made herself dinner. Now that she thought about it, she’s never made Pero any of her food, just cookies, brownies and the like. Since he said he was coming back, she would make extra. The worst that would happen would be that he would say he didn't want any. It also dawned on her that she has not made a book recommendation today. She should pick one out before he comes, straightening out her mint green dress. Turning off the stove, she went downstairs to look for a book and saw Pero standing at the door ready to knock. It was a quarter after eight, he was glad he’d taken the extra time to shower. He didn’t want to be late, but he didn’t want to be dirty either.

“Ah! Mi princesa del librios es bonita (My Princess of books is pretty). You have our tea ready tonight?” His question follows the chime of the bell above the door as she unlocks it and lets him in. She then locks it again and nods.

“I have tea and I made some extra for dinner. I didn’t pick out a book for you yet.” She seems a bit brighter than this afternoon but still trying to make sure she was facing him with her right side. Pero takes her left hand and tugs it a little, not hard, just enough so she faces him fully.

“Hermosa (gorgeous) you don’t have a bad side. Don’t worry about the book. I haven’t finished with the other one yet. I want my tea and I want to see what you made for dinner.” The corners of her mouth curve and finally she smiles, squeezing his hand and leading him up the stairs. Pero watches her walk up and into her living area. It’s cozy as it has books scattered about as well.

“I don’t know if you like stew, but I made that and heated up some rolls. There’s butter too. I have water, apple juice, coke, and some rum.” The last option surprised him as he didn’t picture her drinking at all. Maybe she had a glass or two when she sat up here before bed. She poured herself a glass of water as Pero pointed to her glass and held up an empty bowel on the table. She filled both and they sat down across from each other. “I hope you enjoy Pero.”

“I don’t doubt that I will cariño.” The food went quickly as they ate, and she asked what other kind of foods he liked. Pero felt he might be getting greedy. Perhaps he’s been gluttonous of her attention each time he comes here. She gives it so willingly.

Tonight’s tea is mint like her dress which makes Tovar chuckle as he takes up half of her loveseat sitting down. She takes up the other and they sip tea, speaking of past books they’ve read and things he may want to read.

Even if he got an urgent call, he’ll ignore it because he’s having his tea. Pero Tovar doesn’t feel like an enforcer or a conduit for violence. He just has an arm around one of his favorite people as she places her head on his shoulder. The tough pads of his fingers touch the injured side of her face while he tells her that it’s been taken care of. He won’t tell her details. Tovar figures she can put it together. If he can just have moments like these where he’s just a man with someone he cares for, Pero can use that to sleep. He prays she can rest without crying or being scared.

The loveseat has his feet hanging off outside of the blanket he found on the back of it. So far, he hasn’t heard her sniffle again. Pero carried her to bed after she fell asleep in his arms. The faint scent of mint mingling with the earthy smell of the books lulls him to sleep. He had blood on his hands again today, but it was fine. It was for her sake, and she hasn’t cried again.

It was worth it.

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar #iamasaddie game #iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0 #hurt/comfort #dark fic #trigger warning for violence #pero tovar x reader #mob enforcer #modern pero tovar #writing challenge 2.0

99 notes · View notes