#Pero x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brewsterispunkk · 11 months ago

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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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prolix-yuy · 1 year ago

Note

ok bangathon request

gentle romantic after argument sex missionary.

im so boring but there it is

There's nothing boring about missionary! And with one of my favorite couples, it's sure to be much more than that too...

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Position: Missionary

Word Count: 900

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, PiV sex, unprotected sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), creampie, discussions on infertility, Pero being a dumbass but he makes up for it.

Notes: A continuation of the Pero Tovar and his Guerrera series.

Many would say that Pero has little tact with women. He’s brutish in all ways a man can be, and that must extend to the people he lets into his bed. Anyone who’s seen him with his Guerrera would only think it proof of their opinions. The way they snarl and scratch at each other, their constant biting remarks, the sheer amount of eye-rolling as they listen, all point to Pero being impossible to deal with.

They’re only partly right.

Most days the barbs are playful, their conversation scalding because they can both handle the heat. Pero could not imagine a partner that’s soft and simpering to him. He loves her sharpness and how quickly she will join him in a debate.

Sometimes, however, he does take it a step too far.

When he enters their bedroom tonight, he’s soft of foot and quiet. The door snicks shut behind him, his clothing removed and laid out of sight. You’re turned to the wall, coldly ignoring him preparing for bed.

Get your hands off me.

Oh don’t be so dramatic, Pero.

Then do not go about flailing your sword at every moment.

So five men against you is fair odds?

I am - just go and do…whatever it is you do.

What do you think I’d be doing if I wasn’t saving your skin?

Being a real woman somewhere far from here.

Pero knew he’d hit something far more painful than he intended when you were silent, the easy smile falling from your face. What he didn’t expect were the tears that bubbled to the surface, ones you hotly scrubbed from your face.

Of course, because a real woman will tend your home and have your babies.

Pero’s stomach drops at the memory, knowing how he pulled something so fresh and painful to the surface over a tavern brawl. How after his seed didn’t take one drunken night you told him it never would. That you could never be with child, and how you’d come to accept it. Pero had felt the twin pains of sadness and relief, knowing that this life was not for a child but still mourning the loss. He told you it did not change the color of his love one bit, but in his petulance he used it as a weapon against you.

The bed sinks under his weight as he sits on the edge, watching you curl into yourself. Pero sighs, words failing him as they always do.

“Mi vida,” he says, stroking his fingertips along the back of your shoulder. To his surprise you turn to your back, eyes puffy and tired, but the anger he expected drained from your bones. His hand slides to your hip, stroking his thumb into the flesh. His eyes meet yours, and a subtle nod urges him under the furs. Clamoring between your legs, he settles on his elbows over you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, searching your face for anything you’ll give. Another pause, this one aided by your hand on his cheek, before you give him another small nod. Pero leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“You are my life,” he murmurs, your legs wrapping around his hips as he presses you into the mattress.

“I know,” you say, placing a kiss of your own on his plush lips.

Words dissolve on your tongues as Pero shows his remorse better than he can say. Between the long devotions of lips, he lifts your legs higher to press into you, sheathing his cock inside. The roll of his hips is slow and languid, sometimes forgotten altogether in favor of returning to kiss you more. He cups your head and nips along your jaw, lets his thumb trace your nipple to a gentle peak. When you start to pant with his motions he teases you with the tips of his fingers, finding the place that clenches you around him. He doesn’t care to cum, he just wants to be as close to you, as deep within you as you’ll take him.

Your first peak flutters his lashes, nails biting into his back as he grinds you through your high. He follows that with a second, quieter one that shakes you in his arms. Your final one comes when you nod at him to chase his release, the slap of skin on skin and hushed confessions drowned out by the roar of his spend painting your walls.

When he comes down enough to curl you into his body, he finally finds the words.

“You are every part the woman I want, and need,” he says, tangled up with limbs and feelings he’s trying out for the first time. “You are everything.”

“Thank you, Pero,” you say, pulling back to rest your head on the pillow beside him. “And if you ever say otherwise I’ll take the only part of you that can continue your lineage.”

“I would be so lucky to lose them to you,” he rasps, the tremble of your giggle easing his mind. He stays inside you until he softens enough to slip out, and even then he considers plugging you up with his fingers to keep his seed inside. It’s a dream he will never speak to you, not willing to hurt you so deeply again, but he’s willing to nurse it. He’s seen greater miracles, after all.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x you #pero x reader #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar and his guerrera #pero tovar x female reader

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sirowsky-stories · 1 year ago

Text

Part 30 - The Finale

Pero Tovar and Female Reader (nicknamed Bee) Modern AU

The happily ever after awaits, but as always, there's a bump in the road.

Creator chooses not to use Warnings! This is 18+ONLY! Author's Note: Thank you to everyone that's read and commented, liked or lurked. I'm sorry to leave these guys, but I am very happy with this ending, so I hope you'll like it too <3

Word Count: 9485 Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

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

You were getting married in a few days. That was a tough thing to wrap your head around, even though it was the most wonderful thing ever. Not that it technically changed anything, it was just such a… Thing. Everyone you’d told had been completely ecstatic about it, adding to the love-fest, but also unwittingly adding a level of pressure that you hadn’t really anticipated.

You would’ve been fine with simply bringing your father and best friend to church, had a short ceremony and then just made dinner together and had a relaxed party at home. But word had spread, not just through your family and friends but through your customers as well, and what was most surprising about it was that it was your old clientele that had been most excited, calling to congratulate and asking if they could join the festivities.

And you hadn’t been able to turn them down. Not after they’d all been so understanding about your injuries and inability to draw anymore. Which was why the wedding had become a gigantic THING. Over a hundred guests were coming. You’d had to close the shop for the entire week just to give Abby enough time to organize and prepare everything, from flower arrangements to cakes, not to mention decorating.

Your chosen venue was an old barn outside of the city, which had long since stopped being used for hay, and become a local dancehall instead. And while it couldn’t seat such a large crowd for a meal, it could seat them for the ceremony, and then they’d all have to take their chair with them out behind the barn, where the tables would already be set, and the lunch already served.

All of which had been Abby’s idea, and while it had sounded a little spartan to you, your trust in your chosen sister was absolute, so you hadn’t questioned her choices even once. She’d roped in both Dean and Claire to help with the food, cakes, and snacks, while other acquaintances of hers had provided the furnishings and the logistics of moving them to the location.

So, thankfully, you hadn’t needed to do much at all, beyond deciding what you wanted to look like on the day. But that was perhaps also why you felt somewhat detached from the whole thing. Like it wasn’t actually happening to you. Meanwhile, Pero was so wonderfully unbothered. He couldn’t care less how it happened, so long as you were happy with everything.

And he’d heard you on the phone with so many of your old clients, hearing how moved you’d been to hear from them, so to him, it had never been a question of whether you should turn anyone down from attending. To him, each guest was just a testament to your kind heart and the open arms with which you’d approached the world throughout your life.

However, he was also completely drunk on you, ever since you’d decided to try for another baby, so you weren’t entirely sure that his perspectives were all that reliable.

The morning before the big day was a Friday, and he seemed to wake up in some kind of breeding mode, perhaps as a result of the overall love-theme of that weekend, but in any case, he was downright feral from the moment he opened his eyes. For forty minutes straight, he had you pinned under him, scarcely letting you move at all, whether you were on your front or back, while he relentlessly drove into you.

His arms strained to constantly keep your hips elevated against him, and every time he came deep inside you, he refused to let either of you rest, or a single drop of his seed from going to waste. Not until you were both so spent that your every muscle was trembling, and your bodies just couldn’t move anymore, did he finally let up and allow himself to collapse beside you.

“Honey…” you breathed after a long pause. “Are you okay?”

He was so exhausted that all you got in response was a small grunt at first. But after another few minutes, he opened his eyes and looked at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough.”

“Don’t worry about it, I would’ve told you if I didn’t like it, you know that. I’m just wondering where that came from?” you clarified, and he huffed a laugh, but it seemed like it was directed at himself.

“You are ovulating, mi amor. It always drives me crazy, but since I will not get to touch you tonight, or tomorrow, I needed to make sure you would be full of me until then,” he explained, prompting you to ignore the fatigue in your body so that you could rise to your elbows, because you needed your head to clear.

“Wait, what? How-… Since when can you tell if I’m ovulating? I didn’t even know that!” you exclaimed, truly thinking that he must be joking somehow.

You weren’t actively keeping track of your cycles, beyond having a general idea of when your next bleed would be, because you and Pero rarely ever went a day without sex anyway, so it seemed superfluous. Surely, he’d just counted the days since your period, how else could he possibly know?

“You smell different,” he elaborated, turning your jaw slack in the process, leaving your mouth hanging open, which only seemed to amuse him. “It is a very enticing type of smell for me, it always makes me want to put my mark on you. Figuratively, of course.”

“No way… that can’t be real,” you challenged, but he just smiled and scooted closer, demonstratively sniffing the skin of your lower arm.

“Oh, yes, it is. You always smell nice to me, but for these few days, it gets… muskier. Richer and more noticeable. You smell like you normally do after sex, even before I’ve touched you.”

“Seriously?”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, and he sounded really pleased.

“Huh… I never would’ve thought that. I mean, I know we all have our own scent, but I really didn’t think that it could be that noticeable to anyone. But wait, what do you mean you can’t touch me tonight? We never said we’d do the traditional night before the wedding stuff.”

“We never said it, no, but I have a feeling it will happen anyway. There is so much to do today, and we will need our sleep for tomorrow, when we’ll both need to get up early and get started on preparations for what is also going to be a very long day. And to be honest… it is a distraction. At least for me. And I don’t want to be distracted this weekend, I want to be in the present, with you, for all of it. We have each other to enjoy carnally for the rest of our lives.”

You sighed lightly, ending in a smile, because this man was just too damned sweet.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

He smiled with you, reached up to kiss you softly on the lips, and then started trying to coax his body back to life so that he could get up.

<><><><><>

Pero really was very excited about the wedding. He wasn’t even sure why, but it just felt like such a wonderful thing to get to celebrate his love for you among so many people, all of whom had had some form of positive effect on your life, and vice versa. The only thing he was slightly saddened about, was the knowledge that the extent of the groom’s side was William and no one else. He had nothing more to bring. The rest of them would all come for you.

But he was tremendously happy that so many people wanted to be there for you. And he was immeasurably proud that he’d get to stand before all those people and hear you confess your love for him. The sadness he felt lay only in how poor he felt in not having anything but himself to share with you in return. An irrational sadness perhaps, since you’d already proven that none of that mattered to you.

It was just such a harsh reminder of how alone he’d been before you. But also, of how rich you’d made him.

Saturday did see the two of you waking up tired, following late night preparations and fixing of last-minute problems that had of course occurred, because it wouldn’t be a big celebration without at least a few mishaps for you to bemusedly recall in the future. But you were both happy, even as you first woke up, despite the terrible fatigue and the comfiness of the bed that you now had to leave.

You kissed good morning and then rolled out of bed to get the day started. You’d agreed that breakfast was going to be a nice and calm affair, with just the three of you, plus Groot, both to give you a good start of the day, but also to make sure that you’d eat something before all the stressful stuff. Because once that started, you knew that you wouldn’t have time to sit down for a meal.

Mae wasn’t in the best mood, though. She was sleepy in the mornings in general and didn’t approve of being woken extra early, so she was cranky throughout breakfast. But it was still just a regular morning, and it was nice to just sit there and talk and let your minds have a rest from the party. From now on, it would have to sort itself out anyway, because it was too late to change anything, and if something went wrong at this point, you’d just have to go with it.

After the meal, however, it was time to split up. Pero would take Babybee with him, while you went to get your hair and make-up done with Abby, after which, your bestie would bring your daughter back to you while he went to a barber and then Dean would help him with the suit. And then it was pretty much gametime.

William was gonna go with him to the barber and get a little makeover, or really just a tidying of his head-hair, after all his time in the bunker. He was living in the country house with Dean and Abby now, so they’d brought him to the barn when they’d left that morning, making it easier for Pero to pick him up. And getting there, he was astounded at how good it all looked in the daylight.

Everyone but Will had all been there the night before, putting up the flower decorations, twinkle lights, and all the finishing touches, but it was still something else to see it all come to life under the sun.

“There’s my boy! How you feeling, son?” Dean greeted him as he stepped into the barn with an impressed whistle.

“Like the luckiest human being in the world,” he grinned in return, hugging the small mountain of a man.

“Oh, I do believe you are, Mr. Tovar. Although, I am somewhat biased.”

“As a father, I think you are allowed to be.”

“Thank you,” Dean laughed warmly, before the men pulled apart.

And right then, Mae came waddling through the grass, having made her way across the lawn on her own bare feet, with a watchful eye from her father, of course.

“Babybee! My sweetest little angel, how are you?” the grandfather giggled, in his own uniquely booming way, and the child was immediately excited.

“Baba!” she squealed and giggled, and then promptly fell on her butt when her focus was disrupted.

She’d been quicker to learn how to walk than talk, but mama had unsurprisingly been her first word. Closely followed by baba, which she called both Pero and Dean.

“Oh, my gosh, you’re getting so big! Soon you’ll be running off doing all the stuff you’re not supposed to do, and then we’ll all be in trouble,” the older man cooed while scooping her up in his big arms.

“Mm, especially now when her parents will soon be busy with two of you,” the younger man added, making Dean splutter in shock.

“What!? You guys are pregnant?”

Ooops… He’d assumed that you’d told your father that the two of you were trying, you always told him everything. But apparently, you’d been too busy to mention this part.

“No, not yet… Ay, forgive me. I thought she had told you that we have started working on it,” he sheepishly admitted, but the older man just laughed heartily.

“Nope. But that’s fantastic news, my boy! The family keeps growing. What a truly wonderful thing,” he chirped, and pulled his son into another hug.

But as they parted once more, Pero’s eyes went around the room, looking for the only missing piece of the moment.

“He’s out back, by the treeline,” Dean said, much more mellow as he noticed where the younger man’s focus had gone.

“He did not wish to come inside?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know what he wishes. It’s been a year and a half since Bee first got through to him, and still, it’s like he actively resists anything that might put a smile on his face,” the older man sighed with a mild shake of his head.

“Well, let’s leave him be for now. I am sure Abby has left some things for us to do.”

Together, the three of them put together the finishing touches in preparation for the guests, although Mae mostly just tagged along and babbled. Their chores included fixing the welcoming drinks, putting the tablecloths out and then setting the tables, making sure all the chairs were accounted for since there weren’t any spares, and checking and double checking the sound systems for the microphones.

Then the musicians arrived. You’d insisted on a live orchestra instead of a DJ, and that was what you’d gotten. Thirty performers strong, in fact. And while the men listened to them warm up and test their instruments, they both had to agree that you’d been right. Living music being performed live would never top recorded music blasting through speakers. That was simply a fact.

Shortly after that, Abby came back to take Babybee over to you so that the boys could start getting ready, and Pero couldn’t help but ask.

“How does she look?”

“Happy and very much in love,” was your chosen sister’s answer, and while it wasn’t what he’d meant with the question, it was still the perfect answer.

“Good,” was all he could think to say in return, and then he darted off to find his brother.

It took him a minute, because the man had moved from where Dean had suggested he’d been earlier, to sitting just outside the tent where the food was being prepared.

“Hey. Ready to go?” he asked once he got close enough to be heard.

“Sure,” was all the other man replied, getting up and falling in beside Pero on their way back to the car.

He was no chatterbox, nor particularly positive in general, but that morning he seemed even more down than what was his usual these days.

“Look, if you don’t want to do this, it’s fine,” the Spaniard reassured him, reiterating what he’d told him half a dozen times already.

“I know,” Will answered dispassionately, as if literally nothing could ever excite him again.

Once at the barber shop, both men took their seats beside each other while their barbers got to work, and throughout their visit, William never said a word. Pero kept up a decent conversation with the young man working on him, who really was a chatterbox and seemed to love all things wedding-related, but after twenty minutes of hitting a stone wall, the other barber gave up, and joined their conversation instead.

So, by the time they left, the Spaniard was somewhat annoyed with his comrade.

“Are you even the least bit happy for me?” he asked quietly after parking the car back by the barn, but before stepping out of it.

“Pero…” the other man sighed.

“No, tell me honestly: do you want to be here at all today? Because no one is forcing your hand, but if you’re going to be here, then at least try to be part of the love, instead of sitting like a thundercloud in the distance, waiting to block out the sun.”

Will closed his eyes and let his head fall forwards a bit then, seeming to struggle with something, although what that might be, his brother could only guess at, because the man seemed determined not to share his innermost thoughts with anyone. For all his progress, he still kept himself cut off from the world around him, rarely even engaging with it even on a superficial level, much less in any meaningful way.

“I’m not sure that I remember what happiness is, Tov,” he started, still with his eyes closed, but he opened them before continuing, staring out at the fairytale wedding your best friend had created with little more than nature and electricity. “But I see how happy you are, and I want that for you. I want you to have everything that I never could.”

“Ay, hermano… I know you do not see this, but you can still have those things too,” Pero tried, but then Will’s eyes fell shut again and he shook his head firmly.

“No. Even if my heart somehow allowed it, my fear would never let me go there. That’s one part of me that even your wife can’t reach.”

“Hey, do not get ahead of yourself, she’s not my wife yet.”

“Sure, she is. Just not legally.”

That made Pero chuckle, because it was absolutely true, and it was as close to a joke as he’d heard from his old friend in what felt like forever.

<><><><><>

Abby returned with Mae after just twenty minutes, at which point, the only thing you had left to do was put the dress on, which was going to be put off for as long as possible to prevent mishaps. Which meant that there was nothing preventing you from just playing with your daughter for a while.

You were back home while you waited for the boys to get ready, so all her toys and favourite things were available, and she had you all to herself, with the exception of one very pleased German Shepherd. Groot had had his own little spa-day while you’d been in hair and make-up, getting bathed, blow-dried and combed until his coat shined, by the local dog-grooming specialist. And he was so proud of his impeccable exterior.

Although, not too proud to still roll around on the floor and play. Mae had learned that if she stood up and started walking, the dog would come to her side and let her use him as a crutch, or just keep her from hitting her head against things. But the thing she loved the most, was if she happened to fall, because then he’d mirror her, dropping to the floor and rolling over as if he too had taken a spill.

Almost like he knew that she might consider falling a failure, and wanted her to know that there was nothing wrong with falling, because everyone does sometimes. In any case, it always made her smile when she saw him do that, no matter how sad or upset she might be, but since she was already happy today, it made her laugh hysterically instead.

Soon enough, though, the door opened, and your father’s voice came booming through the house. He had quite a tight schedule the poor man, but he seemed to love it. He was used to it, after all, as well as military level planning, and precision execution, so in truth, this was where he really thrived. In the thick of it.

“Bumblebee? You still here, sweetheart? No cold feet?”

“In the living room, dad. And my feet are currently too hot,” you called back, and watched him walk in and absorb the sight before him.

Mae had decided to build a castle out of pillows and blankets, and for some reason, you needed to be the base of this castle, which was why you were on your back on the floor, with about twenty things on top of you, including the dog.

“Hah, look at that. You might have a future architect here, Bee.”

“Let’s hope so,” you chirped, just as your daughter realized that her grandfather had stepped in, and immediately abandoned the castle.

“Go on and get dressed now, Bee. I’ve got everything set up outside, as soon as you’re ready, we’ll get going,” he smiled at you while picking up Mae.

“Okay. Will you get her changed in the meantime? Her clothes are hanging on the crib.”

“Yeah, we got it, mama.”

Your baby had repeatedly proven herself to not like dresses, which was why her wedding outfit consisted of a crème coloured overall, soft and stretchy so that she’d be comfortable, and her favourite sneakers, which were green. She was gonna have as good a day as possible, and that didn’t require her to look perfect.

The same could be said for you, but you actually wanted to look a little dolled up. This was likely to be the only time in your life when you were gonna have an opportunity to play Cinderella at the ball, or Belle at her dance with the prince, and you wanted to take the opportunity to live in a fantasy, just for this one day.

Still, your makeup wasn’t over the top and while your hair was certainly better tamed than you’d ever manage on your own, it wasn’t tied up in any complicated fashion. Most of it hung freely, with just a few tendrils pulled back so that there’d be something to attach a few small white flowers to.

The dress, however, was in a league of its own. It was a sweetheart cut tulle dress, with a top layer of snow-white lace that had been embroidered with leaves and the same type of flowers that were now in your hair. The skirt wasn’t flared, but there the lace had been bedazzled by thousands of beads and glass diamonds, most thickly gathered at the waist, carrying on down to your mid-thigh, before they started getting more scattered.

It was a masterpiece, made and tailored just for you, by the wonder woman that was your sister Arabella.

Stepping out of your room once it was on, your father momentarily lost all his marbles on the floor somewhere, along with his jaw, which was all the proof you needed that it was indeed perfect. You smiled at him, and his mirroring smile was enough to bring tears of joy to his eyes.

“Oh, my baby… you’re so beautiful,” he said through the stocking in his throat, while carefully stepping closer to hug you.

“Thank you, dad. I feel really special today. Just so full of love…” you croaked in return, trying not to let your own tears spill, even though your makeup was waterproof.

“I know what you mean. So, let’s go celebrate all this love, shall we?” he suggested, stepping back to pick up Mae, who was trying to grab the hem of your dress because it was shiny and much too tempting for baby fingers.

But you weren’t bothered by her potentially picking a few little sparkles off, so you reached for her once he’d gotten her up, and he handed her to you without complaint. Instead, he picked up your bag of essentials for the evening, slinging it over his shoulder before grabbing your phone and keys from the shelf in the hall, and then held the door for his girls so that he could lock it for you once you and Groot were outside.

There was a small train on the back of the dress, just enough to make it fan out behind you, and he was quick to sweep it up while you made your way to the carriage. Like the true romantic that your father was, he’d insisted on taking you to your wedding by horse and carriage, and it wasn’t some rickety old thing either. It was a retired Royal carriage that he’d bought on auction and restored to its former glory. A convertible model, black, with silver detailing and deep green velvet on the seats.

He helped you and Mae get in via the step that fell out whenever the door on the side was opened, letting Groot hop in last, and then he climbed into the coachman’s seat and grabbed the reins. Happy and Ike were excellent carriage horses, content to trudge along at a moderate pace and would always stay perfectly still whenever they were brought to a stop, needing no groomsmen or helpers.

Your daughter absolutely loved the ride, and joyously sat in your lap, pointing at everything she could see, for once not speeding past too quickly for her to even make anything out, getting increasingly excited every time you named what she indicated, even though she had no idea what most of it was. Meanwhile, the dog sat on the seat opposite you, happily letting his tongue catch the wind.

Since your house was already on the outskirts of town, the ride wasn’t that long, which resulted in you reaching your destination a little too quickly. But, as it happened, that would turn out to be most fortuitous. Because while you stopped a bit down the road from the barn, along a stretch that was lined on either side by very old maple and beech trees, a familiar frame came towards you.

A gangly, middle-aged black man, with a digital camera that probably cost more than your average monthly salary, slung around his neck.

“Mr. Okusanya… Hi. It’s so good to see you again,” you said, smiling at the memory of the only other time you’d seen him, nervously trying to order a drawing of a diamond-decorated cock, much to Pero’s polite confusion.

“Thank you for letting me invite myself, Mrs. Tovar.”

You glossed over the premature use of the name, because you already loved how that sounded, and really, what difference did an hour make?

“After your kind response to my handicap and the loss of your order, how could I not?” you replied, unable to stop the slight sorrow that always accompanied any reminder of your lost skill and passion, from slipping into your voice and your expression.

“Oh, never mind that. As it turns out, just voicing that particular interest without being ridiculed or belittled in any way, helped me to be a more confident person. Thanks to your kindness, I’m getting married too, next year. And I never would’ve dared to tell him anything about that if you hadn’t opened the door for me first, so believe me, I am only ever grateful to you.”

His words sent a flurry of warmth and compassion through your chest, as well as a slight swell of pride that you’d been able to do something so profound for this man, by just being yourself, leaving you speechless but smiling widely.

“And on the subject of my gratitude, if I may, I’d very much like to repay you,” he added, after wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “Will you let me take your wedding photos?”

Stunned, you just stared at him for a moment, and then nodded your agreement, because it was just such a wonderful thing to offer. You hadn’t even considered hiring a professional photographer, because you hadn’t felt up for the whole idea of structuring a photoshoot into your schedule and then having a stranger, and essentially a paparazzi, lurking about all day.

But this wasn’t a stranger. And as a photographer, he was used to nature motifs, including animals which were generally mobile and required him to blend into the background not to startle them away. Odds were, you’d never even notice him moving around the guests.

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” your father suddenly entered the conversation, having stayed out of it while you got reacquainted, and because you hadn’t remembered to introduce him.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry! Amari, this is my father, Dean. Dad, this is one of my former clients, Amari Okusanya,” you hurried to correct your mistake, and then remembered your child, still sitting on your lap. “And this is my daughter Mae.”

The two men exchanged pleasantries and then Amari suggested taking some photos right there, with the gorgeous trees for a backdrop, while you waited for the clock to strike. You stepped out of the carriage and followed his instructions, letting him move the skirt of the dress around to experiment with angles and movement, all the while feeling mildly lost since you’d never posed for anyone before.

But he noticed and suggested taking a few pics with you by the horses, which instantly set you at ease. And then with Groot, then Dean, then all of you, then just you and Mae, and he kept going like that, just keeping you occupied, allowing him to snatch candid photos in between the posed ones. Until you were suddenly out of time.

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

Pero heard the carriage arrive on the road outside the barn. The shoes that he had put on your father’s horses clapping against the pavement in a double rhythm, bringing him his bride and partner in all things. It made his heart swell just knowing that he was about to have you beside him again, ready to declare to all these witnesses, that you had chosen him.

He didn’t know who anyone in the room was, save for Abby, Will, Claire, Kate and Cody, but it didn’t matter. They were all there to celebrate your love, and for that, he appreciated each and every one of them. William had taken the stage with him as his best man, but stood like a statue behind him, participating only with his presence, not his joy or excitement, which Pero could forgive because at least he was there. For a long time, that was more than he’d dared to hope.

Abby was across from him, on the other side of the altar, ready to free your hands and support you in any way you might need, already smiling with tears in her eyes before you’d even arrived. The two of you had been through so much together, throughout your lives, and been able to stick together through all of it, creating an unbreakable friendship that he would always cherish and protect.

The orchestra was lining the entrance of the barn, so when they started playing, it was because you and Dean had told them that it was time. That you were ready. So, when the music started, everyone rose to their feet, and Pero sucked in a nervous breath, suddenly unable to see anything but the sunlight that shone through the door.

Mae was too small to be a flower-girl, but Groot wasn’t. He came first, walking down the aisle while pulling his little sister in a tiny cart, attached to him via a harness, both of whom Pero had designed and constructed especially for today. And, ever the princess, Mae smiled and cooed as she was paraded in front of all the fancily dressed guests, all smiling at the adorable scene.

Then suddenly… there you were.

As if the sun itself had beamed you into that wide doorway, you seemed to glide into view, shining almost too bright for him to make you out at first, but as you stepped closer, the golden light released you, letting him see all of you. His breathing slowed even as his heart pounded harder. Because however nervous he’d been before, your presence always soothed him. Even now.

Unknowingly, he tried to step towards you, but a hand on his elbow held him back, reminding him that there was a procedure to this. He heard Will’s voice somewhere behind him whisper almost reverently about how beautiful you were, and he could only nod in agreement. He heard Abby snivel quietly, and saw your eyes turn to her with a tear-filled smile, just as you reached the altar and handed her your small bouquet of wildflowers, picked from around your house and the meadows around the barn.

Then Dean’s large hand was suddenly on Pero’s shoulder, and he was slightly startled to realize that he’d never even noticed your father walking in beside you. The older man was a mess of tears and smiles, pulling his adopted son in for a hug before he could bring himself to step aside, and let Pero step up to take his place at your side. The two men laughed quietly together for a moment, at their own overflowing emotions, and when they pulled apart, you were smiling at them with an equally overwhelmed heart.

With pride oozing from his every pore, Pero stepped over to you, offering you his arm for support as you climbed up the two steps onto the altar, while your other hand lifted the dress to keep you from tripping.

“You look so beautiful, my love,” you suddenly said, while Abby fiddled with your skirt so that it wouldn’t twist around your legs.

He hadn’t expected that hearing your voice would made his heart jump and pinch and bounce with excitement and gratitude, so when his own eyes abruptly filled with tears, he didn’t know what to do except just smile at you.

“My sun…” was all he managed to choke out in response, but you understood.

He had always been a star in your orbit. And he always would be.

<><><><><>

The entire ceremony was overwhelming for so many reasons. Walking up that aisle and seeing him standing there, actually in awe of you, was almost more than your heart could bear. Your ears registered Mae cooing and babbling when Groot brought her to Claire on the front row, next to the empty seat where your father would sit, but your eyes saw only the stranger.

And in a single second, you saw everything that had happened between you. From that first unwelcomed kiss, to finding him on your porch, inviting him in, letting him claim you… and everything that had followed because of it. So much of it had been bad, but you’d still suffer through all of it again, a hundred times, for the love and joy and wonder that it had brought into your life.

Then he was taking your hand, and his touch brought you back to the moment, to the reality of the man before you. The man you’d chosen, risked everything for, and allowed yourself to love without boundaries or restraints. The words came of their own, from some part of your brain that you weren’t in control over right that second.

You wondered if your face mirrored his in that moment. If you too looked as though the protective dam around your heart had burst open, flooding the air around you with rainbows, sparkles and sunshine. You hoped so.

The priest took over then, and as per your instructions, kept it short, sweet and light-hearted, as churchly rituals could so easily become stuffy and stale. But this pastor was young and had a modern view of church, believing it to be something that needed to adapt to the present, as all things did, and had no trouble drawing laughter from the crowd and thereby stripping the ceremony of all nervousness or tension.

You’d written your own vows, and just getting through them without forgetting every other word became another humorous spectacle, but one that you both felt entirely comfortable with. Because how were you supposed to say such powerful and incredible things to one another, in front of a hundred people, without getting flustered? It was impossible to begin with, so there was nothing to do but laugh at it and soldier on.

The engagement ring that he’d made for you had been made of steel, polished until it shined and then engraved with a planet. And the wedding rings told the story to completion. Identical in every way, except that yours added a star next to your planet, while his depicted that same star, but falling into a symbol of infinity. So simple, and so perfect.

And then, finally, there was the kiss.

The priest had only barely gotten through the sentence when Pero surged forwards. And you weren’t far behind yourself, resulting in a minor crash of your bodies against each other, and more laughter from the crowd, followed by cheering and applause. But you barely even heard it over the rushing of your blood and the happy pounding of your heart.

His arms held you so tightly to him, even long after the kiss had ended, unwilling to let you slip even an inch away from him. But not out of fear or possessiveness. He just didn’t wanna let you go. He wanted to feel your joy just as much as you wanted to feel his. To touch your skin and feel how it warmed with the desired contact. But most of all, both of you just wanted to live in that moment and never let it go.

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

The guests saw nothing strange at all about being asked to bring their folding chairs with them to their seats, and without complaints, grabbed one each and started making their way outside to the tables, where the food had been served during the end of the ceremony. You hadn’t scheduled any speeches or really, anything at all past this point. From now on, it was just a feast, where the goal was simply for everyone to enjoy themselves.

There were no seating arrangements and no folder with any program for anyone to read or stick to. Just good food, an orchestra that took requests, plenty of wine and beer for those that fancied it, and an announcement from you that everyone was welcome to dig in. That was it. The rest would happen if it happened, and however it wanted to happen.

During the meal, Pero really struggled to look at anything but you, or occasionally Mae when her sounds drew his attention. But she was with her grandfather and as happy as any kid could be, so his focus kept coming back to you. He found himself watching the silliest little details about you, like how you held your fork, or how your throat moved when you chewed. The tiny hairs on your arms that fluttered in the breeze.

Not one drop of alcohol crossed his lips, and yet he felt utterly drunk all day.

“If I may have your attention, dear guests…” Dean eventually found the microphone, unable to keep from giving a speech to his only daughter on her special day. “I can’t let this occasion pass, without saying a few things.”

His rich, strong voice carried to every ear across the open area, and everyone fell into a deeply respectful and complete silence.

“A father’s greatest fear in life, is that his children won’t be safe. But when that life is good, and his children are safe, his fear instead becomes about their happiness. And for a long time, I thought I knew what a happy Bumblebee looked like. But as it would turn out, I was very wrong.”

He paused then, needing to swallow against the tears that were already coming.

“When Pero entered her life, my daughter became something new to my eyes. Something I’d never seen before. It would take me some time to figure out what that was, but eventually, I realized that it was in fact, security. It was the comforting and effortless happiness of knowing that her heart is safely held by someone else’s hands. Someone who truly values that gift and without hesitation, returns it. Now, that doesn’t mean that life is suddenly perfect. But it does mean that the good moments, truly are as good they can be, and that’s something to be grateful for. That’s what you give to my baby girl, Pero, and that is why I will always love you, my son.”

If he had planned to add more to that speech, that plan was halted then, because that was as much as he could get through before the emotions became too overwhelming. And not just for him. Unable to let such amazing words go without acknowledgement, Pero rose and stepped over to the man, pulling him into a strong hug that saw them both break down for a minute.

But when they pulled apart, it was with smiles in their features and joy in their hearts, even if their faces were drenched in tears. And you were right there behind him, throwing your arms around your father’s neck as soon as it was free, letting him lift you off the ground with how tightly he held you. The crowd applauded again, and there weren’t many dry eyes among them.

After that, the late afternoon flowed in its own kind of rhythm, sometimes slow and mellow, with conversation and mingling, and sometimes energetic and loud, filled with dance and laughter. It rose and fell, over and over, but Pero seemed to be sailing his own river in the middle of that ocean, remaining steadfast at the same pace, no matter how rowdy the seas churned around him. Undoubtedly lulled by his continued drunkenness on love.

Until Groot suddenly placed his head in his lap and whined unhappily.

The sound was so unexpected that it made him pause and turn his entire attention to the animal, and when he did, Groot got up and started walking away from the festivities. He stopped when the human didn’t follow, looking back at him with another whine, so he got up and fell in behind the dog, wondering what he could possibly want to show him at that particular place and time.

The canine led him across the entire field that connected to the barn, passed the horses that had been set free to graze while the festivities carried on, all the way down to the creek, the same one that trailed past your house, further up the road. And when they got there, Groot indicated something of interest down by the bigger rocks that were closest to the water.

“Of course, it must be down there…” he sighed, looking at the dog with a quizzical brow. “Do I have to? Can you not go down there and bring whatever it is you want me to see up here?”

The animal just kept looking at the rocks, slowly wagging his tail while he waited for the human to get the message.

“Fine. But just so you know, this suit was very expensive,” he griped as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

Carefully climbing down the slippery bank, he miraculously managed to reach the bottom without any mishap, and started looking for whatever the dog was indicating. At first glance, he missed it, because he wasn’t expecting it to be something that connected to his past. But once he saw the small hidden package, he already knew what it was going to be, and his heart skipped a beat.

At the Falcons, they’d been taught that if they ever got separated from their partner and were fatally injured, to hide an identifying mark within a scarf or sock, and then use nature to conceal it. They hadn’t worn dog-tags or anything specifically identifying like that, but their partners had known their every item of clothing and every one of their possessions.

And since William had still refused to rejoin society, Pero was very much aware of exactly how few things the man now owned, and exactly how each of those things looked. A worn and frayed cap that had once belonged to a young Dean, so old now that it no longer had any colour, had been bundled up and jammed down between two larger rocks, and then almost completely covered by mud and leaves.

He pulled it out, placing it on one of the larger rocks before gently prying it open to find a neatly folded note, protected by a plastic bag, inside. Sorrow filled his soul as he stuffed the bag into his pocket and started climbing back up the bank, somehow managing to escape without muddying up his pants, only to then sit down in the soft grass back at the edge of the field.

Groot instantly knew that he wasn’t doing well, and sat down beside him, leaning his entire body against Pero’s side, for support as well as comfort. He gratefully scratched the dog’s chest for a few beats, to thank him, but also to delay opening the note. Because even if it wasn’t as bad as he feared, it wasn’t going to be anything good.

He hadn’t seen Will at the party for a while, but he’d assumed that the man had just wandered off to escape the positive atmosphere for a bit, since he wasn’t susceptible to it, which probably made it grating to listen to and be surrounded by. He really hadn’t thought that something like this might happen. Especially not now, after so much time had passed and so much progress had been made.

But there was no avoiding it. He’d have to read it sooner or later, so he might as well get it over with now, when the atmosphere of love that was waiting for him back by the barn, would help him endure whatever pain this would cause him. So, he pulled the bag out and ripped the plastic open, shoving it back in his pocket so it wouldn’t fly off on the wind while he unfolded and read the piece of paper, unbiddenly recognizing that it was a sheet from the shopping-notepad on Dean’s fridge.

Which meant that he hadn’t done this on impulse. It had been planned, since early that morning, at the latest. But probably much further back than that.

~Pero, I know that this will hurt you, especially today, but I can’t put it off any longer. My life was supposed to end that day, with them. Everything after that has been wrong. Just layer upon layer of wrong. I didn’t have it in me to end it back then, and I still don’t. But I’m also not gonna fight for a life that isn’t meant to be. I’ll leave my fate to nature, and if she decides to end me, I’ll finally get to rest. If she doesn’t, then I guess that’s just my penance. Either way, this is our ending, brother. I never deserved you, but I have loved you all the same.

Please, tell your wife that I will forever carry her bravery and kindness in my heart. Tell her I’m sorry. I am so very sorry. Will~

He read it three times before he could accept it. And then another three before the tears made it too hard to see. The pain made him want to blame the man for giving up, after all your effort spent trying to save him, to give him a chance to live again. It made him want to scream and curse his brother to hell for making all that struggle and heartache and misery pointless.

But he couldn’t, because that wasn’t true. The harsh truth was that Will had never been given a choice. You and Pero had decided to try and undo Lang’s conditioning, unable to trust anything he’d said while under another man’s thumb. And then, when you’d finally started breaking through, the two of you still hadn’t believed him when he’d asked you to stop.

No matter how much progress he’d made, you had never heard him when he’d said that he didn’t want this life. Because you hadn’t wanted to hear it. Either of you. And that now left the Spaniard with two questions.

Should he wipe his tears away, plaster a fake smile on his lips and go back to try and let the positive atmosphere purge his sorrows? Or should he take you aside and tell you what had happened, ruining the day for both of you? But he already knew the answer, because there was no way that you wouldn’t see the pain in his eyes, no matter how well he tried to hide it.

You knew about the conversation that had taken place between him and William that day when you’d invited him to the house, so you knew that he hadn’t been doing so good. Still, Pero felt certain that this would somehow hurt you even more than it did him. Because to him, his brother represented his only good childhood memories, the only positive influence on his entire existence prior to meeting you.

But to you, he represented something far greater. Even with how briefly you’d known him, the poor man had somehow become tethered to your sense of hope, your belief in miracles and the healing power of love and acceptance. And your husband feared that losing that was going to rip a hole through your soul.

Even so, he couldn’t lie to you. Not today, when you were celebrating togetherness.

He got up and started walking back, wiping his tears and straightening his tie on the way, doing his best not to let all the guests see how hard he was fighting to hold himself together, as he made his way through the crowd to find you. But you knew at first glance, before he’d even reached you, and came to his side to follow him out of earshot from everyone.

He couldn’t say it, so he showed you the note instead, and watched with a sinking heart as the words drilled through your being like blunt swords. You didn’t say anything at first. You just closed your eyes and tried to breathe. Tried to keep it from overpowering you. And you managed it a lot better than he had.

“He’s gone,” you whispered, but it felt like you were saying it to yourself.

As though you were trying to tell yourself, convince yourself, that this was the new reality and that you had to let it be.

“I don’t know what to do…” Pero admitted, gesturing blindly towards the guests and the party, feeling so torn between the joy of the wedding and the sorrow of this unexpected tragedy.

“There’s nothing we can do,” you said, and your voice was so sad, but also unexpectedly strong. “He’s gone.”

It seemed that you had decided to lean on love, and to let that hold you up, at least until this day was over. And in your surprising resolve, he somehow found a path back to the light of his heart. And as the day turned to evening, and the world darkened, revealing the thousands of twinkle lights that hung above the crowd and throughout the barn, the two of you did somehow manage to find your way back to a resigned sort of peace.

Perhaps in the knowledge that he was still alive, or in the fact that at the very least, neither of you had made this decision for him. That for the first time in a very long time, William Garin was free.

-=¤=-

“Daddy!”

“Hey, Mae-Mae! How was school?” he asked as his daughter came bouncing towards him, smiling widely as she waved a piece of paper in her hand.

“It was fun! Look! We made pictures of our hands!” she excitedly explained while handing him the picture.

“Oh, wow! That does sound like fun. Maybe we should ask mama if she has any fun paint at the shop, and we could all make pictures of our hands.”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah, let’s do that. But right now, we must go home and let Groot out.”

“Okay, daddy.”

He opened the car door for her, and since she was three years old now, she could climb in and up into the car-seat by herself.

“Hi, Jace!” she called once she was in her seat, but Pero gently hushed her.

“Shh… He is sleeping, angel. We will wake him when we get home.”

“Oh. Sorry,” she whispered, trying to peer at her little brother at the other end of the backseat.

“It’s good that you are excited to see him, just remember that he is still very small and has lots of growing to do.”

“And we grow best in our sleep, right daddy?” she proudly repeated what you’d told her on numerous occasions when she’d been trying to stay up past her bedtime.

“That’s right.”

He booped her nose and then made sure she was safely buckled up before closing the door and getting in the driver’s seat. Once home, he let her out first, handing her the house keys once she was on the ground, before rounding the car to pick up his nine-month-old who loved nothing more than to sleep, and especially in the car.

“Hey, dormilón… time to wake up, we’re home,” he cooed once the boy was in his arms.

Meanwhile, Mae was already unlocking the front door to let the patient Shepherd out, giggling as he playfully bounced around her before running over to greet Pero and make sure that everything was alright with the family, before he felt okay to go relieve himself.

While they waited for you to get home, Pero played with Mae while simultaneously tidying up the house, getting dinner started, changing Jace’s diaper, and doing some laundry. The trashcan in the kitchen was full, so while his son had gone back to sleep, he told Groot to keep an eye on the girl while he took the garbage out to the bin. He had absolute faith that the dog wouldn’t let his daughter anywhere near anything dangerous in the minute that it would take him to get back.

But just as he’d dumped the bag into the bin, a movement to his left caught his eye. It was so small that he assumed it to be a trick of his own senses, which seemed to be confirmed when he looked towards the imagined movement and found nothing there. Dismissing it, he turned to walk back inside, only to find himself stopping halfway there. And this time, he wasn’t imagining anything.

Before he’d even turned, he knew that it was real. As though the pressure in the air had suddenly changed, he felt the man’s presence. Slowly turning his head, his long lost brother came into view between the trees. Alive, and by the looks of it, doing alright. A tear-filled smile spread across Pero’s face, and then the man was gone.

He waited until after dinner, when the kids were tucked in and sleeping soundly and the two of you were huddled up on the couch together, trying to stay awake after a long day, to tell you about it.

“I saw him today,” he said softly into your hair, as you rested your head against his chest.

“Who?” you answered, sounding comfortably sleepy.

“William.”

It took you a second to absorb that, and then you sat up so that you could turn your body around and look at him. As if you needed to see his eyes to believe that it could be true.

“He only gave me a glimpse, but… he’s alive, Bee,” he continued once you could see him, and suddenly your entire being seemed to shine.

You didn’t say a word, and you didn’t need to. He could see how that part of your soul, that part that he’d been so afraid would get ripped to pieces by losing Will, came back together right then. You’d been so composed after you’d read that note that he had come to believe that he’d been wrong about how you’d take it. But now, a year and a half later, he could see how you healed as your faith in miracles was restored.

You didn’t know it yet, but as your children would grow up, a mysterious stranger would watch them from the shadows. Time and time again, he would shield them from harm in an ever more dangerous world, and even though they’d get frightened on the few occasions that they’d happen to catch a glimpse of him, their father would always tell them to trust him.

And when they’d ask him why in the world they should do that, he would tell them the three most important lessons that life with you had taught him:

“Because even a killer can be a good person. Even a mother can be a terrible person. And even a stranger can be a brother.”

THE END

===============

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall modern au #modern!pero #modern!au #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #sirowsky stories

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supernaturalgirl20 · 2 years ago

Text

A Fate so Cruel

Pairings: Pero Tovar x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank the gods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s like a flash of lightning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#pedro pascal #pero tovar x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #pedrostoriesgift22 #pedrostories

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sirowsky · 2 years ago

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Part 24 - Progress Takes Time

Pero Tovar and Female Reader (nicknamed Bee) Modern AU

You're trying to navigate helping William whilst also circumventing Pero's overprotective tendencies.

Creator chooses not to use Warnings! This is 18+ONLY! I'm so sorry for the wait, my loves! I'm once again battling myself to try and not put so much pressure on myself to write, and that means taking it slow and letting it happen naturally. I hope someone out here still enjoys the story, and again, I'm sorry for being so erratic with my updates <3

Word Count: 4168 Masterlist(this story) Author’s Masterlist

Link to Part 25

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

Groot had been so focused on your partner, trying to comfort him from the pain of his own guilt, while you’d stepped into the cell, that even he had reacted too late to help you. And when his human brother had leapt onto his feet once he’d realized what you’d been doing, the dog had remained frozen to the spot on the floor where he’d laid beside Pero, with his ears and head held low.

Almost as if your actions had been so determined and sure that you had even managed to convince the animal that he wouldn’t be able to stop you, even before you’d stepped away from them. If so, that might explain why Groot still didn’t move as Pero pulled you from the room and slammed the door shut.

“Pintora, what the fuck were you thinking!? He could’ve killed you!” he barked at you, but his voice was weak and fractured, overwhelmed by the fear of knowing just how easily he could’ve lost you right then.

“He stopped, Pero,” you countered, with tears still streaming down your face and a terrible tremble bothering your empty hands. “He stopped.”

“You got lucky…” he cautioned, because he was not at all ready to believe that William had deliberately backed off.

But you soured then, as if his perspective was offensive for some reason, and stepped away from him to pick up the little piglet that you’d dropped on the floor when you’d caught him earlier. Crossing your arms over your chest, you pinned the stuffed animal at the top of your belly, which already seemed to be your favourite spot for it, and glared at him.

“I understand that you’re still frightened of him, but I’m telling you that he heard me. I got to him, I could see it in his eyes.”

“Bee… if you ever step foot in that cell again-…”

“You’ll what?” you cut him off, challenging him to reveal his fears in full and stop hiding behind the other man’s evil.

Pero wasn’t strong enough to admit to himself that this was all the result of his own failure, but he also couldn’t conceal his weakness anymore. He crumbled under your strength, unable to fathom how you simply weren’t afraid of the man right then, feeling so small compared to you and the massiveness of your confidence in that moment.

“You can never trust him, mi amor…” he finally whispered, unable to bring any more strength to his voice. “He will kill you if you let him, you must believe that.”

He felt so powerless standing there, all but begging you not to put yourself in danger, when he should’ve just made sure that you never could again. But somehow, he knew in his heart that you would not be stopped, no matter the risk. You had walked into that cell with a conviction of some sort, a knowledge that Pero wasn’t privy to and probably couldn’t understand even if he had been.

You had walked in there knowing… knowing that you would walk out alive. Not just believing it but knowing it so absolutely that even William had felt it in you.

“What I believe, is that if we keep going like we have until now, we’re gonna end up destroying both ourselves and each other,” you calmly stated. “And I will not let that happen. I will defend this family, Pero… even against you.”

That brought his mind to an abrupt stop, because what the hell did that mean? He had never been the threat… had he?

But the more he thought about it, the clearer the answer became. He wasn’t a threat so much as the weak link in the chain. The one that put everyone at risk, because if he broke, the people around him would all suffer. He’d been unable to kill Will, unable to break him, unable to stop this darkness from hurting you and your family, and now, his hope was faltering.

Of course, you had to protect yourself from him. He wasn’t giving you any other option.

“The killing has to stop,” you said softly, coming closer again and uncrossing one arm so that you could take his hand. “We can’t let ourselves become monsters. William is innocent, so if we’re gonna kill him, we have to do it out of kindness, not hate or fear. Only as a last resort, after all other options are exhausted and he still hasn’t improved. But we’re not there yet. He heard me, honey. I know that he did, so we have to give him one more chance before we can say that ending his life would be an act of mercy.”

Impossibly, hearing the strength in your voice and the quiet but absolute resolve to not let this situation bring you down, managed to give him back some of his hope. Within your courage, he found a way to believe you, even though his own strength had long since left him. Somehow, you were powerful enough to carry the both of you forwards, refusing to let anything threaten your happily ever after, and he had never loved you more.

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

It would take several weeks of carefully measured steps before William even interacted with you the first time. You started with offering him fresh clothes and full meals every day, all of which he refused for almost a week, until the hunger finally got the better of him. The food slowly restored his strength, and with that, his temper returned.

It was clear that he was still very much suffering the effects of the conditioning and the compulsion to complete his mission of killing you, that much was visible in his eyes every time that he looked at you. But there was doubt in there too. Something that you suspected came from the man underneath all the suffering and manipulation. The real William Garin. The problem was getting that man to take back control of himself.

One positive aspect, and the primary reason why you refused to give up, was that even when you repeatedly put yourself within his reach, he never tried to touch you. And you didn’t think that that was solely because of Pero’s presence in the cell every time that you tried it. Obviously, your partner was much too worried to let you be in there with your would-be assassin alone, but even so, Will’s focus was only ever on you whenever he did react.

You tried not to think to closely about what you knew that Pero had done to him, and what you guessed that he might’ve been unable to tell you. It wasn’t really helpful anyway, and you’d always known him to be capable of terrible things, but the real reason why you stayed away from it, was simply that it scared you to linger on the realization that he could do these things to a man that he loved.

But you also couldn’t judge him for it. You couldn’t condemn his actions anymore than you could hold it against him that he’d sent you away, because you had no idea how dangerous his world really was. That was what all this had finally taught you. That for all the crap that you’d seen and learned in the time that you’d known him, Pero’s world was still too dark for you to ever truly grasp.

You saw it in Will’s eyes too. The knowledge that he possessed and the power that someone with their training and experience had at their disposal. And it wasn’t until you recognized that look in his eyes as the same darkness that you’d always seen in your partner, that you began to understand that you’d only seen a fraction of the truth. That Pero had shielded you from his reality from the very beginning.

Still, there was a silver lining to it all, because the fact that he’d done that meant that his love for you was more powerful than all that. It meant that the light which he’d found in his feelings for you, was strong enough to hold all that darkness at bay. You chose to focus on that, and only that, since it was likely the only thing that would be strong enough to reach into Will’s heart too.

And after nearly a month of seemingly fruitless efforts, it finally paid off. Well… sort of.

You were sitting in a chair which stood against the furthest wall from where he was chained, the one where the viewing glass was, and you were talking quietly to yourself. Pero wasn’t there that day, he was taking care of the horses’ hooves, which had enabled you to sneak down there without him knowing. Something that you did whenever you got the chance.

Not because there was anything you felt like you needed to hide from him, but just because you suspected that your captive might sooner respond to you if his nemesis wasn’t in the room. And since your partner refused to leave you alone with him for even a second, this was the only way to cultivate your own relationship with Will.

“We’re having a girl,” you said quietly, looking down at the little piglet that you were resting on the top of your belly, just because it fit so perfectly there. “Can you imagine Pero with a baby? I kinda struggle to myself, but I know that he’s gonna be good at it. He’s incredibly loving and tender whenever he gets the chance.”

You casually paused then, giving him the chance to respond if he wanted to. You kept the topic mainly on Pero, since that was the common ground between you, hoping that he’d eventually feel compelled to either object to something that you said, or just respond out of annoyance. But he remained silent, so you kept going after a few moments.

“It’s a bit strange to know that the father of your child is perhaps the deadliest human being on the planet. Especially when I’ve never seen him be evil. Because that’s the thing that most people assume, isn’t it? That you can’t be a killer and a good person, that they’re mutually exclusive. But even though I’ve seen him at his worst, I still don’t see evil in him, only fear and doubt. The same things that I see in you.”

He wasn’t showing any signs of listening to you, so you were about to call it a day before your partner would begin to wonder where you’d gone.

“You’re a fool…” the man on the floor whispered barely audibly, making your ears prick with interest and surprise.

“What?” you carefully prompted, hoping that he’d keep going.

“He will kill you,” he continued after a brief pause. “That’s what we are…”

“How do you mean?” you prodded, still trying to spur him into carrying on, because no matter what he said, just the fact that he was finally talking was a victory.

“We are death. Especially to those who care for us. Mark my words, there will come a moment when you’ll regret ever meeting him, and that will be the moment right before you and your family dies.”

He said it with a thick layer of acid to his tone, a deep and dark contempt on full display in every syllable, but you saw through the overtly mean façade, straight to the self-hatred that was boiling right beneath the surface.

“I don’t believe that that’s true, but I can understand why you feel that way,” you said earnestly, knowing that it would provoke him.

“You understand nothing…” he growled, taking the bait. “You don’t know what he really is… the things that I had to stop him from doing every day while we were in training. He’s an animal, and he always will be.”

He was clearly trying to drive a wedge between you and Pero, and you weren’t sure if it was because of his conditioning, continually pushing him to finish his last mission and end your life, one way or another. Or, if it was merely the words of a broken man, trying to make the people around him hurt as much as he did. But you were sure about the fact that he was dead wrong.

“If you truly believed that then you never would’ve invited him to meet your family, but I know that you did,” you challenged, not letting him get the upper hand in the dialogue. “I know that you wished for him to come and visit, that you missed him every day and that your family never felt complete without him.”

He looked at you as though you’d just stabbed him in the kneecap, but he seemed more confused and hurt than angry, and since he didn’t respond, you set about explaining how you knew that.

“You and I have met before. I know that you didn’t live here, but you must’ve worked quite close to my neighbourhood because I often saw you at the store on Hillstreet, the one I mostly use for my weekly groceries. We even spoke a couple of times. You introduced me to Lin Mae and Daisy once, after accidentally bumping into me in the pasta section, and we chatted for a while,” you reminded him, and saw his mind work to try and locate the memory.

Your few encounters had been brief and no more than what anyone would expect of temporary conversations between strangers, but you were good at reading what people left out of their tales, so you’d known from the start that this man had secrets and demons. And while you might never have imagined that he’d been an assassin, you’d always been able to see his pain.

“You never told me anything specific, but I could tell from your behaviour and the gaps in your stories, that something was missing. And when I met Pero and learned about your shared history, I knew right away that he was that missing piece. I know that you loved him. Despite whatever horrors you went through as boys and young men, he was everything that you had for a long time, and you loved him every bit as much as you loved your wife. And that’s not a guess, Will. I know that this is true, as surely as I know that I’m alive, so you can stop trying to scare me with your broken mind and conflicted thoughts. I’m not stupid enough to not be afraid of you, but I’m also not stupid enough to believe the ramblings of someone that doesn’t even know who he is anymore.”

That made the man before you shrink, even though that seemed to go against his still very weak physique. He was little more than a shell now, and there was every reason to think that he would never recover, but you still hoped for a miracle.

“He will always be your brother, William. Despite everything you’ve done to each other, he still loves you. That’s the only reason why you’re still alive, and while I’m sure that you’d rather not be… I want you to know that there’s a family standing before you right now. Not a big one, but one that’s willing to take you in and care for you, all the same. Don’t throw it away without giving it a chance.”

He wouldn’t look at you, and you didn’t need him to. He had heard you, and that was as much as you could ask of him for now. You got up and picked up the chair to take it with you as you left the room.

“You’re a fool…” he repeated himself, still quietly but with much more force to the words this time.

Stopping on the threshold of the cell, you turned back to look at him, and he was meeting your eyes now.

“…if you think for one second that you will ever be safe around me,” he finished, and you could tell from his expression that he was expecting you to find those words at the very least uncomfortable.

But you felt only sad.

“If that’s true, then I pity you,” you replied softly, meeting his hateful glare with nothing but care, which only seemed to further vex him. “No one should go through life so alone.”

He just kept staring at you, so you left the room and closed the door, feeling positive despite the gloomy atmosphere. Because as bad as the poor man still was, this was progress. You locked the cell and then left the bunker, starting the slow walk back to the house in your slightly waddling fashion now that the little one was only about a month away. But as you reached the outdoor fireplace, something made you turn your head to the left, and when you saw what it was, you stopped.

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

Pero heard you long before you came into view among the shrubs, but he didn’t say anything. He knew that you’d notice him, one way or another, and he wasn’t sure of what he could say that wouldn’t sound accusatory or angry. And sure enough, you looked to the side just as you were about to pass him, and the look in your eyes when you realized that it was him, was all the confirmation that he needed as to what you’d been doing.

You stopped and turned to face him with slow, measured movements, taking your time to buy yourself a moment to think, which was fine with him, because he really did want to know what the hell you were thinking.

“I’m sorry…” you started, sounding every bit as apologetic as the words suggested, but it did little to soothe him. “I thought that he might open up to me better if you weren’t there.”

That did sound like the sort of reasoning that you would have, but even so, it was not good enough to justify putting yourself and your baby in that kind of danger.

��I know that you don’t agree,” you tried to appease him, “but it worked. He talked to me, honey.”

As surprising and positive as that was to hear, it still wasn’t a good enough reason. Nothing was.

“Try this again, and I will change the locks so that you can never go down there again,” he warned, surprising himself with how hard he sounded.

“Pero… I’m the only one that’s gotten through to him. If we’re gonna have any hope of saving his life then you have to let me build a relationship with him,” you reasoned, and while he knew that you were entirely correct, it made no difference at all.

He stood up and stepped closer to you, reaching out to take your hand as soon as he was close enough, and then put his other hand on the side of your belly. Then he looked into your eyes and tried to convey every thought and every feeling that he was having in that moment, but couldn’t articulate for the life of him.

“I. Don’t. Care.”

A shiver passed through you at that, as you felt everything that he was cramming into those three little words and realized what he was saying.

Nothing matters more than you. More than her. More than us.

Nothing.

But you weren’t one to be controlled. If he knew one thing about you, it was that he would never be able to expect you to just do as he said, no matter how fervently he insisted. If you had been so inclined, he wouldn’t have had to send you off to a fucking island in the middle of the pacific with no means of getting yourself back. He loved that side of you as much as he dreaded it, because it made you strong but also unpredictable.

“He still loves you,” you countered, still unwilling to just leave things be and focus on taking care of yourself for now, and he sighed at your endless defiance.

“I love you, pintora, and that is a fulltime job these days, so forgive me for not having the energy to care all that much about the man that still wants to kill you.”

“But that’s my point, Pero,” you persisted, even as he began to drag you back towards the house. “You both still care about each other, and I’m the unifier between you. I’m the one that can reach you both and reunite you.”

“And my point is that even if that’s true, this is not the time for any reunion. We have our own lives to tend to.”

“So we just leave him down there by himself while we go off and build a family without him? No… I’m not gonna do that, honey.”

“Are you not even a little bit worried about what he can do to you? To all of us?” he challenged, truly fearing that you weren’t seeing the reality of your circumstances right then.

“Of course I am, I’m not stupid. But I’m also not cold or uncaring, and you can stop pretending that you are too, because I know you. Deep down, you miss him more than you’ve ever missed anything.”

He didn’t have a response to that, because it was damned well true, but it was also not what he wanted to think or talk about for the foreseeable future.

“Can we just pretend to be a normal couple for a minute and talk about nurseries and baby stuff, not killers and brainwashing?” he pleaded, to which you rolled your eyes but then conceded with a gentle nod.

-=¤=-

Later that day, you went upstairs to take a bath while Pero helped Dean clear the table and clean dinner away. And much like every time that he and your father had been alone lately, the subject inevitably turned to the unfortunate captive out in the woods.

“You do realize that you can’t keep him down there indefinitely, right? As safe as it might feel for now, sooner or later you’re gonna have to deal with him,” Dean prompted, making Pero scoff.

“Oh, your daughter is already on top of that.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that she spent the hour that I was in the stables with you today, alone down there with him. And if I know her, she was in the cell with him the whole time,” Pero explained, and just saying those words put a sour taste in the back of his throat.

“Shit…” the older man breathed, obviously equally unhappy with this development. “That’s not good. If she feels like she’s making progress then neither of us are gonna be able to keep her out of there.”

“I have already warned her that I will change the locks if I must.”

“Yeah, like that’s gonna stop her…” your father sighed, shaking his head in what seemed like defeat, even though the battle for your safety had only just begun.

“Dean…” Pero almost whispered now, as real fear constricted his chest. “I’m really scared that she’s gonna make a mistake. That he’s gonna delude her into trusting him and get her to lower her guard. He was always the best of us at infiltration and manipulation and that’s not a skill that Lang would’ve stripped him of.”

“No. But you’re not giving Bee enough credit here,” the older man reminded him with a sharp brow. “She’s smart, and tremendously good at reading people, especially when it comes to what they themselves don’t realize that they’re after. She won’t be fooled, son. Even by someone like William.”

“I hope you’re right. Because if he lays a finger on her… I will douse him in acid and leave him there to die slowly.”

“If it comes to that, I’ll help you. But let’s not start digging graves just yet. I still have the utmost faith in my daughter, and I truly do believe that if anyone can reach William, it’ll be her. She managed to tame you, after all,” your dad finished with a wink, making the younger man smile despite his worries.

Dean’s solidness and calm reasoning was soothing to Pero, particularly when it came to his fears and worries about you, so the conversation left him feeling better. There was something about knowing that those same characteristics existed in you as well, that made him feel like everything would somehow be okay. And he needed that feeling more than usual on that day.

He stepped up to the older man while opening his arms in a silent request for a hug, which was warmly received, and when Dean’s long, muscular arms wrapped around his back and held him close, Pero felt safer than he had in a very long time.

“You are the best father anyone could ask for. Thank you,” he mumbled into the man’s shoulder.

“And I couldn’t have hoped for a better partner for my treasured only daughter, so thank you right back, my beloved boy.”

===============

Link to Part 25

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

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

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero x reader #modern!pero #modern!au #the great wall modern au #pedro pascal characters #sirowsky stories

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marvel-and-mischief · 2 years ago

Text

❄️ December Writing Challenge ❄️

Day 23. Wedding

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

December Writing Challenge masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you not like my sister?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like to start again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#wwdilfcember #december writing challenge #Pero Tovar #Pero #Tovar #Pero Tovar x reader #Tovar x reader #Pero x reader #the great wall #pedro pascal

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spookyxsam · 2 years ago

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Down and out with pneumonia, preceptor canceled her day of clients because her whole family is home sick, kiddo is at her nana’s for the day and hubby is on shift at the fire station. And we’re set to have some severe thunderstorms rolling through this afternoon 😍

Looking like a couch cuddling, psychotherapy studying, pharmacology card making, fanfic reading, tumblr scrolling, GoT Season 4 watching kind of day…

Oh, and this little bum for good measure. Hers loves a good Pedro binge with mama as you can clearly see 😂

If any has any great multi chapter, one shot, etc Pedro fics… I’m open to suggestions! I love them all and they’re legit what keep me going through the hell that is grad school.

#javier pena fic #frankie morales #oberyn martell #pedro pascal #grad school #boston terrier #joel the last of us #i am sick #thunderstorms #fanfiction recommendation #joel x reader #joel fanfic #pero x reader #narcos #javier pena x you #cuddles #study motivation

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mybworlds · 28 days ago

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Chapter 2

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Summary: You are a princess, you should act like a proper damsel, but you are not and you don't want to be. Luckily, you have an ally on your side.

Warnings: use of you, typical sexism, the main character has female features, but I don't describe her in detail, the image is only meant to represent the moment, nothing else. Fighting against the conventions of the time, the main character wears both women's and men's clothes. Tovar in this story is the protagonist's bodyguard and a knight. Violence graphic. Romantic and sexual tension (?). More warnings will follow in later chapters.

A/N Hi everyone, some of you asked me to follow up on a story that I wasn't entirely sure about giving a next chapter to, but a new idea was cooking in my head and so here it is. I don't think this story will be very long, but let's see if I can come up with any other ideas.

If you want, let me know if you like it, and how you would continue it if necessary. Comments are welcome 🥰

“I still can’t believe it!”

You are walking back and forth in the woods repeatedly crushing a pile of dry leaves, making a continuous noise.

Tovar follows your movements with his eyes, keeping an eye on the dark trees around you.

“I have to talk to my father, I can’t believe…” you’re about to say, but Tovar stands up and comes towards you and puts his hands on your shoulders and you stop talking, but look him in the eyes.

“Princesa,” he shakes his head “As much as I wish it were that simple, you know you can't just go back to the castle like this. That man will have already told everyone his lies. You are in danger.” he says.

“We.” you correct him. You don't want him to be harmed too. You're already afraid enough for your father who trusts that man so much and that might agree to anything the counselor tell him. You don't want Tovar to be in danger because of you too.

One corner of his mouth curls up, he shakes his head, “No, princesa.” He places his hands on your cheeks, gently caressing them with the pads of his thumbs. “You. Not me. You are in danger, but I swear on what little honor I have left that I will protect you until the end. Va bien? Now enough talking. Come on.” He adds, taking his hands off your cheeks and pulling a dagger from his side. “We’re not far from our secret place.”

You smile. Your secret place.

When you discovered that clearing, he had just taught you how to shoot a bow and your hands were covered in pink blisters. He looked at your hands, turning them delicately between his own before taking a piece of cloth that you had stolen from the castle, he had wet it in the river water and then he had covered your wounds.

Although his appearance does not suggest sweetness or delicacy, towards you he has always been. His dark eyes and that scar have always scared your mother who was reluctant in having him as your bodyguard, but you were never afraid of him, on the contrary. He has always and only intrigued you. He's not a very talkative guy, but he answers any of your questions, listens to you, protects you and has taught you everything that no one else would ever dare to teach you. You think highly of him.

After dressing your wounds, you shared an apple that you grabbed on the fly from one of the farmers and Tovar chuckled. In the background there was only the incessant flow of the river, every now and then one looked up at the other.

“Are you going to teach me how to shoot a bow again, right?” you asked him after a while.

“Sure. When all the blisters are gone,” he tells you. “I promise.” You relax, smiling and giving him a look. “What?”

“Will you also teach me how to use the sword?” you ask him.

He furrows his eyebrows in surprise, but then smiles at you, “If you want, princesa.” your smile widens “Did I say something funny?”

“I like it when you call me that. And I really like your accent.” You answer him smiling and looking him in the eyes.

He chuckles, looking away from you and out at the river, “I’ll teach you whatever you want.”

Today, your secret place is shrouded in darkness, only your footsteps and the clip-clop of your horse's hooves can be heard, an improvised torch provides light.

The river flows quietly, the small nocturnal animals chirp and hoot, Pero helps you not to slip grabbing your hands, as you approach the river.

“We're staying here for tonight.” he says looking around, then looks at you. "Mierda!" you look at him questioningly “You must be freezing, how stupid I am!” he exclaims.

“I’m not cold,” you reply, puzzled.

“Well, your body tells a different story.” he replies raising an eyebrow, you look down at your chest and understand what he means, you bend an arm so as to cover yourself, as he takes off his cloak and places it over your shoulders, completely enveloping you.

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing the man's warm cloak a little tighter around you.

He nods as if to say you're welcome.

You approach a kind of cave hidden behind a waterfall, you remember the cold you felt hiding there that day. Pero hides the horse behind a big sequoia, as you walk along the little path behind the cascade.

A few moments later the man reaches you, “We’re staying here tonight,” he says.

You nod thoughtfully.

“I still can't believe what we experienced!” you exclaim scratching your hair.

He breathes as he sits against the rock wall of the cave, “You need to rest. Maybe tomorrow we’ll think of a solution.” he suggests.

“Pero, I want to go to my father. He will understand. He knows that I could never plot anything against anyone. It is true, I want to be free and I do not want to do what he orders me, but from that to conspiring!”

“I know, princesa. Surely after a night's rest everything will be better."

You know sleep won’t help your cause, but you really need sleep.

“Can I sleep next to you?” you ask.

“Yes, come.” he tells you and you join him, resting your back against the rock and then resting your head against a smooth rock.

“Sleep well.” he tells you.

You open and close your eyes often, unable to relax as you would like, but the adrenaline of your escape and the fear of not being believed by your father do not help you. You just wanted to be free to choose your own future, you just wanted to be able to do what your nature desires, you never thought that this temperament of yours would be the perfect pretext for such an accusation.

“Don’t.” says Tovar turning his head towards yours.

You take a deep breath, placing your hands on the sides of your body. You would like to relax, but the voice of your father's advisor and his possible infinite lies echo in your head.

“Try to relax. Tomorrow we will try to enter from the passage behind the portrait of the fat knight.” the man suggests.

In truth, the portrait of the fat man is a name you invented when you explained to Pero about the existence of a secret passage that no one had used for years. The fat knight was an ancestor of yours.

He places a hand on yours and you turn your head towards him, “Relax, we’ll make it.”

You love this about Pero, he always knows what to say to you even if he doesn't mean it at all. But when he sees you so upset and down, he never inflicts any further blows that can make you feel worse.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me,” you tell him, his fingers squeezing your hand just a little tighter as if in a plea.

The contact of his hand, the incessant splash of the water and the silence in your makeshift refuge help you more or less to relax and allow you to rest a little.

When you wake up, you have Pero's cloak completely enveloping you and you are almost completely curled up on yourself.

You open and close your eyes, it's still very cold and timid rays of sun filter through the waterfall creating a rainbow of colors. Pero is still resting, but it's a light rest because he frowns every now and then and barely grips his dagger that lies there beside him.

You want him to rest a little longer, you just wrap yourself in his cloak and you try to think of a plan to talk to your father. Pero's idea is very good, but you fear that the advisor has placed guards everywhere with the order of course of your father, the King.

You must know what has been said about you to your people. You will wear a hood and then you can see and hear if false rumors have been spread about you and your guard.

It's a good plan.

You sit down silently sticking a dagger in your boot and adjusting your dress, you leave the cloak near the man, you don’t want him to wake up. You already know that he’d prevent you from carrying out your plan.

Silently, you slide down the rock face and reach the horses. Pero always hides them in the same place so it's easy to find them, reach them and spur away from there.

Your horse runs along the vast expanses of flowery meadows and you cross a forest that separates you from the teeming village. You leave the horse at its entrance and put on a hood as you had decided, you mingle with the peasants who don't pay too much attention to your presence. Dressed like that, no one would notice you and that's a good thing considering the amount of posters portraying you and Tovar inviting anyone who saw you to hand yourselves over and in exchange they would receive a significant quantity of silver coins.

You cannot believe.

That was exactly what you feared. That son of... you try to contain your thoughts, but it's so hard. You take a deep breath Before starting to walk along its streets, people are busy buying items of all kinds and types, children run after an old blackened ball.

You frown, those people, your people, even buy spoiled fruit and vegetables, the harvest seems to be extremely small and yet you passed by until yesterday among lush fields of wheat, but this doesn't seem to be what you ran into at all.

But if that's not the wheat you saw, then where did it go? You frown, you are terrible rulers if you allow your people to live like this.

The man your father trusts so much is giving him bad advice. Is he deliberately giving bad advice so as to cause great discontent among the people?

After what you've seen, you're ready for anything and any low blow from that man.

At that moment, some palace guards are preparing to patrol the streets of the village and you, suddenly unsure of what to do, almost run in an inn.

The interior is rather damp, smelly, dusty. You have never been in a tavern and so you are rather intrigued by the many cups that a couple of women distribute at the tables and another guy with a rather grim air who stands behind a wooden counter. The interior is mostly made of wood, only the walls are made of stone.

“Do you want something to drink?” one of the two ladies asks you.

You, taken by surprise, turn your head towards her but she doesn't show any sign of having recognized you. She looks at you instead with a bored expression, "Yes. Some beer." you say.

Pero never let you drink it, even though you've always been quite intrigued by the little bag he always carries at his side. He always told you it was water, but from the smell it doesn't seem to be at all.

You sit at a wooden table, waiting for a drink. At that moment the door of the inn opens again and you glimpse two men entering and passing you.

Damn.

You turn your head the other way in an attempt to camouflage yourself as best you can from their sight.

The two guys walk past you to the counter, you hear them chattering about a reward they're about to collect. Apparently one of their informants knows where the princess and her guard are. You narrow your eyes as you feel your hands sweating, “Here.” You jump when the young woman places a cup filled with a thick, dark liquid next to your hands.

You drink it for the first time. It's good, but it tastes so strange. You wish Pero could see you!

“That’s three coins,” says the woman. You don't have any money on you, so you look at the woman with a puzzled expression. “You don't think I'm going to not let you pay just because you have that pretty face?!" she continues, you don't know what to do “Hank, here there's a girl here who's trying to screw us!" she blurts out, alerting not only the man, but also the other two guys who had just come in.

“What’s going on?” asks the guy named Hank.

“This one doesn’t have the money to pay.” she blurts out placing her hands on her hips.

You look into their eyes and when the man is about to strike you, or imagine he is about to strike you, you are faster and you pull the dagger out of your boot and point it at the man's throat.

The woman next to him jumps in fear, the man is speechless, while the other two guys, seeing the scene, jump to their feet and unsheath their swords.

“Easy,” the man says, raising his hands in surrender.

“Now I understand who you are!” the woman exclaims. “The wanted one, the princess.” She adds, “You go and call the guards.” She orders the two men without taking her eyes off your face.

In one swift movement, you reach the first of the two men and stab him in the shoulder. You push the weapon all the way in until you see the tip of the weapon exit his body, just as you were taught.

The man screams in pain, but that doesn't stop him. Instead, he lunges at you, knocking you into a table and making you lie down on it, spilling everything that was on it. You grab the dagger and he screams again, you twist it in the wound, while he puts his hands on your neck.

Even though you are gasping for air and your vision is completely blurry, you continue to strike your attacker repeatedly. Blood splashes onto your hand and face, but despite this violence, the man now holds your neck with both hands.

When you are completely losing your grip and your eyes are about to roll back into your skull, the man is jerked backwards and is pierced by a sword. You roll onto your side as you hear more screams and then silence, a dull silence.

You're about to open your eyes, but someone lifts you up on his shoulders like you're a sack of potatoes, you open your eyes and kick repeatedly screaming "Put me down!" but whoever he is, he doesn't stop or give in despite your repeated kicks.

#pero tovar #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #pero x female reader #pero x f!reader #pero x you #pedro pascal #Pedro pascal as pero Tovar #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the wall

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brewsterispunkk · 1 year ago

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marriage of convenience, part three

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader , enemies to lovers!pero tovar x reader

WC: 2.4k

summary: reader is forbidden from going to town alone; pero makes a discovery

A/N: sorry It’s taken me so long! here’s part 3, babes :) send me feedback!!

PART THREE

You awoke the next morning with a sour taste in your mouth and tired eyes.

You hadn’t gotten much sleep. Last night, after the intrusion of your cousin and his friend, you decided to sleep with a dagger under your pillow. Whether that be for your brother or for the elusive Spaniard, you weren’t sure. Either way, you’d finally found sleep when the sun was beginning to rise and your mother began rousing from her own slumber.

Breakfast was a stilted thing—all bumping elbows and awkward glances.

Your mother was still angry, that much you could tell. She was like that: it took her time to get over things that affected the family. And harming a visitor under your own roof—albeit over a misunderstanding—affected your family’s honor. Still, Tovar didn’t seem the type to say anything to anyone. Or rather, to say anything at all. He barely spoke a word at breakfast.

Now, you sat waiting for Lisbeth to arrive. The two of you were set to go to market and trade—your mother often put you in charge of her dealings now that she was too often bound to the house to care for your ailing father.

Petyr was nowhere to be seen, and you silently thanked the gods. He was the last person you wanted to see.

You’d worn one of your long sleeved dresses with a high neckline today, despite the heat. You wanted to cover the bruises he’d given you the night before.

A sharp knock on the wood of your front door sprung you to your feet.

“Who might that be?” Your mother called from the kitchen, where she was sorting herbs for the market.

“Lisbeth, I’m sure,” you answered as you made your way to the door.

“I didn’t know she would be accompanying you,” she tutted.

You stopped, turning to face her, confused.

“You love Lisbeth,” you puzzled.

It was true; the two of you had grown up together, despite her father’s greater fortune. Your mothers had been with child at similar times, and had remained friends until Lisbeth’s mother’s untimely death five years ago.

“I do, dear. It’s just that I would like you back here by noon, and you always take your time when the two of you go together.”

“Noon?” you asked incredulously. That was hardly enough time to conduct all your business.

“Yes,” she said, hands on her hips. “I need your help cutting William’s hair. He looks positively beastly with that mane.”

“Surely you can manage–”

“And his companion’s, of course.”

You started, opening your mouth to protest before your mother held up a hand to stop you.

“I will hear no argument. Be home by midday.”

You sighed as Lisbeth knocked again, a bit firmer this time.

“Your friend is waiting, it is bad manners to keep her for so long,” your mother added as you opened the door and left, a smile in her voice.

- -

“You will not believe what I heard as I was breaking my fast.”

Your ears pricked at Lisbeth’s voice. She’d made it a third of the way to the village square before she’d begun telling you of what she heard from the servants and her father’s associates the night before.

Lisbeth’s family was considerably more well off than yours—you’d always known it. Where your mother had married a kind blacksmith, hers had married a wealthy Lord. Lisbeth’s father was a Lord in his own right, descended from a pedigree that could be traced back to Charlemagne. Some of the wealth and status had worn off through the generations, but the title held. He was an important man, and kept a reasonably sized manor and house. Because of this, your life looked quite different from hers.

Day and night, her father had associates from all corners of the world bringing him news of his business on their travels and the goings on of the world outside. In addition to that, Lisbeth’s family could afford servants. And if any small bit of information got past her father’s associates, the servants of her house were a spy network of their very own. So, the two of you were well informed on the goings on of the town, even if you weren’t involved directly in all of its happenings.

“What?” You asked.

“Roslyn told me that she overheard from Kit that two girls from Bay Street were attacked yesterday.”

You balked at her and found her own face grave. You gulped, sneaking glances to the trees around you.

You didn’t live too far from the heart of your village, but your little cottage was far enough away to be considered on the outskirts. You had to pass through small pockets of trees to get to the bustling part of your little town. The wildlife and distance from your house to the city had never bothered you–until now.

“Attacked?” The words were hushed as they left your mouth.

“Yes,” she said. “By two men. I heard scarcely more than that, but apparently they lurk in wait for young girls.”

“You’re sure?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Then we shall be on our guard,” you blew out a breath, wondering what the hell was going on in your sleepy little town to have so many unusual things occurring. First the return of your cousin and now this. “I encountered that strange man again last night.”

“What?” Lisbeth gripped your arm tighter as you walked. “The same one who spied on us in the forest?”

“The very same.”

“What–when?”

“In the small hours last night, after I walked you home.”

Lisbeth sighed your name. “I told you you should have let me go alone! Strange people are about in town at those hours.”

“I found him in my own house, Lisbeth!”

She just stared at you dumbly. You laughed.

“And he is most unagreeable. He scared me half to death last night. He is traveling with my cousin, William. Do you remember him?”

“Handsome William?” She laughed in disbelief. “Of course I do. With a face like that, how could I forget?”

“Yes, well. They travel together. That is all I know of it. They are to stay here for the season I believe. Until harvest, my mother said. I suspect I shall hear more on the matter later.”

“Maybe it is high time we find husbands after all,” Lisbeth said wryly. You scowled.

“You may have them both,” you kicked a rock on the dusty path in front of you. “I suspect he feels nothing but contempt for me anyway. I held a knife to his throat last night.”

“To a guest?” Lisbeth gasped and you cringed. She was always the more superstitious one than you. “In your own home?”

“Yes, yes, I have already heard such scoldings from my mother.”

“It is an insult to the gods,” she mumbled. “It brings bad luck.”

“Well, I already have enough of that,” you huffed before continuing. “What other news do your ears bring you?”

“Hmm,” Lisbeth hummed. “Rather than the…ruffians about, nothing of importance. Moira, the miller’s girl is to be wed to some minor country lord—a cousin of theirs, I think.”

“You don’t say?” You nodded. “If there is hope for her, perhaps there is some for us as well.”

Lisbeth laughed. Though she was not quite as old as you, she was by no means “fresh” as far as the marriage market went. Despite her beauty, many a nosy mother had begun to remark on her age.

“There was something about your brother as well.” she said uneasily. “But if you don’t want to hear it—”

“I do,” you said almost immediately. “What did he do this time?”

“Apparently,” she began carefully. “He has considerable debts. To both some other merchants, and to the crown.”

You sighed, dropping your face to your hands.

This was just like Petyr. He already had insurmountable debts from his years of breaking the law and gambling, but to add on top of this? Your father was ill and only getting worse in his age. He could barely walk as it was. It would cost money to find a healer, and with this, you knew Petyr would not only do nothing to contribute or help with finances , but he would no doubt begin to steal from your parents again. He’d done it before. You sighed again.

Maybe it was for the best William returned—surly companion and all.

- -

You returned from the market a little after midday and your mother looked so stressed that she didn’t even seem to notice.

“Ah!” She exclaimed when she saw you, looking up from William, who was seated in front of her. His beard was gone, and your mother was beginning her work on trimming his wild hair. Behind her, Tovar looked bored as ever, hair still damp from what you assumed was a much needed bath.

“You’re here,” she sighed. “Good. I need you to finish up on William and get started on Mr. Tovar. I have got to help Graciela with untangling her weaving and then find where James and Hugo have gotten off to.”

You opened your mouth to argue—to tell her that you would help Gracie and the boys, anything but spending time with the rake in your kitchen—but she was off before you could get in a word edgewise, flitting from the room.

You sighed.

“Don’t sound so excited, cousin.”

“It is not you I find odious, William,” you sent a shooting look to the Spaniard behind him as you said it. He only snorted.

“Tovar doesn’t bite, I assure you,” William laughed as you began to cut away the mats in his long hair.

“Not unless asked to,” Tovar added, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. It made heat rise to your cheeks.

William reached back to smack his companion who only scowled back at him.

“He’s jesting,” he assured you. “We are guests in your home. We would never lay a hand on you or your family. We are here to help.”

“Until the harvest, if what I’ve heard is correct?”

You watched his golden-brown locks fall to the floor in the evening light.

“You hear correct,” William hummed. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s condition. Tovar and I will do all we can to help with his woodworking while we are here.”

You felt your throat tighten at the emotion his promise made rise within you. You pursed your lips and cleared your throat.

“Thank you.”

“He always was like a father to me, you know.”

“I know,” you patted his shoulder and smoothed his hair back. “All done.”

William rose from the chair, still taller than you, even after all these years. He smiled down at you and ruffled your hair.

“Thank you cousin.”

You smacked his hand away.

“Tovar, your turn.”

Tovar sighed, before taking William's seat in front of you.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“I find this no more pleasing than you do, Señora.”

You gritted your teeth at what he called you again. From his place by the hearth, William rolled his eyes.

“Please, cease to act like children for five minutes,” he said. “My head aches having to listen to it.”

You sighed and began cutting his thick, dark hair.

All the while, Tovar didn’t make a sound nor move a muscle. He was free of his armor, instead clad in a white linen shirt of your father’s. You couldn’t help but note how broad he was, even without the heavy armor. It made your cheeks heat up.

No, you scolded yourself. He is unpleasant and uncouth and a rake.

You shook your head and continued cutting, willing away the unwelcome feelings rising in you.

As you reached forward to cut a particularly gnarled piece of hair near his temple, Tovar suddenly reached and grabbed your forearm. You jumped—surprised by the sudden movement of it all–when you saw it: the sleeve of your dress had fallen down, revealing the deep-purple of your bruise.

You gasped, pulling your arm back, clutching it to your chest.

Tovar looked at you with unreadable eyes, brows furrowed. Your own eyes only held his for a moment before you turned on your heel and left the room.

- -

You couldn’t stop staring at him.

It was mortifying. Never had you been unable to tear your eyes from someone in this way before. But, to be fair, he had blindsided you.

After you’d cut Tovar’s hair, your mother had flitted into the room to shave his face and finally remove the jungle of hair that obscured it to you. What lay underneath was devastating.

He had deep-set, dark eyes that always seemed to be glowering at something. His left eye was bisected by what looked like an old scar, probably obtained in battle, you presumed. He and William were sellsords, after all, as you’d found out. He had a prominent, aquiline nose and plush lips under a small mustache that he’d instructed your mother to keep.

He was handsome, albeit in a roguish way. And you couldn't look away.

He hadn’t said a word to you since he saw the dark bruise on your wrist earlier. You didn’t know what he even would say, if anything. You doubted he even cared.

“Did you hear me?”

Your father’s voice tore your eyes from the mercenary eating across from you. You blinked.

“Pardon me?”

Your father’s kind eyes narrowed in a smile. You were glad he wasn’t so ill that we couldn’t join you for supper. It seemed you saw less and less of him lately.

“I said, I don’t want you going to the square alone any longer. I have heard talk of…unsavory people about recently.”

“I don’t go alone, though,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “Lisbeth and I walk together.”

“Lisbeth has been forbidden to go alone as well. She will no longer meet you here beforehand. From now on, you will have an escort.”

“What?” you asked, feeling a part of you deflate.

Your walks to the square and in the woods were the only times you could escape—could pretend you were anywhere but here. He couldn’t take that away from you. He couldn’t.

“It is decided,” your father replied, and you herald the sharp inhale of breath from the rest of the dinner table as they witnessed the exchange.

“Father, please.”

“It is decided,” he said in a deep, level voice. “It is for your own safety. Do you know what bands of criminals would do to a young girl like you?”

You were silent.

“Everyday, either Tovar or Petyr will escort you,” he continued and you started. No–anyone but Petyr. You stood up.

“Father please–”

Your mother slammed her hands on the table and sent you a piercing look. She said your name.

“That is enough,” she said. “Now sit down.”

You looked around the table at your family, eyes blurred with unshed tears. All of them avoided your gaze. All except Tovar.

You sniffed and pushed in your chair before turning on your heel and leaving, ignoring your mother’s cries after you.

- -

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fic #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar x you #pero x reader #pero tovar #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall

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prolix-yuy · 1 year ago

Note

For the bangathon - I got cowgirl! How could I not request Cognitive Dissonance cowboy Jack OR medieval cowboy Pero! Up to you to choose which one my love, thank you so much for treating us ❤️

Ohhhhhh man Cee, I was very tempted by Jack, but then Pero came up and told me it was his turn. How was I to deny him?

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Position: Cowgirl

Word Count: 1229

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, PiV sex, unprotected sex (don't be a fool wrap your tool), fingering, lil bit of spitting, shitty men that Pero has to run off. Reader does not speak Spanish for plot reasons.

Notes: This one got away from me but I don't regret a second of it.

The Spaniard lets you in when you knock on his door long after proper visiting hours. Out of armor he’s no less impressive, his shirt draped open over a deeply tanned and freckled chest. Your breath catches for a moment, realizing he could have paid for company tonight, but he’s thankfully alone.

He found you on the road, men following you as you struggled with your basket. The market had been fruitful today, but your trip was met with unwanted attention. Tears were streaking your face, hands shaking when his formidable horse clopped to your side. The men faltered, called him Spaniard (your only name for your savior) as he reached down to pluck your basket from your hands. Hitching it to a strap on his saddle, he reached for you next.

You gladly let him take you to town, settled behind him in the saddle. It was clear within moments that you didn’t share a common tongue when you tried to thank him. Instead he waved off your words and shrugged, swaying against you in the saddle. His face was etched in a scowl that seemed permanent, but his body was firm and warm against you. His touch had been respectful, eyes not even wandering.

It had been a long time since you’d been with a man, your young marriage cut short with a bloody end. A widow too soon, most treating you kindly but with sadness behind their eyes. And there had been no one new in town for so long. When he let you down and nodded his goodbye, your plan grew like the creeping heat in your body.

Standing in his doorway now you wonder if he’ll turn you away. If he’ll misconstrue it as payment for protection, instead of a desire to let strong hands touch you.

He steps aside, letting you into the modest room. The door closing should have made you nervous, but instead you’re thrumming with excitement, hands coming to your waist to fiddle with the leather ties. Normally this would begin with words, but since you shared none you hope your actions will speak enough.

The Spaniard begins unlacing his leather pants, coming up behind you to spread his hands over your shoulders. They’re hot and heavy, and your body sings at how they hold you like steel instead of glass. Turning, you urge him to sit on the edge of the bed. His heavy brow furrows but he sits, pliant in a way no man has ever been with you. It makes you giddy at what may come.

Making a show out of undressing, you slide laces through eyelets, drop layers to the floor as the Spaniard palms his cock through his half-opened pants. His eyes hood in desire, lips parted as he tugs his shirt over his head. The bruises and scars along his ribs falter your fingers, left in nothing but your shift. His eyes catch yours roaming his body, and the desire cracks away into a scowl. You realize your error as he grabs his shirt, moving as if to leave.

“No, wait, please…” you stutter, stepping to cup his face in your hands. He stills, eyes drifting shut as you stroke the rough scruff. Finally his muscles unclench, and before he can find the strength to run again you straddle his lap.

The Spaniard’s eyebrows shoot into his mop of hair, hands coming to your waist as you settle your cunt against his cock. Pressing your foreheads together, you whisper your name to him. After a breath, he whispers back, “Pero.”

Then, “Bonita.”

Unable to stand the emptiness any longer, you help him work his pants over his hips, the proud jut of his cock silky against your inner thigh. Grasping his length, you hear a soft choke catch in his throat as you line him up with your entrance.

“Bonita,” he says again, hand grasping your chin to direct you to look at him. You drown in the depths of his dark eyes, the thick lashes fanning against sweat-grimed skin. His thumb brushes over your lip, so tender it makes you ache.

He spits in his palm, bringing it between your legs as you watch with curiosity. Sliding it over his cock, now glistening, you realize how much better it would feel that way. An act so filthy to make you feel less pain. Who was this man?

Guiding you over his cock, snugly fitting the head just inside, you prepare for his girth to split you apart. Instead he surprises you again, his spit-slicked thumb sliding between your folds and circling something that sparks ecstasy in your womb. You grab at his shoulders, jaw dropped as that soft expression turns devious, rocking into your heat further and further as his wicked thumb pulls forth pleasure you’d only felt a handful of times.

“Pero,” you gasp, and his name from your lips flips something in him. He thrusts up sharply, pulling you to his chest as he fits his mouth to your neck. His lips are greedy, teeth scraping as he yanks you down on his lap, grinding up inside you. Banding his arm around your waist, he puts a hand in your hair to keep you right where he wants you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, rolling your hips in time with his thrusts. You’ve never been so bold but Pero’s growls and nips spur you to ride him. Everything between you is soaked, your arousal embarrassing if it weren’t for how good you felt. He’s groaning words you don’t understand into your skin, tugging down your shift to latch onto your nipple. The sharp press of his teeth as he rolls his tongue over the bud pulls a wretched moan out of your chest. He chuckles into the soft flesh, sucking softly before a harsher pull stutters your pace.

Something is creeping up around the edges of your mind, a building that frightens you with how much you want it. Pero hammers deep into you, bellowing before he pulls out and splatters his seed on your thighs and the inside of your dress. You stroke through his hair, gasping as you try to come down from that mystifying high, but Pero’s thick fingers plunge inside your cunt as his thumb strums over that blinding place he found before. You choke on your own breath as he presses and strokes and just as that pressure breaks into shuddering ecstasy he crashes your lips to his.

Pero kisses you through your throes, even when you’re sure you’ve bitten him, copper dancing on your tongue. He laps into your mouth, sucks your lower lip between his, murmuring something between gasps of air. When you finally slump against him, arms loose around his neck, he places a soft line of kisses along your shoulder, stroking your back as you try to breathe again.

“Pero, that was…” You try to explain any of how you feel, but as soon as you say his name he has you on your back in his bed, shift around your hips so the cool air can dance along your combined spends. His soulful eyes gaze down at you before his lips quirk into a devious little smile that makes your heart pound. He says something in his language, but don’t really need to translate:

“I’m not done with you yet.”

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall fic #prolix fics

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sirowsky · 2 years ago

Text

Clumsy Heart

I'm back with yet another thing that I wasn't supposed to be working on, and yet another Pero one shot. But, the procrastination demon is holding me hostage, so the writing goes where it goes and I bumblingly follow.

I'm dedicating this one to the wonderful @myfavpedrothings who was kind enough to help give me some inspiration when mine was nonexistent <3

Description: You and Pero are housemates and just friends when he comes home and kisses you one day, which unavoidably changes things.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero x female reader (no description), fake dating, friends to lovers, no y/n, minor angst, takes place at Christmas-time but not heavily holiday-themed. Word Count: 3352

Author’s Masterlist

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You were in the middle of baking your fourth batch of Christmas goodies when you heard the front door open and what sounded like more than one person walking in. Even as you kept carefully spritzing the gingerbread cookies, your ears pricked, because it was extremely unusual for your housemate to bring anyone home. Pero was quite the difficult man to piece together, and strangers generally shied away from him, so the only people that he occasionally showed up with were probably paid for.

That didn’t bother you, though. He was entitled to feed his needs like everyone else. What you felt was pity that no one seemed to want to look closer at him, because he really was very sweet when he wanted to be, and you felt certain that for the right person, he’d be like that all the time. The problem there was that he also didn’t let anyone look too closely at him. There was a tall and thick wall around him that you’d only gotten to peer over a handful of times.

You heard low and muffled voices coming from the hall, which only further surprised you, because he’d never brought any men back before. It was usually inebriated young women who giggled incessantly and much too loud. Still, it didn’t bother you. For the simple reason that what you always heard from his room on those occasions, told you that he was much too rough of a lover for you to ever be with. And that made it very easy to not even think of him like that.

Pero was your friend, maybe even your best friend, because he never lied or tried to deceive you. Granted, he didn’t talk much to begin with, but whenever he did, the things he said were always forthright. He didn’t take hints or respond at all to anything but direct and honest communication, and you loved that about him. Because there was such a comfort in knowing that even if you managed to offend him or even piss him off, he would still appreciate your honesty and quickly let it go.

You didn’t look up from your cookies as the men walked into the kitchen, waiting to be invited into their conversation instead of just adding yourself to it. It might be a shared household but that didn’t mean that everything he did automatically concerned you. A courtesy that he always extended to your activities as well, although that might just be due to a complete disinterest on his part.

“Hola, querida,” you suddenly heard his most honey-drizzled tone of voice right by your ear, startling you into looking up.

And he was just an inch from your face, giving you no time to even react before his lips were on yours. It was brief and seemingly casual, the kind of kiss that people in long-term relationships gave each other in greeting, which utterly befuddled you. Because that was far from anything that you’d ever been to one another.

“Ay, more gingerbread, Galleta?” he hummed as he pulled back, trying to keep sounding completely casual and relaxed, but to your ears, there was uncertainty hidden within the words. “Keep this up, and we will soon drown.”

Hearing his normal pet-name for you made your mind break out of the confused haze, letting you think clearly. And what you thought was that something had to be rattling him. Something significant enough that he was willing to use deception to try and escape it. And the only thing that was different from his usual routine, the only cause that you could link it to, was the unknown man that had stepped into the kitchen behind him.

He was slightly shorter and had a smaller body-type than Pero, although he looked fit. And to be fair, everyone that stood next to your housemate’s impressive shoulder-breadth, looked small. The stranger’s eyes were blue, but while you felt like he was probably a kind man at heart, something about the lines around his mouth and brows made you think of harshness and battlefields and anger.

You knew that Pero had a difficult past, filled with loss and death, poverty at times, and a lot of loneliness, so it wasn’t hard to imagine that this man had played a part somewhere in that story. But whoever he was, what mattered was that your friend was obviously deeply affected by his presence, so instead of telling him off, you played along.

“Well, I’m planning on gifting most of it to the Helping Hands foundation’s Christmas dinner for the homeless, so you can relax,” you chirped, deliberately patting his dark shirt with your flour-covered hands, before returning to the poor cookie that had been ruined when the shock had made you drop the spritz.

“Who’s your friend?” you asked while getting back to your baking, still not paying the stranger any direct attention until you knew more about him.

“Yes, uh… This is William. He’s an old brother in arms,” Pero offered, obviously holding back details on purpose.

He trusted you not to ask, not to pry, and you weren’t going to. Whatever this was about, it was clearly rocking him to his core, so if he needed you to just play his partner right now, then that’s what you would do. There’d be time for answers later.

“Nice to meet you, William. Pero calls me Cookie, or Galleta, for obvious reasons,” you chuckled, gesturing to the small army of brown little figures that were littering every flat surface of the kitchen.

“He always did like to call things as they were,” the stranger said, and there was something in his expression that made you feel like there might be some old quarrels sitting between the two men.

“Are you staying for dinner, William?” you asked, hoping to give yourself some time to map out a gameplan for how to keep up this lie, if it turned out that you’d have to spend the evening with him.

“No, no…” the stranger shook his head, smiling a little nervously. “I’m just passing through and happened to run into Tovar, I’ll be on my way shortly.”

“Oh, okay. Well, it was nice to meet you,” you smiled in return, and then refocused on your spritz while Pero offered to show William out.

But once the men had left the room, curiosity got the better of you and you snuck after them, eavesdropping out of sight as they reached the front door.

“It really was good to see you, man,” you heard the stranger say while presumably patting Pero’s shoulder.

You didn’t dare to peek around the corner at them, so you couldn’t tell if anything unspoken passed between them, but you noticed that your housemate didn’t reply, which seemed to sadden the guest.

“Look, I know that there’s a lot of water under our bridge, but I want you to know that I don’t care about any of that anymore. It was a different time, we need to move on,” William said, and after a long pause, you heard Pero sigh.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Hm. I guess I should’ve known better than to expect you to let go of a grudge,” the stranger chuckled in a warm, but slightly ironic tone.

“It was never in my nature,” Pero admitted. “But… it was still good to see you.”

Neither man spoke again after that, and moments later, William left. You didn’t bother trying to conceal that you’d eavesdropped, and instead walked out into the hall once you heard that the door had closed.

“What was that about?” you calmly demanded, while slowly approaching your friend, who immediately looked so ashamed that he could barely even meet your eyes.

“Something stupid… I just wanted to-… I didn’t know how to explain…” he fumbled, apparently utterly befuddled himself.

“Explain what to who?” you gently pressed, while he started treading on the spot, which you knew meant that he would soon either get himself riled up, or just leave.

“Nothing,” he said, using the word like a sword, hoping that it would cut this conversation off and that he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

But the man had kissed you. No way in hell were you just gonna let that hang between you like some dead fish, getting smellier by the minute. So, you stood your ground, challenging him not with words, but with a physical representation of stubbornness, which was crossing your arms and levelling your feet to the floor. Rooted, unmoving, but still demanding.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, keeping his eyes on his own feet, and you could tell from his general behavior that he was talking about the kiss.

But this time, one of his rare admissions of wrongdoing wasn’t enough.

“Pero… you kissed me. No matter what that man was to you, do you really expect me to settle for no explanation at all, after you used me like that?” you accused, and saw him flinch with the realization that you were right.

He lifted his head and met your eyes, and then the two of you just stood there for a long moment, while you waited for him to make a decision. He could either suffer the potential embarrassment of whatever it was that he was withholding, or he could endure your anger for however long you might choose to torture him. Neither option seemed to appeal to him, but in the end, he apparently decided that your friendship was too important to gamble with.

“I’ve known Will ever since we were boys,” he started, once more averting his gaze, but also starting to walk back towards the kitchen, so you followed and listened closely. “We went to school together, were in the army together, always stayed close to each other. But honestly, I couldn’t say if it was because of friendship or just habit.”

“How do you mean?” you asked, just as you got back to work with your cookies, giving him the freedom of not having you staring at him as he explained.

“Neither of us had anyone else,” he shrugged, but you heard a streak of sadness in the words. “So, we just… endured each other, no matter how angry we sometimes got or how bad things were from time to time. And then I got injured, badly enough that I was discharged from the army, and once we weren’t in the same place anymore, whatever friendship there might’ve been… just ended.”

“But then, why did he come here today? What was this about?” you questioned, pausing your work to meet his eyes again.

You almost instantly regretted it, though. Because he suddenly looked so broken. You’d seen him angry, disappointed and even sad, but you’d never seen him look like he might be wishing that he had never lived. That whatever pain he was feeling was somehow heavier than anything that the joys of life could ever lift him away from.

“I just ran into him in the street. Out of the blue,” he said, but he seemed a thousand miles away, looking at the kitchen window but seeing some other place and time. “He was smiling and happy, greeted me like nothing had happened. After I was discharged, he never called, never came to see me, and then he’s suddenly standing there acting like we’re still friends, and I just…”

“Froze?” you suggested when he didn’t pick up the thread again.

“Yeah. I didn’t know what to say. And then he starts telling me about his life, how he’s married and has three kids now, and how happy he is to finally have learned the meaning of life. Then, right after that little speech, he wants to know how I’m doing, and I realize that all I can tell him is that I have nothing but a roof over my head. That I have only one friend in the entire world, and only because I saved her life and because she somehow tolerates being around me.”

He was back to looking ashamed by the end of that, and you felt like there was such defeat hanging over his shoulders. As though William had somehow won, or bested him, even though no competition had been entered by either of them. And suddenly, you understood exactly why he’d kissed you.

“You told him that I was your partner, didn’t you? Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him pitying you. Of him thinking of you as being such a failure at life that you hadn’t even found someone to love,” you guessed, and he nodded meekly, refusing to look at you anymore.

Seeing that pain in him, that apparent conviction that he was indeed a failure and that he would never know what it was to have a loving family, really hurt you. So much that it was something of a shock to your system. You’d always cared about him and always wanted him to be happy, but you’d also resigned yourself to the understanding that you would never be able to help him with that. For the simple reason that he would never let you.

But what if he’d been thinking the same thing?

You were the one that had suggested buying a house together, fully expecting him to laugh or tell you that you were being stupid, only to be met by silent contemplation instead. Soon followed by an agreement, to your absolute amazement. Still, you’d assumed that he’d just found it to be a mutually beneficial deal, certain that he’d eventually pull out of it and disappear, since he really hadn’t seemed like a domestic type of person.

That was four years ago, so clearly, you’d been mistaken. And that was now making you wonder what else you might’ve misread about him. But more importantly, it was also making you rethink your own feelings. If he’d stayed with you for reasons beyond simplicity and comfort then maybe it was because he cared about you a lot more than you’d ever dared to imagine. And if so, you needed to figure out how you felt about that.

First though, you’d need to figure out if you were even on the right track here. This was all just guesswork, after all.

“Pero…” you started, but then trailed off, trying to think of a way to ask what you needed to ask without putting too much pressure on him.

This was quite possibly the only time that this topic would ever come up between you, and while you were aware that it could potentially break your friendship up, you had to know what he was feeling. It was too big of a thing to have gnawing at the back of your mind for the rest of your life.

“Why did you agree to buy a house with me?” you finally asked, keeping your voice soft to make sure that he wouldn’t feel like you were questioning his motives.

He shifted a little uncomfortably where he stood, but when he lifted his head and met your eyes again, he looked unimpressed and a little bored, which was his normal state of being.

“Because you asked,” he shrugged, trying to sound aloof but not quite managing it.

“I think there’s more to it than that,” you carefully pressed, feeling your cheeks begin to warm for some reason.

“You think so, hm?” he scoffed and then suddenly he was right in front of you, making himself look big, trying to crowd you and make you back off. “It makes no difference why, Galleta. If you don’t want me here anymore, just say so.”

He was almost leaning over you, but you knew what this was about, so you held your ground. For whatever reason, this topic was making him extremely uncomfortable, and the only way that he knew how to deal with feelings like that, was to try and kill the conversation. He was trying to scare you into leaving it alone, which only confirmed that this was something that the two of you needed to talk about.

“I do want you here, and you know that,” you calmly countered, reminding him that it took more than a little bullying to scare you. “I’d just like to know why that kiss felt so intimate and comfortable when we’ve never been anywhere close to a relationship like that. Tell me why it felt like you loved that entire moment, getting to pretend that we were together?”

Your words brought his fragile resolve to a breaking point, you could see that in his eyes. That there was something he desperately wanted to say, or ask for, but was utterly terrified of at the same time. He was locked in the same position, mere inches away from you, trying to keep the mask in place, trying to convince himself that there was some simple way out of this.

“Becau-…” he started, but then stopped himself when something inside of him shifted.

In the fraction of a second before his eyes closed, you could see how some strong emotion took hold of him, and it was like watching a dam break. Suddenly he was trembling, pinching his eyes shut and trying his damnedest to turn away from you, but something wouldn’t let him. And right then, you knew.

He loved you.

All this time, he’d stayed with you, hoping that you’d somehow figure it out so that he’d never have to have this conversation, because it was just too scary for him to even consider. What you had mistook for arrogance, or at the very least, a seriously skewed perspective of friendship, had always been his way of protecting himself from admitting his true feelings and risk rejection.

In a single second, your mind went through every memory you had of him, re-evaluating everything he’d ever said and done around you, and it all made so much sense that it made you feel dense for not realizing it sooner. But what about you? You still hadn’t thought about what you felt, or wanted. And now that you tried, you couldn’t find any answers.

Not until he opened his eyes again, drawing a jagged breath before letting you see the tears in them, the fear and the self-doubts that all burned him from the inside. Seeing that made your mind go blank, because suddenly your heart was too loud. It screamed everything that your brain was unable to decipher, forcing you to feel every pinch of sadness that you’d felt whenever Pero had brought other women home.

Every time that you’d subconsciously asked yourself why you needed to confirm to yourself that he was entitled to do that. Or felt ugly just because he hadn’t complimented a particularly nice outfit, even though you’d known that he wouldn’t. There were so many moments, such an abundance of evidence that was now telling you exactly how much denial you’d been in, just like him.

But no more. This was where it would end, because he was right there in front of you, silently offering you everything that he had to give, if you could just muster the courage to take it. You’d survived a lot in your life but finding that courage was somehow harder than anything you’d ever done. It was, however, also the most rewarding decision that you would ever make.

You’d found his preferences as a lover to be somewhat frightening from afar, but as it turned out, what you’d heard had been the sounds of a man that was trying to enjoy himself without passion. And what he became when he was able to live out his desires with someone that he had deep and meaningful feelings for, was something worthy of the most beautiful poetry.

Forgive me if I stumble and fall for I know not how to love too well I am clumsy and my words do not form as I wish So let me kiss you instead and let my lips paint for you all the pictures that my clumsy heart cannot.

--Atticus

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

Part 2

Thank you for reading and I wish you a happy 2023! If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that others might find it as well <3

@tacticalsparkles @tanzthompson @sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @annathewitch @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @winter-fox-queen @elegantduckturtle @lovefreylove @shadowolf993 @callsigncatfish @hounding-around @cannedsoupsucks @startrekkingaroundasgard @thisshipwillsail316 @ellie-darling @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @nakhudanyx @dihra-vesa @tobealostwanderer @ophelialoveshandsomemen @deadhumourist @spideysimpossiblegirl @toomanystoriessolittletime @tintinn16 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @nolanell @bilibiche @harriedandharassed @shadesofnerdlygrace @little-mrs-morales @hotchlover @gallowsjoker @cosmicbreathe @criminalmind1927 @meadowofsinfulthoughts

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero x reader #friends to lovers #fake dating #the great wall modern au #modern!au #sirowsky stories

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chronically-ghosted · 7 months ago

Text

iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without – Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come. OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits.

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang.

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle.

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on.

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights.

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will.

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor.

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him.

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down.

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window.

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.”

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world.

All in the time in the world – for what?

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell.

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?”

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.”

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men.

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again.

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet.

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable.

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare.

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again.

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.”

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword.

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm.

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.”

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.”

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.”

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.”

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too.

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight.

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with.

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand.

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.”

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm.

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . . say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?”

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.”

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way?

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.”

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart.

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.”

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar.

Fuck it.

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.”

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth.

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?”

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last.

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape.

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you.

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob.

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.”

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under.

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.”

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his.

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar.

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe.

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on."

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him.

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised.

“Unless you don’t want –,”

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places.

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword.

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress.

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed.

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him.

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh.

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor.

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.”

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both.

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips.

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils.

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm.

“Oh, oh, Pero—,”

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand.

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.”

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body.

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing.

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress.

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace.

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs.

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear.

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth.

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough.

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly.

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving.

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire.

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets.

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again.

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care.

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter.

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.”

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest.

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.”

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.”

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.”

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more.

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss.

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.”

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.”

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.”

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.”

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble.

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs.

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides.

“Have you had your fun yet?”

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.”

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.”

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips.

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest.

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks.

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted.

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it.

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known.

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart.

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you.

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

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all-the-things-2020 · 11 months ago

Text

This. Is. Beautiful. Gentle and sweet like apple cider, warm and cozy like a pallet beside the fire.

Where He Is Compelled to Stay

Rating: T.

Fandom: The Great Wall

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Warnings: Soft allusions to sex, nothing graphic or lingering.

Summary: A man of war finds his peace when the world forces him to slow down and you give him something softer to focus on.

A/N: This is a request from @cannedsoupsucks for my 300+ Follower Jubilee! It took me a while to answer the question “what would give Pero peace and joy? Not just temporarily, but true, deep peace? Lasting joy?” This one got a little longer than I’d anticipated, but this is where my brains took me. It started off as a little thought experiment and I just let my fingers do the typing. While this is a pairing piece, it focuses mostly on Pero and his journey to a softer place, less so on the reader’s emotions.

Prompt: “The words that I would choose for him are peace and joy because he doesn’t strike me as a man that’s had much of that in his life and he’s grumpy. He deserves soft.”

The day Pero rides into your village, he notices you. It’s not a lingering notice, just that he sees a pretty girl in a long wool cloak, carrying a small barrel. The fat snowflakes are falling on your hood and your eyelashes and when you meet his eye as you pass you nod, which is more than others here have done. Most have taken one look at his scarred face and turned their eyes away. The older ones will stop and stare when he passes, eyeing the crossed swords on his back.

He had just meant to pass through, but it’s late in the day and cold, the snow is falling thicker and he doesn’t want to get stranded in a storm he hadn’t anticipated so early in the year.

There’s a room free at the pub and he drinks his fill, pays for the night, and sleeps terribly. When he wakes, the room is cold, the fire’s gone out, and the world is covered in snow.

The first day he is irritated and restless.The passes are snowed over and he realizes he will have to wait it out a day or two. But it snows again that night and he knows he’s stranded for a while.

He sharpens his blades. Paces outside until he gets cold. Drinks–but not too much–he only has so much coin. He doesn’t like being stuck in place without any occupation. He tries to bargain with the public house owner to take less for the room since it is cold and they won’t give him more blankets, but the proprietor has no reason to reduce his rates and no qualms with throwing a sell-sword out into the street if he won’t pay. There’s some swearing and snarling. And it’s in the midst of this that Pero encounters you again.

Keep reading

#soft pero #soft tovar #pero x reader #tovar x reader #the great wall #pero's peace and joy #warm and cozy #Apple cider

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hellfire-state-of-mind · 6 months ago

Text

i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

pairing: Pero Tovar x fem!reader

rating: E for Explicit

word count: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ content, fingering/hand job, unprotected piv, creampie, praise kink, brief talk of injury/treatment (reader gives him stitches), reader has no physical description besides breasts and feminine clothing, Tovar is able to lift reader

a/n: my submission for @iamasaddie's kinky may challenge! i was given the honor of writing Tovar with a praise kink 😤 i haven't written smut in a long time so please be gentle 🥲 extra special shoutouts to @frannyzooey and @joelscruff for hyping me up with the snippets i shared with them. feedback is always welcome, i was equal parts excited and scared to write this so i'd love to hear what y'all think 🙂

Tovar squirms again, making your hand slip and press harder on the wet rag you’re using to clean the sizeable gash along his right collarbone. He hisses slightly through his teeth before glancing down at you. You glare at him and huff once more.

“I told you to stop moving.”

Before he can respond, you hike up your skirt with your free hand and straddle his thighs. Tovar freezes completely upon your sudden movement, gripping the bench now supporting the both of you, his brows raised as you lock eyes.

“Now, hold still.”

You twist to the table next to you and pick up a sewing needle and thread, taking a moment to hold the needle in the flame of a lit candle to sterilize it before threading the eye. You don’t ask if he’s ready before beginning to stitch the wound.

Your stitches are slow but precise in the low candlelight. When you finish, you lean forward slightly to cut the thread with your teeth and secure the ends. It’s only when you pull away to set aside your tools that you notice Tovar’s breathing, or rather the lack of. He’s completely still as a statue, focused on a vague point off in the distance behind you.

“Did it really hurt that much?” You maneuver to try and catch his eyes but he veers away. You teasingly brush your fingertips down his muscular bicep. “I thought a big, tough mercenary like you could handle more than a few stitches without a fuss.”

Tovar clears his throat and his voice comes out lightly strained and breathy. “It is…not my wound that is the trouble.”

He shifts uncomfortably beneath you and you feel it. His full erection is pressed against your bare inner thigh. You can feel his weight and warmth just as he can feel yours. You bite back a smirk when he passes you a guilty glance.

“Forgive me, my dear. It has been a long time since I’ve felt a woman’s touch.”

You pause to consider your next move. You can’t deny your own attraction to the man, and you’ve been experiencing an extended dry spell of your own. It’s a miracle your own arousal hasn’t found its way to the front of his trousers where you’re still perched. Who knows how long he’ll stay here at the Wall? Who knows if he’ll even live to see another moonrise? What’s the harm in a little release?

You smirk and look up at him through your eyelashes. “Allow me to relieve your pain, then.”

You slide back on his thighs far enough to reach between the two of you and unfasten his pants. He grips your wrists with one thick, massive hand to stop you from going further.

“I cannot ask you to do that.” His voice and eyes are stern, intent on not crossing any unwanted boundaries.

You look back at him with sincerity. “You’re not asking me. I want to.”

“Querida-”

“No one ordered me to tend to your wound. I came because I wanted to. I wanted to help you,” you gently pry your hands from his grasp, “and I’m not leaving until I’ve finished helping you.”

Tovar’s expression is difficult to read. You can see the turmoil behind his eyes, so you try to make the decision easier for him. Shifting closer once more, you take his hand and guide it between your own legs. The corner of your mouth twitches up as his pupils dilate upon coming in contact with your soft, damp hairs. You press him further into your wetness, cupped fully in the palm of his hand now, and he breathes in sharply.

“If you truly want me to go-”

“No.” Tovar cuts you off quietly. You smile in satisfaction when you remove your hand but his does not budge. “But I will not indulge in what is not offered.”

Striking your final blow, you undo the strings closing the top of your tunic, shrugging the shoulders off and letting it fall around your waist. Your breasts are exposed, nipples peaking in the cool night air from the window beside you. Tovar’s eyes are ablaze now as he takes you in, using every last bit of his willpower to resist until you give the word.

“Is this offering enough?”

The breath is stolen straight from your lungs as Tovar plunges one thick finger inside you up to the knuckle, his other hand smoothing up your bare thigh to your ass cheek and grasping it. He tugs you close so your tits are pressed to his solid chest as he slowly pumps in and out of you.

Your hands fly to his shoulders to steady yourself, but you move them away just as quickly when you put pressure on his fresh stitches. Tovar only grunts softly, otherwise not acknowledging the slip. You instead find a handhold along his ribs, gripping him tightly as warmth begins to spread up into your belly. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, breathing deep and focused as he eases a second finger inside and increases his speed. You gasp at the foreign stretch and claw at his sides.

Tovar’s hips buck into you at the pinch, and you’re reminded of your initial mission. One hand slips past his waistband and settles on his hip. You bow your head and spit into the other before reaching down his front to grasp his length. The two of you groan simultaneously at the new sensation. You start pumping him, matching the pace of his fingers.

Your motions soon falter, though, as Tovar curls his fingers to press into your sweet spot. Your head falls to the side and rests on his, unable to stay up on its own as the wave of euphoria builds and threatens to crest. You fight to maintain your own strokes as Tovar chuckles from deep in his chest into your ear.

“You’re doing so good for me, querida. So soft and warm, so tight.” He cuts himself off with a stronger groan as your hand on his hip circles back to the top of his ass, while the one wrapped around his cock slides down to cup his balls as well. “I know you’re close. Don’t fight it, bonita. Give it to me.”

The wave comes crashing over you with his encouragement. You mouth drops open as you make no attempt to smother your cries. Tovar flexes as your hips rut against him.

“Very good. Let it out, let me hear you.”

Tovar continues his movements until you’ve completely come down from your high, though it begins to build again almost as soon as it dissipates. Finally, he removes his fingers, making a soft pop as your walls try to suck him back inside. He raises them to his lips and generously sucks off all your release from them, never once breaking eye contact. You feel a fresh gush of arousal drip down your thigh at the sight. You quickly fumble to pull down his trousers and free his raging cock. Tovar tilts his hips, tugging them down to his mid-thighs, but grasps you by the waist before you can impale yourself on him.

“I need you to say it first, mi amor. I simply cannot take what is not freely given.”

“Then take me,” you huff impatiently.

Tovar loosens his grip enough for you to rise onto your knees, notching the weeping head of his cock at your entrance. You lock eyes with him and take a deep, steadying breath before sinking down. You cry out in both pain and pleasure, the stretch more intense than his fingers especially after so long without. Tovar moans along with you, letting out a pained shout of his own as you take him all the way inside, settling onto his lap once more.

You nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his scent of sweat and a hint of gunpowder, your breath hot against his skin. You try rocking your hips to relieve some of the tension, but Tovar abruptly stands, slipping out but clutching you to him tightly. You whine at the loss, then gasp when you feel the coolness of the thin sheets adorning the simple bed in the opposite corner of the room.

Tovar settles above you, supporting most of his weight on his knees and forearms. His pelvis rests lightly between your spread legs, his hardness bobbing against your mound with every breath. The dark trail of hair leading up his abdomen tickles your stomach, and you take the opportunity to truly admire the specimen hovering above you. The rippling muscles in his back, littered with long-healed battle scars breaking up the smooth skin. His dark hair, cut short but curling slightly at the nape of his neck. You rake your fingers through it, pulling him close. Tovar rests his forehead against yours, lips parted, exchanging breath. His gaze is piercing but you feel yourself being pulled in rather than pushed away.

Tovar must feel the same as he leans down just enough that your lips brush, but not seal together. You whimper his name on the verge of desperation and he closes the gap. He immediately takes charge, his tongue invading your mouth, feeling and tasting every crevice. You buck into him once again and he rips away from you, pinning your hips to the bed with one hand splayed across your lower belly.

You want to scream in frustration. “Tovar, please!”

“Shh, I know, mi amor. I know what you need. And you’ve been so good for me, I promise I will give it to you.” He moves his hand away and guides his tip back inside, pressing in slowly until his hips are flush with yours. The two of you groan in sync again and you wrap your legs around him, locking him in. “But we must go slow. I would hate to finish too quickly and bring an end to such pleasure that has only just begun.”

With this, he captures your lips with his own once more. You two stay locked like this for a while, savoring each other’s taste and touch. Tovar’s hands explore your body as you did his, tracing bones and squeezing flesh. Only when you feel totally consumed by him does he retreat from you, leaving only his tip inside. Tilting your chin up to look at him, he sinks back in to the root. And again. And again. Your second high hits you without warning as he sets the perfect rhythm.

Tovar bites back a guttural moan as he feels you tighten around him. “Dios mio, mi amor. You’re taking me so well. I would stay just like this forever if I could, buried in this cunt.”

You feel as if you’re floating, evaporating into the air from his heat and force of his thrusts. Your pleasure reaches new heights as he cups the back of your knee and pushes it up to your chest, welcoming him impossibly deeper. Tovar’s intense gaze remains on your face as he fucks you, committing every sound and expression of bliss to his memory.

You feel the wave cresting again just as his hips begin to stutter but never lose their force. You try to call out his name, a warning of your impending release, but you only manage pleading cries of “please.”

He understands immediately, snaking his other arm underneath you and up to your shoulder, pulling you against him as he slams into you. His voice is just as desperate, strained from holding off his own release to wait for yours.

“That’s it, mi amor. Cum for me. Cum on my cock. I want it. I need it. I crave it.” His snarling in your ear tips the scales in your favors, sending you over the edge. Your legs tighten around him as your back arches off the mattress. Tovar takes one breast into his mouth, biting and sucking his mark onto you. He unlatches in time to smack his hips to yours once, twice, three more times. A roar erupts from him as his cock pulses, forcing out rope after rope of his cum to coat your walls, content to plant there and never escape.

He fills you to the brim, milky white droplets beginning to seep out from where your hole has sealed around him. When he’s finally spent, he lowers himself flush to you, arms curling around your back. The salty, heady scent of your activity surrounds the two of you as you each fight to regain your senses.

You card your fingers through his hair once more as Tovar turns his head to press his lips to your neck. Soft at first, then open and hungry, nipping at the skin to coax out another mark matching the one on your breast, tongue soothing the spot after each bite.

You hear his breath begin to deepen and slow, feel his heartbeat matching it. You know you shouldn’t allow yourself to fall asleep beneath him. But how could you rip yourself from his arms now?

As if sensing your thoughts, Tovar rests his head atop yours, gazing into your eyes once more, lids half-closed.

“Ay, mi amor. I have half a mind to steal you away with us. What kind of man would I be to leave behind such perfection?” He seals your lips together and, at the same time, your mind.

What’s the harm in being his forever?

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the hellfire texts

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