#pero tovar x reader

[absurdthirst]

Under His Protection {Modern!Bodyguard!Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 30.4k

Warnings: Lust, masturbation, attraction, deadly situations, attacks, panic, rough sex, tit slapping, vaginal sex, jealousy, oral sex (female receiving), abduction, Pero losing his damn mind, hospitalization, pregnancy, mentions of attempted sexual assault, mentions of murder, shame, guilt, blackmail

Comments: When your campaign turns dangerous, your father - the former Vice President - hires Pero Tovar to guard you. Leading you to clash with the grumpy Spaniard and maybe fall in love. Only the man you love has a secret he's been hiding.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

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

“Dad, I don’t need protection.” The argument is useless, especially in the face of your own ongoing campaign and face that there have been numerous threats received. Your campaign manager used to work for your father, and some days you want to fire the man for being more loyal to the former Vice President of the United States than you, until you remember the man is a genius at what he does. You roll your eyes as you look over at him, staring holes in his non-repentant gaze. You know Thomas believes you need a detail, but you don’t want your personal freedom restricted. “I promise.”

Your father shakes his head, “it’s not safe, sweetheart. I have enemies and with you running for congress…they could use you to get to me. I want you to be safe and the secret service detail means you’ll be able to attend events without worrying. Without me worrying.” He adds and you sigh, looking over at Thomas who nods, “your father is right. You need to protect yourself.” He adds. “There’s some crazy people out there that will use your campaign to get to me and you’ll get hurt. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re protected.” Your dad declares and you sigh, nodding in agreement. You know this is an argument you can’t win. “Fine.” You huff and Thomas nods, gesturing to the aids near the doors, “you’ll have a few on your team but they will be led by Pero Tovar. A Spanish veteran who doesn’t take any shit. He’s new to the U.S scene, but his resume is impressive.”

A man steps into the room, his expression almost dark, it's so severe and his suit matches the entire look. He feels dangerous and you shiver when those nearly black eyes fixate on you, feeling like he is looking into your soul. He has a distinctive scar through his left eyebrow all the way down to his cheek. His gaze is brief before he steps back against the wall and begins to check the exits. He’s handsome in a forbidden kind of way and you shiver slightly. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.” You protest again. “I’m supposed to be approachable. I can’t do that if I’ve got guards.”

Thomas shakes his head, “this is Pero Tovar. He’s well trained and he won’t get in your way. He will be by your side day and night until you’re elected. You’ll barely notice him. He’s good at what he does and he will keep you safe.” Thomas makes it obvious that there’s no room for argument. “So don’t argue. It’s done. He will be your guard and he will be moving into the apartment. You will barely notice him.” Your father says as his final word, not leaving room for argument.

Pero glances at you, well aware that you are unhappy with the edict, and he predicts you will be a problem. What he hadn’t predicted is that you are far more beautiful than he had realized from your picture. He frowns slightly, reminding himself that you are his detail. That frown is what you catch as his eyes cut away and you are instantly made aware that this man doesn’t like you. You hate the idea of being on the road and practically living with a man who hates you. Blowing out a breath, you turn to your father. “Any other life changing decisions made about me? Have you picked out my husband?” You ask sarcastically, wondering why your father believes he holds so much power over you, you are a grown ass woman who is running for a congressional seat.

Your father snorts, “if I thought I could pick him, I’d do it.” Your father says shamelessly, “but you’d have my balls.” He shrugs and Thomas chuckles in agreement. Pero stands with his hands clasped in front of him, watching curiously as you seethe in annoyance. “Is it so bizarre that a woman should run for congress without a damn husband? Should I pop out two kids to make myself electable?” You hiss, chest heaving.

“There have been some questions asked if you are a lesbian.” Thomas admits, making your father hum. “No, but it’s almost a shame, since it would be a big boost to the LGBT community.” He admits making you scoff. “I am not running on my sexuality, even if I was.” You remind them. “I’m not running on being the daughter of a former vice president either. This is my campaign and I’m running on what I believe in and what I believe I can accomplish for my constituents.”

Pero watches you curiously, wondering what your motivation is. He can see you are not simply running for power or planning to win on nepotism. He admires that but doesn’t show it as he stands beside the wall. “Tovar, you have your bag?” Thomas asks, drawing Pero’s eyes from you and he looks at your campaign manager to confirm he has what he needs for this job. He can follow you where you go to protect you.

Frustrated at both your manager and your father failing to acknowledge those truths, you stand up. “Well then I guess I better get my new bodyguard installed.” You snort, grabbing your purse and looking towards Pero Tovar. “Let’s go.”

Pero grabs his bag and swings it over his shoulder, nodding at you, and he nods at your father and Thomas as he follows you out of the room down the hall. “I am here to protect you. Not invade your life but I will intervene if I feel it jeopardises your safety.” He declares as he walks behind you.

“No offense, but my father and my campaign manager are overreacting.” You tell him. “They think that you are necessary, but I do not.” You look over your shoulder, a little intimidated by how close he is following.

Pero clenches his jaw at the way you dismiss him, “I do not care what you think is necessary. I care about keeping you alive, making sure you are unharmed. I am not here to be your friend, I am here to protect you.” Pero declares coolly, not wanting you to think he is here to support you.

You lift a brow at his gravelly, accented voice and hate how it makes you shiver. There’s something darkly appealing about the Spaniard, something that makes you think that he’s a criminal, even if he’s an agent. “I don’t need anymore friends.” You tell him, turning around and striding towards the door a little faster.

****

Pero sets his bag down when you enter your apartment and he holds his hand up, stopping you from walking past the foyer. “I need to do a check.” He grunts and steps into your apartment, his dark eyes scanning the windows and doors, looking for any sign of movement, of anything out of place. You huff, crossing your arms in annoyance and he ignores your protest as he continues doing what he was hired to do.

“How would you know if anything is missing?” You demand, cording your arms over your chest. Pero smirks and shrugs. “I went through your apartment earlier. Your father gave me a key.” You growl and shake your head, stomping towards your bedroom. “Stay out of my room!” You demand before you slam the door.

Pero chuckles at how petulant you sound and he makes his way to the spare bedroom, setting down his bag. He already put some suits in here earlier. He needs to look the part if he’s going to be your bodyguard. Your father, even as the former vice president, couldn’t wrangle the secret service for you, but he tried to. They wouldn’t give it to you so he hired Pero and his team. For now, only Pero is needed but at events, his team will be involved. William and Pero had set up the private security company after they met upon their separate arrivals in the U.S. They met at a boxing club and from there, Pero had never been able to get rid of the Irishman. You are pissed that he’s there but he doesn’t care about that. He is here to do his job and he will do it, no matter what it takes.

Even though you can’t hear him, you know he’s there. His presence is suffocating and it’s just the first day. Kicking off your heels, you flop down on your bed and sigh. You already hate being restricted and it’s only going to get worse from here. Staring at a photo of your mom, you wonder what she would think of all of this if she was still alive. Would she approve of what your dad is doing?

Your father stands in front of the fireplace, cigar in his hand as he looks at the photos on the mantel. Of his family. His career. His personal achievements. His biggest achievement is you. Even more than his time as vice president. He can’t lose you. Not like he lost your mother. She died five years ago and he still hasn’t gotten over the loss. He can’t lose you too. He has to protect you and if you want to run for congress, he can’t stop you, but he will do everything in his power to protect you.

An hour later, you’ve changed into some workout clothes and you come out of your room. Finally letting go of the annoyance of having someone else in the house, you pretend to not even notice him as you walk over to your shoe rack to put your sneakers on. You want to go to the gym that is a part of the amenities of your apartment building.

Pero grabs his shoes, putting them on, and he waits by the door. You huff, tying up your sneakers, “you can stay here.” Pero shakes his head, “no can do, princesa. I need to go with you so can you wait a few moments for me to change? I could use a workout or I can go as I am and stand in the corner.” He offers you a choice with raised eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and huff. “Two minutes.” You hiss, walking into the kitchen to grab a water bottle to fill up. He’s already pissing you off and it’s not even two hours into him being here. Pero disappears into the guest bedroom and you give him enough time to pull his clothes off before you leave the apartment.

Pero comes back out in shorts and a t-shirt, his gun tucked into the holster beneath his t-shirt and he pulls on his sneakers just as you are opening the door to leave. Your impatience makes him roll his eyes but he follows you down the hall, until you reach the elevator and he holds his arm out to push you back so he can enter first.

You blow out a sigh and don’t resist. “I’m not used to asking permission to go anywhere or do anything.” You remind him. “I am a grown adult. I can take care of myself.” It’s not his fault, you know this, but you also know that these cocky types are prone to running roughshod over the people they are ‘protecting’. You won’t be one of them.

He knows you’re pissed off at his presence but he’s not paid to keep you happy, he’s paid to keep you safe. He watches you press the button for the gym and he can’t help but stare at you, trying to figure you out. You’re a grown woman, beautiful, and smart. You’re not married, no kids, and you are running for office. You’re brave. “What?” You huff, feeling his eyes on you. “Nada, princesa. Just…observing.” He hums as the doors open and he steps out to inspect the surroundings.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you are allowed to walk in front of him down the hall towards the gym. “I suppose you have to check the gym before I walk in?” You ask, stopping by the door even though you can see through the glass walls. “I don’t think a crazed person is waiting to get me while I run on the treadmill.” Pero ignores you and sweeps into the room before turning back and nodding towards you. “Look- can we compromise?” You ask. “I’ll put up with the protection detail while we are out of the building, but in here….just….don’t make it obvious that you are guarding me?” You ask quietly. “I will have to live around these people long after you have moved on to another protection detail. I don’t want them thinking I’m….snooty. I get that a lot already.”

Pero can’t help but snort, “you shouldn’t care about other people. You should only care about your own safety and not what other people think. You won’t know what they think if you’re dead and buried in the ground.” He says bluntly and steps into the gym to check the surroundings, he gestures you inside when he thinks it’s clear.

You clench your jaw, willing to make a compromise but the blasted man thinks that he's in charge. “I don’t give a flying fuck who hired you or what you think.” You hiss, poking him in the chest. “This is my life and I will live it according to how I see fit. Push me and I will throw your ass out of my apartment and you can sleep in the doorway.” You threaten before turning on your heel and marching over to the treadmill, needing to work out your frustrations.

Pero inhales deeply, knowing you’re going to make his job impossible, but what can he do? He huffs and makes his way over to the weights, deciding to make the most of the time in the gym. He watches you start walking on the treadmill and he tries to avert his eyes but they trail down to your ass, making his cock twitch as it starts to bounce when you begin jogging.

You don’t listen to music while you run, instead you focus on the tv mounted to the wall, turned on the news. Trying your hardest to ignore the only man in the gym with you until you can pretend he is just some random man instead of being paid to keep constant tabs on you. When you can do that, you can feel your body start to relax and your muscles burning from the exertion.

Pero listens to you pant as you run and he grunts as he lifts the weights with his arms. He still watches his surroundings as he works out but his eyes keep finding their way back to you. Jesus, you’re gorgeous and he wonders why you aren’t attached to anyone. Maybe it’s because you're a hard worker. He can tell that already. He doesn’t get involved with his assignments but he will be jerking off later thinking about your ass. He can’t deny himself that. Setting the weights down, he settles on a machine to work on his back.

You spend an hour on the treadmill before you slow it down to cool down. Sweaty and tired, you could just quit, but you know you should do some weightlifting as well. While you know that you are not overly muscular, you want to be in good shape for your own health as well as your appearance.

Pero groans as he sets the weights back in the machine. He looks over at you as you pick up the weights, working your arms, and he admires your figure. You really are beautiful but your tongue is like barbed wire concealed by sweetness. A true politician. He grunts as he picks up the weights again, his ears listening for any changes around him.

You are very aware of Pero as you work on your upper body strength. Glancing over at him, you are struck by the moving and bunching muscles. He is strong and competent, something that you always admire in a man. You like one that is physical, not just the smarmy Ivy League men you are used to being around. Groaning to yourself, you realize he’s very attractive.

Pero grunts as he rolls his shoulders after he sets the machine back to how it was. He can feel you watching him but he knows it’s to ascertain how capable he is of protecting you. He might have a weapon but he can kill a man with just his hands. He sighs and wipes his brow with his t-shirt after he stands, exposing his stomach.

Your eyes widen slightly, feeling your cunt clench at the sight of his almost ripped stomach. He's not all muscle, but he’s well defined. You quickly drop your own weights and grab your water bottle to distract yourself. You can’t develop something for this man, you can’t.

Pero carries on with his routine, finishing with a stretch, and you do your own stretches. He watches your ass as you bend over and he hisses at your ass on display, turning around to avert his eyes. He can’t want you, he can’t afford to get kicked from this job. He sighs and grabs his water bottle, taking a gulp of it as you finish your workout.

You wipe down the equipment once you are done and take another drink of water. “Can I shower by myself when I get back to the apartment or do you need to get in first to make sure there’s no one in there to molest me?” You ask sarcastically when he joins you and both of you move to the door. You are exhausted and your body aches, so it will be good to clean up and maybe soak a little in the tub.

Pero hates that the first thing that comes to his mind is asking if you want him to join you in the shower but he bites his tongue. He needs to get hold of himself and not let himself think of you as anything other than a target. “I will need to check the apartment when we enter but the shower…you can be molested in there without me checking.” He snorts and opens the door, his hand resting on his gun in case he needs it.

You snort, taking it as a joke, and appreciating the sarcastic humor. “I might like it.” You huff, “it’s been long enough.” Your last relationship ended badly and you’ve been too busy campaigning to think about dating or even hooking up with someone casually. It wouldn’t be a good look anyway. Men are held to a lower standard than women and you can bet your opponent would use the phrase ‘loose and promiscuous’ woman in their speeches tearing your integrity down.

Pero is surprised by that. You’re a beautiful woman and most men would walk over the coals to be near you, especially with your connections, but he can understand why you probably are cautious about relationships considering what you are trying to achieve. Pero doesn’t say anything as he strides through your apartment to the second bathroom so he can shower himself. His cock is half hard and he’s trying to ignore it but when he’s under the hot water, it becomes impossible to ignore his throbbing length so he gives in. Allowing himself this one time to imagine fucking you in that gym on the bench, bending you over and making you cry out his name.

You’re a little relieved that Pero didn’t check your shower, because you know that the toy you had used this morning is still suctioned to the wall. You can’t see it behind the frosted glass, but you would be embarrassed to know that he is aware of your preference for a girthy dildo. Stripping out of your sports bar and pants, you wonder if the brief flashes of his cock through his shorts was as thick as you imagined it to be. He's probably uncut too, something that makes your mouth water as you climb into the shower under the hot spray.

Pero groans as he cums, spurting his seed onto the tile wall that he cleans off after he recovers from his orgasm. It’s wrong, so fucking wrong, and William would be hitting his head to get him to snap out of it but he can’t help himself. He finds you attractive. He will put up his walls again when he leaves the bathroom, determined to remain professional.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” You moan, lifting up onto your toes as you push back against the wall. The thick toy breaking you open and making your cunt clench around it. It’s so wrong, thinking about those dark eyes and that scowl while you impale yourself on the silicone dildo, but you imagine how rough he would be. He’s not even touched you but you know he would be rough enough to leave bruises under your skin.

****

Pero sighs when you walk past him to get yourself a drink from the fridge. He feels guilty for jerking off thinking about you but he felt so wound up by watching you in the gym. He looks up from his phone just as you turn your back to him, “Thomas gave me your schedule. You have a dinner tonight with your team. I need to scope out the restaurant, find the exits, and have my team cover the perimeter.”

You roll your eyes. “I guarantee that no masked murder will be hiding in the back room of the restaurant.” You huff. “Do whatever you want, I just want you to be invisible. This is an important dinner and I don’t want them to worry about me.”

Pero nods, not wanting to argue with you when his job is to keep you safe. That's all that matters. He watches you move around the apartment until you disappear into your bedroom to get ready and he follows suit. Getting into his dark blue suit, he adjusts his holster and his tie while he waits for you to come out of your room.

Fixing your earring in your ear, you sigh slightly. “Shit.” You are a little too sore from your work out to zip your dress all the way up in the back and it pisses you off because you are going to have to ask Pero to zip it. You walk out into the living room with your clutch. “I need your help.”

Pero looks up when you walk into the living room and his mouth goes dry. Mierda, you’re beautiful. He licks his lips and stands up, gesturing for you to spin around. You nod and his fingers grip the zipper, dragging it up and his fingers brush your spine as he zips you up. “There you go, princesa.”

You suppressed a shiver when his fingers brush against your skin. “Thank you.” You murmur quietly. “I’m ready to go. Do you have to drive me?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Pero nods, “part of the job, princesa.” He explains and you sigh, “fine. Let’s go, otherwise I will be late.” Pero gestures to the front door, making his way out of the apartment to call the elevator, his jacket unbuttoned in case he needs his gun.

You try to ignore how sexy his protective stance is as he guides you into the car. You’ve never been this aware of a man, especially one who was supposed to blend into the background. It’s going to become a problem if you let it.

Pero watches you from the corner of his eye as he drives to the restaurant your assistant booked for this event and when he pulls up to the valet, he gets out and rounds the car to open the door for you. His team is already in place, assessing the exits and staff. All he needs to do is get you in your seat and keep watch. He holds his hand out to help you out of the car and you take it, making his stomach twist at how good it feels to hold your hand. That makes him scowl and he guides you into the restaurant.

The first touch makes him scowl and you snatch your hand back, almost embarrassed that you’ve been entertaining fantasies about this man in your head, attracted to him, and he obviously can’t stand you. The look on his face is nearly pure disgust and it’s like an icy dose of reality.

Your back stiffens and Pero knows he’s nothing more than an aggravation to you. That’s good. It reminds him to be professional so he watches you greet your guests and settle at the table while he takes a seat a few tables over, trying to ignore the Irishman staring at him. “You look tense, old boy.” William goads him and Pero clenches his jaw, trying to conceal his annoyance.

“She’s a pain in the ass.” He grunts, making William grin at the short, clipped words. He knows the Spaniard well and there is something else going on. “I take it she doesn’t agree with your protection methods?” He snorts, knowing that Pero is abrasive and sometimes rubs people the wrong way. “Lot prettier than I thought.”

Pero shrugs, “haven’t noticed. She’s annoying and thinks she knows better. She’s a handful.” The Spaniard huffs and William smirks, “oh I bet she is.” Pero turns his head to glare at the Irishman for overstepping and William holds his hand up, “all I’m saying is that you just gotta protect her until she’s elected. Her Pa is offering a nice sum to us to keep her safe so if she’s a little sour, maybe try to be sweeter?” He offers some advice and Pero chuckles, “we both know that the last thing I’ve ever been described as is sweet, amigo.”

William smirks, knowing that underneath the gruffness of the Spaniard is a good man who is far more loyal than he would have imagined being. Maybe guarding a pretty politician would be good for his disposition. “At least you get to sleep in the apartment. It’s a step up from having to stand guard outside.”

Pero snorts and nods, “that’s true. That asshole from last month had me standing outside in the fucking rain.” He rolls his eyes and taps his fingers on the table, taking a sip of his water that the waiter set down while you are getting into the discussion at your table. Pero watches how everyone keeps their eyes fixed on you, almost mesmerized and he knows it’s not just him who is entranced by you.

Connecting with your team is important to you. You want them to know who you are and what you stand for on the issues. If they are going to knock on doors, and basically tell the state to vote for you, you want them to understand your approach. It’s different from most campaigns where only senior members get access to you, this is a meeting with the junior staffers. The ones who might be volunteering to put it on a college application or to hope for an internship once you are hopefully elected. You take a sip of your seltzer and lime, nodding as you listen to one of the young men bring up some interesting points that could be made at your scheduled debate next month.

Pero watches you with admiration. It’s obvious that people adore you, listen to you, and want to follow you. It’s a power that not many people have and he wishes he had that kind of power. Most people are terrified of him. He leads with fear, not admiration. He ignores William staring at him and takes another sip of his drink as he glances around the room, eying the other patrons.

You can feel eyes on you, that isn’t unusual. You have had eyes on you at various stages of your life, it’s normal. This feels different. Turning your head, you find your guard’s eyes on you, dark and brooding. Your own gaze pointed, it’s almost a staring contest for a moment until your aid touches your arm and you turn back to the group, rejoining the conversation.

Your eyes seem to burn him and he stares at your back after you turn away. Your eyes pierce his soul and he doesn’t know how to handle it when he’s stowed his heart away for so long. He’s never allowed himself to love, to give himself to another. His mother was killed by his father when Pero was a boy after she tried to leave him with her son and Pero ended up in an orphanage - his father in jail - until he joined the army at eighteen. He’s had a hard life but he won’t let it define him, he won’t allow his harsh upbringing to define his life.

The night is a success in your eyes and you are watching as the group becomes more relaxed as they have more drinks. You stick to your non-alcoholic drink, preferring not to drink in public if you can help it. Too many chances for humiliation or mistakes to be made. Plus, you honestly get a little horny when you drink and you don’t need to show that side of your personality.

When you give the signal that you’re ready to leave, Pero stands and buttons his jacket, looking over at William who smirks, “see you at the next event, my friend.” Pero nods and walks over to you, glancing around the room. “You ready, princesa?” He asks and you nod so he places his hand on your lower back to guide you out of the restaurant to your car.

You hate that the first thing you notice is how big his hand is. Spanning widely on your back and feeling like it’s burning through your dress. “Did you eat?” You ask, never seeing him with a plate tonight when you looked over at him.

Pero shakes his head, “I will eat later when I am alone. My job is to protect you, not to eat.” He declares and you huff, “sacrificial as well as brooding.” You snort and Pero wants to roll his eyes but he can’t. “Not sacrificial…professional.”

You do roll your eyes and sigh. “Are there any restrictions you have in your diet?” You ask, wondering why he is being so difficult about you making sure he has eaten. You make sure all your staff eats.

“No restrictions.” He informs you, wondering why you’re asking. He can grab something when he knows you’re home safe and he can have one of his men stand watch while he gets something to eat.

You hum quietly as you walk outside with him to the car that has been brought to the front of the restaurant. You’ve got plenty of food at the apartment and can whip him up something quick. You’ll just have to buy more groceries while he’s staying with you so he’s not having to get take out or to-go for every meal. You hate when you eat out all the time, it makes you feel bad. “Good.” You let him open the passenger door without complaint and toss him a small smile of thanks.

Pero is confused by your lack of annoyance towards him at that moment. You seem to be…nice. It unnerves him but he doesn’t take it for granted as he settles into the driver’s seat and turns the engine. “Did your dinner go well, hermosa?” He asks as he pulls out of the parking lot.

You are surprised by the almost affectionate nickname, lifting a brow but he’s unaware of that as he navigates onto the street. “Very well.” You agree, settling back into the seat and watching as the street lamps flash by. You are aware that another car is following behind you, his team. “The staff need to feel appreciated and like they are working towards a common goal beyond getting me elected. I want them to feel like they are making a difference.”

“Are they?” He asks, raising his eyebrow, “I mean, you’re running on your values but are they really going to make a difference? In my experience, politicians promise a lot and deliver nothing. That’s why I don’t bother voting. It’s not going to change anything.”

“Nothing will change unless we try.” You understand the cynicism, you’ve grown up around it on both sides. “All I can do is be transparent. Show the bills that I work to introduce. I have promised to have a daily website updated on the work we will be accomplishing.”

Pero is impressed but he isn’t sure if you can deliver. Running on essentially a nepotism ticket, he’s curious to see if you end up getting elected based on yourself or on your father. He doesn't voice those opinions, knowing you wouldn’t like to hear them. Instead, he drives you home without another word.

You feel better when you are pulling into the parking garage of your building. The entire thing is secure, so you wonder why you have to have Pero staying with you. Although, during the course of the meal, you had learned to accept it. It wasn’t going to change and after the election, you will put your foot down. “Home sweet home.” You groan, climbing out of the car and walking with Pero towards the doors that lead to the elevator. “Where are you normally living when you aren’t with your clients?”

Pero shrugs, “I don’t really have a home. I work from one job to the next so I just keep what I need with me and go from there.” He confesses and walks into your apartment to do a sweep before he lets you in.

That sounds….lonely. You frown slightly but you don’t ask anymore questions as you set your clutch down and kick off your heels. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” You tell him, turning and walking barefooted into the other room.

Pero nods, making his way into the bedroom he’s occupying and he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up, and he removes his tie, toeing off his shoes and he rolls his shoulders as he gets comfortable. He removes his holster and checks his gun, setting it down on the nightstand.

With what is in the fridge, making a simple stir fry is the easiest thing to whip up. You pour yourself a glass of wine, feeling like you deserve it after the night and pull vegetables out to start sauteeing them in a pan with ginger and soy sauce, a little hoisin and garlic. You have some chicken that is already grilled that will be chopped up and added. Some leftover rice will complete the meal and hopefully your guard won’t turn his nose up at your simple dinner. It’s not as good as what he would have gotten in the restaurant, but you don’t want him to slap a sandwich together. You hum to yourself as you stir the dish together and take a sip of your wine. 

Pero smells your cooking as he exits the guest room and he bites his lip to smother the groan. He sighs and makes his way into the living room, looking across to the kitchen to where you are standing at the stove. “You didn’t have to cook for me.” He says as he makes his way over to the counter.

“You didn’t eat.” You plate up the food, a generous portion and set it down in front of a seat at the bar. “I won’t be the little woman, pressing your suits or darning your socks, but I make sure my staff is taken care of.” You smirk slightly. “And right now, that includes you.” You raise your glass of wine in toast. “Drink? We are all tucked in for the night. You can have a glass.” 

Pero shakes his head, “no. I never drink while I’m working. Just in case something happens at night. I can’t not be in control of myself in case I need to protect you.” He says as he sits down and he is impressed by your cooking skills. You’re more than a pretty face.

You can respect that, so you go back to the fridge to grab a bottle of water to set down beside his plate. “Your professionalism is admirable.” He grunts and you chuckle before you set your glass down to start cleaning up. It won’t take long and you hope that he will relax and eat since he can keep his eyes on you at the same time. 

Pero feels guilty that you are doing this for him but he picks up his fork and digs in, groaning softly at the taste. “You’re - wow. If you lose the election, you could be a chef.” He compliments you and takes a gulp of water. He’s hungry but his needs come second when he is looking after a client.

You always like the sound of someone enjoying your food. Too often you are eating by yourself and working in the evenings. “Thank you, but hopefully I won’t lose the election.” You grin as you wash the pan, glancing over your shoulder to watch him take a bite. “Although I do like to cook. It’s a hobby as well as a necessity.” You snort. “I hate getting take out all the time.” 

Pero hums, swallowing his bite, “I don’t think you’ll lose. The other guy is an asshole. You’re a capable, smart young woman. You’ll win.” He assures you and he picks up the water bottle after setting down his fork. “You should keep cooking, princesa. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” You’re happy he enjoyed the food and you turn back towards him as he finishes the water. “Anything in the fridge is up for grabs. Don’t worry about buying your own food or drinks. If you are going to be staying here, you should be comfortable.” You tell him. “Start the dishwasher when you finish and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Pero nods, “I will. Goodnight, princesa.” He says softly and you offer him a soft smile, making your way into your bedroom and Pero watches you go. He sighs and looks down at his plate, recognizing that you are more than you seem. He enjoys his meal and puts his plate in the dishwasher, turning it on. After cleaning up, he checks the doors and windows before he makes his way to his room and gets ready for bed.

You change from your dress to comfortable pajama shorts and a tank top, washing your face clean of makeup and doing your skincare routine before you go back out to the kitchen to grab some water. Humming to yourself when you see the light on in the spare room. It will be interesting to see how it will be with this guard living with you.

****

Pero watches you as you sit down to study your notes for your speech. Your speech is at your Alma Mater and you are trying to get the kids out to vote. Especially vote for you. Pero hates how many people are at this event but there’s nothing he can do. His team has already studied the auditorium and he’s ready to be by your side. It’s been a couple of weeks since he started working for you and he’s observed you. Liked how much you care and how passionate you are. Maybe jerked off a few more times thinking about you but he would never admit that to anyone. “Are you ready, princesa?” He asks, wanting to check in.

Looking up, you are struck by how handsome he is. Pero Tovar is starting to become a problem and you have lost sleep over how much you think about him when you are alone in your bed. “Ready.” You nod, standing and gathering your notes before you straighten your smart skirt suit. “Do I look alright?”

Pero's mouth goes dry as he looks at you, "uh, sí princesa. You look - you look perfect." He says without the gruffness that is usually present when he speaks to you. He hates how he stumbles over his words but he can't tell you that he thinks you look like a goddamn angel and he's the devil that's wanting to tempt you down to the lowest depths of hell so he can ravish you. He doesn't deserve to even look at you, let alone touch you.

You honestly enjoy his compliments, hermosa and princesa. You know he doesn’t mean it as an insult, you honestly don’t know if he even is aware he calls you those names. “Thank you.” You smile softly, knowing that he will be beside you on the edge of the stage. “You look handsome too. The kids will be intimidated.”

He snorts and stands up, buttoning his jacket that conceals his gun holster. He sighs and he walks over to the door, opening it after checking the hallway and he nods for you to exit the apartment. “You’re going to be incredible.” He says once you’re in the car and he’s driving you to the auditorium.

You are always nervous before a speech and you shuffle through the speech again. “This is the halfway point of the election.” You remind yourself. “We are almost there.”

Pero watches you as you shuffle your notes, checking them, and he can tell you’re nervous. “You’re gonna be amazing.” He murmurs, wanting to reassure you in this moment when it’s just the two of you before your aids are rushing you around.

You wonder if you’ve managed to sway him, not having spoken of political ideology with him again. You respect his position and don’t want him to feel as if you are pressuring him for his support. “Thank you.” You sigh and set the notes down. “I don’t want people thinking that I’m just running because of who my father is.” You admit. “It’s more than that.”

Pero knows you want people to see you and not your father but that's easier said than done. He nods, "they will know. You'll always have the assholes who question it but you know who you are and what you stand for. That's the hard part to figure out. You'll be fine, hermosa." He promises and focuses back on the road.

It’s ironic that you feel so supported by a man who is paid to protect you. “Your man William, he said that you and he have been friends for a long time?” You enjoy talking to the Irishman, even though he’s not often in charge of you, Pero prefers to keep by your side. “Something about an assignment in China?”

Pero grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “I, uh, it was a long time ago but we went to China together. Heard that there was some black powder that was worth a fortune. We both had left our respective armies and wanted to enjoy our lives so we went to China to find the powder and we ended up fighting in a revolution. William fell in love and well, the black powder was a myth. We barely made it out alive but we fought for what was right at the time.” He confesses, remembering how vicious the fighting had been.

“I can’t imagine what you have seen as a soldier.” You murmur, understanding now why you sometimes hear sounds coming from his room, followed by a sleepless prowl around the apartment. His past haunts him. You reach out and touch his arm. “If you ever need to…talk, I’m available to listen.” You offer softly, aware that he might be offended by the suggestion, but you spend so much time together.

Your touch burns him but he doesn’t shrug you off like he might’ve a few weeks ago. He stops outside the back of the auditorium where your staff are waiting and he nods, “thanks, hermosa.” He murmurs, his dark eyes meeting yours and he can’t believe how kind you’re being to him.

You nod and quickly climb out of the car, surrounded by your staff with last minute comments and suggestions. You listen, but you are thinking about Pero, how he seems to be softening when it comes to you and you wonder if you are imagining the heat in his eyes when he looks at you.

Pero stays close as your staff guide you through to backstage and his eyes follow you while keeping his eyes on the perimeter. “So there's literally people waiting outside who couldn’t fit in the auditorium and the fire chief won’t let people stand so we are arranging a screen to put outside.” Thomas tells you excitedly, unable to believe how packed the place is.

“Seriously?” Your eyes widen in surprise and you can’t believe how many people have shown up to hear you speak. “Wow.” You huff. “That’s amazing.”

Pero is pleased for you but he’s also concerned there’s a security risk with so many people present and he grabs his phone to message William who is keeping watch outside. Pero reaches for your elbow, pulling you back for a second, “you need to be careful, princesa. I will sweep the perimeter but you need to keep your focus and let me do my job.”

You sigh softly, knowing that there is no use in protesting. He will just make things more difficult if you protest. Nodding, you move over towards the curtain and peek out at the crowd. “I won’t do anything reckless.” You promise.

Pero nods, mollified for now, but he sighs as he watches you prepare. He is impressed when he witnesses you transform before his eyes, your spine straightening and he admires your moxie. “Good luck, hermosa.” He murmurs and Thomas gestures for you to take the stage.

When you are announced, you enter the stage, beaming a smile at the audience and waving like this is something you do everyday. You are nervous, but it doesn’t show. Happy to have the support, you confidently walk over to the podium, shaking the hand of the dean who had announced you. “Thank you. I have to say that I am honored to be here, speaking in front of all of you tonight. Many times I was sitting where you are now, wondering if the person on stage knew what the hell they were talking about.” You admit with a laugh.

Pero stands in the shadows watching you and his chest swells with pride even though he is just doing his job to make sure you are safe. He watches you make your speech and he scans the audience from his place. When you start to speak about your mission, Pero crosses his arms and watches you, a soft smile on his face at how passionate you are. That moment…it’s all it takes for someone to scream and rush up on stage. The slight distraction is enough for someone to get close to you and Pero’s heart stops.

In an instant, the high of the crowd turns to terror as someone rushes the stage, screaming so loud that you can’t understand what they are saying. It catapults the crowd into chaos when someone screams ‘gun’ and all hell breaks loose. You do exactly what Pero has instructed you to do, dropping down to use whatever is in front of you as cover while your heart gallops in your chest.

“Fuck.” Pero growls as he rushes on stage. His team are already taking down the asshole who stormed the stage and Pero has his gun in his hand as he ducks down, covering your body until the threat is taken away. The man yells as he’s dragged off and Pero helps you up. You’re shaking and he ignores the cry of your staff as he rushes you off stage and back to the car. His heart pounds as he scans the area, his hand on your back as you run to the car. He pushes you into the car and runs around the hood, sliding in before he’s squealing away from the auditorium.

Your hands are shaking, your entire body is shaking as the adrenaline courses through you. “I- I- I-“ You can’t even form a sentence. “He- did he-“ you want to ask if he had a gun, or if you were hearing things. Someone just attacked you. Someone just tried to hurt you. Your mind is empty except those singular thoughts repeating.

Pero doesn’t respond, his only focus is to get you somewhere safe and the closest place is your apartment. He grabs his phone and calls the man he has watching your place right now. “Code Orange. Is the apartment secure?” Pero asks his man who confirms with the password Pero put in place and your guard presses his foot on the accelerator a little harder to get you home faster. His fingers grip the steering wheel and you are rambling but he doesn’t respond, too focused on keeping you safe.

“I need- I need to call Thomas.” Your chin trembles and you are almost in tears as the reality of what could have happened settles. “They- the staff, oh god, the staff could have been hurt. We- we have to go back. We have to make sure that the staff is okay!”

Pero clenches his jaw, not allowing himself to say anything until he’s pulling into your parking garage and cuts the engine once he’s in your space. He opens the door and grabs his gun from the holster just in case so he can escort you to the elevator. He remains silent, not saying a word until he is certain that you’re safe. You are shaking as he escorts you into the apartment. He locks the door to your apartment and spins round to face you, shoving his gun into the holster, his hands slide down your sides as he finally says “are you okay?”

“The staff- Pero-“ you choke out a sob and nearly collapse but he is keeping you upright. You can’t say anything else, but your chin trembles and you stare into his dark eyes helplessly.

Pero stares at you for a second, the terror in your eyes, and he can’t help it. He surges forward to press his lips to yours, his hands squeezing your waist to pull you against his body.

Safety. Comfort. Surprise. All of those things make you gasp and he takes advantage of that by slipping his tongue into your mouth. The feel of it, of him makes you moan. Pushing what just happened or might have happened out of your mind and giving you something else to focus on. Throwing your arms around his neck, you press closer, needing more from him and silently demanding it.

Pero spins you around, pushing you up against the front door and his hands grab your thighs, your skirt bunching up as he lifts you up. His tongue slides against yours and his cock is hardening in his pants as he kisses you hard.

You moan again, loving how rough he’s being with you. Taking what both of you apparently need and you try to grind down against his cock. Desperate to feel him, feel anything but the terror that had been flooding your system. Needing a release that shows you that you are still alive.

Pero knows this is wrong. He knows he should stop and let you go to your room but his heart is pounding in his chest and his cock is hard for you. He kisses down your throat, and his hands squeeze your thighs, “tell me to stop.” He rasps against your skin, “tell me to stop and I’ll put you down and we will forget this.” He gives you the chance to tell him to stop.

“Don’t stop.” You beg, turning your head to kiss along his brow and down to his cheek. “Don’t stop. Take me to bed. Touch me.” You are shameless and you should be embarrassed but the desire you’ve tried to bury for him is too much right now. “I want you.”

Your words ignite the fire within him and his lips find yours again, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he turns and carries you through your apartment. Stumbling a little against the coffee table but he’s soon setting you down outside your bedroom door, reaching behind you to open it. He groans your name and pushes you back into your room, shrugging off his jacket to display his holster and gun.

You never thought a gun could be sexy before. Dangerous and intimidating, yes, but not sexy. This, the shoulder holster and gun that is stretched over his broad frame, is sexy. Almost making you whimper and beg him to use it on you. Finding it utterly humiliating to discover you might have a gun kink. Or maybe it’s just a competency kink. Your heels fell off your feet in the living room when he picked you up and you strip out of your own jacket to reveal the low cut blouse underneath. “Fuck you are so sexy.” You pant.

Pero unclips the holster and checks the gun’s safety is on before he sets it down on your dresser. His dark eyes focus on your cleavage and he groans, “you are intoxicating, princesa.” He murmurs and surges forward to lean down, his lips pressing against the exposed skin and his hands grab your waist to pull you closer as he licks along the swell of your breast.

You moan, fingers fumbling with the buttons on your blouse to allow him more access. Wanting him to take everything from you and make you think of nothing but him. “Pero, please.”

He grows impatient and he grabs the material of your shirt, ripping it so the buttons go flying across the room. He groans when he sees the lace of your bra and you shrug off the ripped material. His hand cups your breast and he leans down a little more so he can take your nipple into his mouth through the lace.

You cry out, his teeth biting down on your breast and you love how he’s treating you. “Yes.” You pant, your hands pulling his suit shirt out of his trousers and fumbling for his belt. “Knew you would be rough. Fuck more, Pero.”

Pero doesn’t deny you when you beg for more. His hands sliding up your back to unclip your bra and he drags it down your arms, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. “Mierda.” He growls and leans down to take your nipple into his mouth, biting down on the sensitive flesh.

You manage to reach his cock, squeezing it through his pants and moaning when you feel him jump and twitch in your hand. Hissing when he bites down on your breast again, your cunt throbs and you feel yourself getting slick with arousal. “Fuck baby, that feels so good.” You moan quietly.

He groans when you squeeze his cock again and his hands slide down to find the zipper of your skirt. Dragging it down, your skirt drops to the floor and Pero pulls back so he can see you in your panties. “Fuck, hermosa.” He groans and reaches for you, grabbing your waist to pick you up and deposit you on the bed. You bounce and he slides his hands up your legs, “tell me to stop. One last chance, baby.” He grunts, his fingers playing with the lace of your panties and he gives you one more chance to say no before he destroys you.

“Don’t you dare stop.” You growl, shaking your head. “I’ve made myself cum too many times thinking about what you would do to me.” You confess breathlessly. Spreading your legs wider to let him see the damp patch on the crotch from where you are soaked.

Pero growls and hooks his fingers in your lace panties, dragging them down your legs, and he pushes your thighs wide open so he can see your pussy for the first time. The one he’s imagined more than he cares to admit with his fingers wrapped around his cock. “Fuck.” He growls and surges forward, his tongue sliding through your folds.

Never in a million years would you imagine that Pero Tovar would perform oral. Your cry of surprise is loud, hand flying to the back of his head and your body shakes at the talented flick of his tongue. You had imagined him greedy and selfish, taking but never giving unless you came on his cock. He groans into your cunt and you moan his name again, lifting your legs onto his shoulders to let him have whatever access to your body he wants.

Pero groans as you tug on his hair and he shifts to lay flat on the bed, his cock pressing against the mattress to give him some relief. His hands slide down to grab your ass and he squeezes the flesh while his tongue flicks over your clit. You’re tangy and sweet and he is already obsessed with your taste.

“Pero- fuck-“ you whimper and roll your hips down. Loving how he devours you as if he is starving and you are a feast. His dark eyes watch you and the lust in them makes your stomach clench. He’s going to wreck you. You just know he will destroy your pussy and leave you exhausted. “Make me cum and then I want you to fuck me.”

Pero groans into your flesh at your dirty words. So different from the woman running for Congress that was on stage making a speech. Right now, you’re whiny and desperate and he fucking loves it. His eyes watch your chest heave and he slides his hand from your ass, pushing two thick digits into your cunt.

Your walls clench down around his fingers, moaning loudly as he starts to pump them into you. “Yes fuck,” you whine. “Your hands are so hard, fingers so thick. Fuck, your cock is thicker, I just know it.”

Pero doesn’t respond, he’s too busy taking your clit into his mouth to suck on it hard. His fingers are pumping faster and he groans when you tug on his hair again. He wants you to cum for him. Desperate to hear you cry out his name so he sucks harder, loving the squeal you release as he curls his fingers, working you closer to your orgasm.

He’s determined to suck your soul out through your clit. Never having a man be so devoted to eating you out, it’s almost overwhelming. He works you up fast and then it only takes another few pumps of his fingers combined with the flick of his tongue to send you flying.

When you clamp down on his fingers, his cock throbs and he withdraws his digits so he can slide his tongue into your fluttering cunt so he can taste the spoils of his victory by making you fall apart.

You gasp his name, your fingers twisted in his hair harshly, but you think he likes it from the way he groans. Making you whimper until he finally has his fill of your cunt and pulls away. “Fuck me, please fuck me.” You beg, desperate to feel his cock ramming into you.

Pero feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t fuck you. So many nights wondering how you’d be beneath him. Would you spit venom and scratch his back in anger or would you relax and take what he gives you? Your begging makes him think it’s the latter. He groans and shifts off the bed, slick fingers fumbling with his pants as he kicks off his shoes and pushes his pants down along with his briefs.

His cock is gorgeous as it springs from the confines of his briefs. Making you moan and your cunt clench around nothing. Heavily bobbing and leaking pre-cum, you would get down on your knees and suck his cock if you weren’t so eager for him to be inside you.

He kicks his pants away and reaches down to squeeze his cock, groaning at the slight relief. He kneels on the bed and looks down at you, “you ready, hermosa?” He asks, wanting to make sure one last time before he fucks you.

Reaching up, you grab his shoulder and pull him down to you. Needing to have him inside you more than you can express. “Yes.” You lunge up to smash your lips against his, your hand sliding between you to wrap around his cock and guide him to your cunt.

He doesn't deny you what you want and he groans at how wet you are when his cock slides through your folds until he notches himself at your entrance and pushes into you. You moan loud, throwing your head back as you sink into your pillow, and Pero follows, resting his weight on his elbows as he pushes until he is fully inside you.

You’re full, you’re overly full and you love the slight pinch of pain that accompanies his cock pushing inside you. It’s been a long time since someone has fucked you and you know he will fuck you right. Your mouth drops open as you pant, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist. “Fuck, Pero.”

You moaning his name snaps his control and he grabs your thigh, lifting it higher so he can push deeper. “Fuck, you are so tight.” He hisses as he starts to rock into you, the pace steady but quick as the desire he’s been harboring so long is set free.

All you can do is take the snap of his hips as he drives his cock deep. Moaning and arching your back up, you let him control the entire thing. Your hands squeeze his biceps as he rocks into you, nails digging into his skin. “So good!” You squeal when he hits deep and strikes against your g-spot. “There!”

He grunts, focusing on that spot, and he reaches for your hand, lifting it over your head as he grinds into that same spot with a groan of your name when your walls flutter around him.

Every time he punches deep into your guts, you squeak out a sound. So close to cumming again and the angle allows the coarse hairs at the base of his cock to rub against your clit. “Pero- fuck, I’m going to cum baby, fuck!”

You are so pliant beneath him and he hisses at the way your pussy is clenching around his cock with each push of his hips against yours. “Fuck. Want you to cum for me.” He demands, pushing deep again and again until you break apart beneath him. He presses his lips against yours as you cum, swallowing your cries of pleasure and taking them for himself as you clamp down on his cock.

The rush of heat and liquid that gushes through your pussy is so good. Making your eyes roll back as he continues to pound into you. Working you through the intense orgasm until your body goes limp.

You soak his cock and he groans, kissing along your jaw as you shake beneath him. "Incredible. Fuck, princesa." He murmurs, letting you work through it until he grunts, rolling over so you are straddling him. "Ride me. Show me what you wanted." He demands, squeezing your ass before he smacks it.

You moan, clenching down around him again and ignoring the smirk that he shoots you. Pressing your hands against his chest and leaning down to kiss him as you roll your hips. Slowly circling your hips to tease him a little as you enjoy how much deeper he feels from this angle.

You look like a fucking angel as you start to move on top of him. "That's it, hermosa. Take what you want. Tell me what you've been imagining with your hand between those pretty thighs." He demands, squeezing your ass again.

You should have known that he wouldn’t forget that. You push yourself upright and start to bounce on his cock, moaning when your ass is pressed against his thighs. “I- imagined you- wrecking me.” You pant breathlessly. “Making me scream and- oh fuck, cum all over you.”

"Yeah? You gonna cum all over me again? Want you to take what you want, pretty girl. So fucking beautiful and smart and brave." He murmurs, knowing he doesn't normally speak this much but you have him rambling. He helps you rock on top of his cock, his hand squeezing your ass and his hand slides up to cup your breast.

You love his hands, and you tell him so, tilting your head back and pushing your breast into his hand even more. There’s an absolute sense of freedom inside you as you ride your guard’s cock. Feeling him twitch every time you squeeze him in your walls. “You have the best cock I’ve ever ridden.” You moan. “Filling me up perfectly.”

He pinches your nipple and kisses along your neck, loving the way you rock your hips down onto his cock. "Mierda." He hisses against your neck, "want you to cum for me again, hermosa." He demands, his hand sliding down between you so he can rub your clit.

You whine, shuddering as he expertly presses his thumb to your clit and rubs tight circles as you ride him. “Pero.” You press your lips to his, rolling your hips down faster as the tension builds.

He loves the way you moan his name, getting addicted to it, and he grabs your hip with his other hand, helping you rock on top of him. He hisses when your walls start to flutter around him again, “cum for me again.”

It only takes a few more rolls of your hips. Pressing your lips against his throat as you cry out, clamping down around him and soaking him again.

Pero groans as you squeeze his cock again. Fuck, you are perfect. He hisses and helps you ride your high by grabbing your ass to rock you on top of him. When you collapse against his chest, he grunts and starts to fuck up into you, his cock twitching and the sound of your slick pussy filling the air.

“Pero…Pero.” You kiss along his neck and let him fuck up into you while you are sprawled on his chest. “Fill me up. It’s safe.” You promise, having just had your birth control renewed right before the campaign had started. “Want to feel it. Want to feel it so badly.”

He trusts you, knowing you wouldn't fuck around with your birth control when you're running for congress. He grunts your name, his cock pulses as he pushes deep into you over and over again. "Mierda. I - hermosa. Fuck." He thrusts a half dozen times until he's pushing deep, his cock twitching inside you as he paints your walls with his cum.

The little hum that settles in the back of your throat is one of pure bliss. Smiling softly as he rocks himself through his orgasm until every drop is pumped into your willing body and you feel incredible. Relaxed even after everything that happened as the post coitus bliss leaves you sleep. “Perfect.”

Pero sighs and rests his head on your pillow, his hands caressing your back as you relax above him. His cock is softening inside you but he doesn’t move you, wanting to enjoy this before reality slaps him in the face.

Your fingers curl and draw little shapes on his shoulder, touching what is obviously an old injury as you try to catch your breath. "That was perfect." You murmur with a smile.

Pero turns his head so he can softly kiss you, wanting to enjoy the moment, and you whimper as you pull off him, flopping onto the bed next to him and he turns his head to look at you. “I like this look on you.” He murmurs and you chuckle, “what look? Just fucked?” You tease and he clicks his tongue, “no. Relaxed.”

You snort and laugh again. “It doesn’t happen often.” You admit. “Sometimes when I get a little tipsy, or I’m tired. But I like this way of relaxation best.”

Pero nods, shifting out of the bed and he reaches for his briefs, pulling them on before he heads into your bathroom to get a rag to clean you up. When he walks away, he realizes that he’s overstepped. Something he’s never done before and that makes him pause and look in the mirror. His scar, his dark eyes that hold a thousand secrets. If he was standing beside you on stage, you’d be a laughing stock. He hisses and closes his eyes, making his way back into the bedroom to hand you the wet rag. “I need to call, uh, the team.” He says as he bends down to gather his clothes. He doesn’t look back as he rushes out of your bedroom, cursing himself for giving in to his desires.

The shift in the mood is instantaneous and you sit up, watching as he practically runs out of the bedroom. You bite your lip, swallowing harshly as you clean up. It’s obvious that this was just a moment, a release of pressure after a tumultuous event. He didn’t take advantage of you, but it almost feels like you took advantage of him. You dress in leggings and a t-shirt and go back out into the living room, knowing you have to call your team. You’ve probably missed a hundred calls.

Pero has a shower and sits on his bed, his hands clasped as he imagines what his mother thinks of him above. He sighs and rubs his cheek after a moment, “mierda, mama. What do I do? She doesn’t want me.” He murmurs, shaking his head and he stands up, deciding to message the team for tomorrow’s event.

You feel a little overwhelmed by the calls with your team, checking in with them and making sure everyone is alright. Reassuring them that you are okay and you will be at the interview scheduled for tomorrow. Refusing to let the fear of one crazed person coming for you change what you do. Sighing softly, you set your phone down and look at the closed door to the guest room, feeling unsure of what will happen now that you’ve slept with Pero.

****

 It’s been a rough morning but Pero has remained professional. He got dressed and sat with a coffee at the kitchen counter while you got ready for your interview with the local news channel. You need to go to the studio early to go over your notes and Pero’s team is already there checking the perimeter and every person in the studio. Essential personnel only.

The air is frosty around you when you come into the kitchen to get some coffee. No greeting or acknowledgement of any kind from the guard who had spent yesterday afternoon making you cum. You cover the hurt by concentrating on pouring your coffee. “I’m leaving in ten minutes.” You announce, turning around and walking back into your bedroom to get your purse.

Pero sighs, hating the tension between you but his job is to keep you safe. Not make you happy. The car ride to the studio is quiet except for the radio playing and Pero grips the steering wheel tighter than usual to resist saying anything to you. He was awake most of the night replaying the way you felt around his cock, beneath him, the sounds you made.

You don’t like the fact that he refuses to speak to you. Making you feel like you’ve done something wrong. It pisses you off. As soon as the car stops at the studio, you are climbing out, eager to get away from the soul sucking silence between the two of you.

Pero gets out of the car and locks it, following you and he steps beside you, his eyes watching the surroundings until you’re inside the studio and he sees his team standing around. Thomas is there to greet you with notes and he frowns when he sees your expression.

“What’s wrong?” He knows you well enough to know that something is wrong but you shake your head. “Nothing.” You promise, plastering on a smile. “Just a restless night. Not to be unexpected.” You remind him and ignore Pero as you hug every one of your staff.

Pero scratches his jaw and shuffles away to stand in the corner, his gun in his holster as he stands close but not too close. He watches the staff on the set and he doesn’t like the look of the cameraman who is eying you from across the room.

You are given a list of the questions while you are whisked over to hair and makeup, adding to what you had already carefully done this morning. While you are staring in the mirror, you find Pero watching you and your eyes meet in the reflection for a brief moment until he looks away guiltily and you know that he regrets last night. Making you swallow harshly and try to remind yourself that you should have never let him touch you.

He knows you regret last night but he doesn’t. He had his moment to touch you and he is going to have to live with the fact that it was one time only. He watches as you are escorted on the set and his eyes widen when he sees an audience shuffling in. Pero strides over to the stage manager and growls, “there wasn’t supposed to be an audience.” He looks over at Thomas, “this is a security risk.” Thomas shrugs one shoulder, “we can’t kick people out. That story would leak. Your men are here. It will be okay.” He says but Pero isn’t convinced.

You try not to shift nervously in your chair as the seats fill. Making sure that you keep your expression neutral so people don’t know you are nervous. Yesterday had shaken you up and you don’t want it to become severe or take over your life. The host is explaining what will happen as a microphone is wired into your clothing discreetly by the sound crew.

Pero is on edge and speaks to his team through his headset to tell everyone to take anyone down who dares even look at you the wrong way. The team confirms it and Pero crosses his arms as he watches you get settled in before the director calls for quiet on set.

The lights are brighter than you imagined and you can’t really see the audience because of the lighting. Nearly making you panic, but you hold onto the edge of the chair as the countdown begins and the host starts their intro.

The host introduces you and you are answering the questions. He can tell you’re nervous but you are eloquent and he smiles slightly at how well you’re getting your message across. He doesn’t notice the man until he’s on stage and Pero’s eyes widen as the man grabs you. He doesn’t think. He acts. Running across the stage, he grabs the man and throws him down on the floor. Straddling him, Pero throws his arm back and brings his fist back into his face. He doesn’t stop after one punch. He sees red and he continues punching the guy live on TV.

The set is crazy with Thomas running out to you and the audience gasping. “Pero!” You scream, rushing forward to where your guard is beating the man on the floor. Terrified that someone else was apparently attacking you. Security for the studio and the rest of Pero’s team rush onto the set and you are pushed back in the chaos.

Pero is dragged off of the asshole and his chest heaves, a growl escaping his lips as he fights the urge to break free. William is in his ear, “calm down. Calm the fuck down.” He growls at his friend, “she’s okay. She’s safe.” The Irishman tells him and Pero inhales deeply, his knuckles bruised and bleeding.

Another member of Pero’s team is beside you, his hand on his gun as security picks the unconscious man up and drags him away from the cameras. The police have been called and you know that you will have to do a lot of damage control to try to explain the last two days to the people that are voting for you. “What is going on?” You demand.

Pero shrugs William off when he knows he’s fine. He snorts and wipes his nose as he steps towards you but the police immediately grab him to pull him aside. “I was protecting her. I was hired to protect her.” Pero tells the officer who snorts, “protect her or kill the asshole who tried to hurt her?” The officer asks and Pero shakes his head, “she was attacked yesterday. I didn’t want to take any chances. I need to keep her safe.” Pero growls and William pats his back, “my colleague was doing his job. His employer is the former vice president.” William explains and the officer's eyes widen. “We, uh - we will need to contact you for questioning but we will take him away and question him.” They assure you and Pero nods, “I need to take her and get her somewhere safe.” He says and the officers nod.

You are talking with Thomas and the assistant director of the show when Pero walks up to you. “We need to leave.” He demands, interrupting the conversation, and making you frown at how rude he is being. “No, I need to finish the interview.” You shake your head, unwilling to let another day, another event be ruined by these attacks. It’s derailing your progress and you can’t afford that.

“I don’t care. We don’t know who else is sitting in the audience or what they could’ve planted. It’s too risky. She needs to go. Now.” He demands, turning his eyes to you. “You need to go. It’s not safe.”

“I’m not going to allow some prick to make me cower in fear.” You tell him bluntly. “It’s your job to protect me, so protect me, but I’m going to finish this interview.”

Your stubbornness makes his jaw clench but he can’t argue. He radios his team to surround you and keep an eye on the audience who is shaken but still in their seats. The host gestures for you to take your seat and Pero’s fists ache as he watches you like a hawk.

“That was quite the shakeup.” The host comments as you start the interview back up and you have to agree. “Yes it was. It must mean that I am pressing some very uncomfortable buttons for people. Which is a good thing. Sometimes change is uncomfortable and dangerous, but if we let fear silence us, they win.” You try to look poised and concerned, but unruffled, wanting to send the message that you are not backing down.

Pero’s eyes glance around the studio, vigilant and alert, and he flexes his knuckles, wincing at the pain. You respond to your questions with grace and dignity despite what happened moments ago. He is anxious to get you out of here but he stands with his team scattered around the room.

“That’s very brave of you.” You don’t consider it brave, but you don’t argue the fact. Pero Tovar and his team are brave. Risking their lives for you. You continue on, getting back to the questions that had been prepared earlier and you find yourself relaxing as the interview concludes, the audience standing and clapping when the host ends their closing remarks.

Pero watches as the interview ends and the staff come over to take the mic pack from you. “We need to go. Now.” Pero demands as soon as you are free from the wires and the set staff.

“After I talk to my staff.” You don’t spare him a glance and move over towards Thomas. You want to find out what is happening with the man the police and security hauled away, if he had said anything about why he attacked you.

Pero clenches his jaw, pissed at you for not listening to him but he follows you when you approach Thomas who is speaking with the police officer. “It appears he was protesting the former vice president’s involvement in the war in Syria. Even if his daughter was not in office, he attacked her to get to him. He’s a war vet. Lost his friends to an IED and he survived. He’s been arrested.” The police officer tells you.

“Shit.” You frown, hating that your father’s actions have had such a profound impact on the man’s life. “I want him released.” You tell the officer. “I’m not pressing charges.” Thomas gasps and you look over at him. “I want you to set up a quiet meeting with him. Tell him that I want to talk to him. Let him speak civilly.” You clarify.

Pero shakes his head, "that is not something I would advise. He could be violent." You snort, "the man is on his way to hospital after you beat him up. I doubt he's in a state to lift a finger." Pero doesn't argue that and he sighs, "not today. We need to put your safety first so you need to be taken home."

You ignore his comment and look back over at Thomas. “Tomorrow, first thing.” You instruct him before you check in with the rest of your team. Aware that he is anxious to leave but you are not going to let him dictate what you do. Once you are done, you look over at Thomas. “I’ll be at home for the rest of the day. Let me know when we can sit down with him.”

Thomas nods, unsure but he won’t argue with you. You are strong willed like your father. “I’ll let you know.” He promises and Pero hovers his hand on your lower back as he guides you to the exit…finally. William is waiting with your driver and your car and opens the passenger door to get you in. “Take her home.” William says and Pero nods, closing your door once you’re inside and he gets in beside you on the other side. Flexing his fingers when he’s in the seat, the driver starts the journey back to your apartment.

You can’t believe that he actually had the driver come out. He had been driving you to all the events, but now he wants to be beside you? You roll your eyes and turn your head to stare out the window. Aware that Pero just wants to get you home and lock you behind a closed door.

Pero feels like a live wire, his hands almost shaking as he watches you stare out the window. He stares for a few moments until he looks down at his hands, frowning at the bruises on his broken skin, and he doesn’t regret what he did to protect you.

You hate that he won’t speak to you. Hadn’t spoken to you since leaving your bed unless it was about your safety. “I’m ordering in.” You decide out loud. “Just so you don’t beat the delivery person.”

Pero turns his gaze to you, “I will answer the door. They have to get through the security at the door but I’ll answer your front door.” He says without leaving any room for negotiation. His job is to keep you safe and that’s what he will do.

You sniff, but you don’t say anything else. So bewildered by the mercurial shifts in attitude this man has. It makes you regret sleeping with him. You had hoped that it would….who knows? Be the start of something wonderful, but it’s just caused even more problems.

Pero escorts you up into your apartment, doing his sweep before he lets you inside and as soon as the door is locked behind him, he turns to face you. “I need ice for my knuckles.” He declares, flexing the sore joints.

Even though you are hurt because he iced you out after fucking you, you aren’t going to let the man suffer. “I have a gel pack.” You kick off your heels and walk into the kitchen, knowing where it’s at in the freezer. You like to use it when your face is puffy and it will feel better against his sore knuckles than jagged ice cubes. You wrap the pack in a thin dishrag and turn around to find him right behind you. “You shouldn’t have hit him so many times.” You tut, taking his hand and pulling it towards you so you can inspect it. “Did he- we should clean it.”

Pero hisses when you inspect his hand, and you guide him over to the sink. “He is lucky I didn’t kill him. Rushing towards you…I would’ve used my gun if there weren't other people so close to you.” He confesses, “when he rushed towards you…fuck.” He growls, shaking his head.

You remind yourself that if you die, his reputation would be ruined in the security sector. He doesn’t sound possessive because he cares about you. “Thank you.” You murmur softly. “For protecting me.”

Pero reaches up with his free hand to cup your cheek, “I’d do anything to protect you.” He promises, his dark eyes burning into yours, “anything for you, hermosa.” He vows despite knowing he’s not good enough for you. His past will come back to haunt him.

“Anything but talk to me.” You huff, pulling away from his touch before you do something stupid like try to kiss him again. You wash his hand, ignoring the way your body has heated up and reacts to his proximity. You wrap it in the icy gel pack and you step back. “You should have a drink.” You advise.

Pero shakes his head, “no drink. Not until you’re elected.” He declares and he sits down at the kitchen table with the gel back on his knuckles. “I shouldn’t have left your bed.” He admits as you turn your back to him, “I should’ve stayed.”

You had been about to walk away and you freeze. You turn around to find him looking at you instead of his hand. “Why did you leave?” You ask quietly. “Got what you wanted? It wasn’t good enough?” Those have been your theories as you had thought about it over and over again.

Pero shakes his head, “wasn’t good enough? Is that what you - mierda. Hermosa. I - I am not good enough for you. I have a dark past and my job - I shouldn’t even be in the same room as you. I want to be in your bed again. Hear you moan my name again, but I can’t. You deserve better than some thug from Seville.”

“Some thug from Seville?” You don’t know what he’s talking about, but you shake your head. “I judge a man based on his character now, not what has made him.” You snort, angry that he is basically calling you a judgmental cow. “Everyone has a past, good or bad. It’s what shapes them. Despite your past, you are a good man. But it’s unfair for you to make a decision for me. It should be my choice if I want you in my bed.”

Pero inhales deeply, looking at you, “do you want that? Me in your bed?” He asks, his eyebrows raised as he anxiously awaits your answer.

You should tell him no, you should walk away with your pride intact. But that wouldn’t be what you wanted and you try not to lie. “Yes.” You admit, biting your lip. “Yesterday was….the fucking best sex I’ve had.” You could be yourself and he didn’t hold back, he didn’t look at you like a campaigning hopeful Senator or the former vice president’s daughter. You were a woman he wanted.

Your words make his chest tighten and he tosses the gel pack onto the table as he shoots out of his chair. His hands cup your cheeks as he presses his lips against yours.

You should have known he would act instead of talk. You don’t care though. Not when he’s kissing you again. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you tangle your fingers into his hair desperately as you slide your tongue into his mouth.

His hands slide down to squeeze your waist, grunting as he shifts to lift you up onto the kitchen counter. He steps between your legs and his tongue slides against yours. He knows it’s wrong but he can’t help it. You offered him a drink but he doesn’t need it when he’s drunk on you.

You don’t know why he is so reserved or why he has the wicked scar over his eye, but you know that you feel alive in his arms. You feel safe and secure, blissful and comforted. Reaching up, you push the jacket off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

He lets his jacket fall to the floor and you grab his tie, pulling him close when he steps back to kick his shoes away. You press your lips against his and you tug on his tie to pull it from his collar. He grabs it when you undo it, grabbing your hands. "Such a disobeying brat." He hisses at the way you had gone back to the interview when he insisted on taking you home.

You should argue with him, but you can’t, not when you were being a brat. Partly to piss him off but mostly to show that you weren’t afraid. “What are you going to do about it?” You taunt.

Pero growls, tying your hands together and he hooks them onto the cabinet handle so you can’t move. “You’re going to learn to obey orders.” He hisses and his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress up to expose your panties.

“Kinky.” You taunt, moaning when he presses his thumb against your clit through the lace. You might have worn your sexiest lingerie today as a confidence booster. “What if-“ you pant. “I don’t want to obey?”

“Then I’ll make you behave.” He warns, leaning in to bite your jaw, “you’re going to be a good girl for me otherwise you’ll regret it.” He promises and you tilt your head back. “You need to listen to me. It’s your fucking life on the line. This isn’t a game.” He growls against your skin as he slides his fingers under your panties to rub your clit.

You whimper quietly, your hips jerking up. “I was safe.” You pant. “I’m safe with you.” It’s true. You feel completely safe when Pero is beside you, you know he would never let anything happen to you and he has the bruised knuckles to prove it.

He huffs, “you need to make better decisions. Not be so reckless. You could’ve gotten hurt again. We don’t know who else was in that audience.” He grunts and pulls his hand away from your clit. You whine but he shoves your dress up higher and hooks his fingers in your panties, dragging them down your legs. “These are sexy. Who did you wear these for? The interviewer? Thomas?” He teases, tossing them over his shoulder before he pushes your thighs open.

“Wanted to- to feel sexy today.” You don’t harp on the fact that it was because of him leaving yesterday, but you know he understands that’s why. His hands slide up your thighs and you can’t touch him. It’s so fucking sexy to see his shoulder holster and gun still on his body while he spreads you open. “Fuck Pero.” You whine. “How are you so sexy?”

He chuckles as he slides his hand higher until he’s pressing two thick digits into your cunt. “I’m not good for you. That’s why it’s sexy. Forbidden. You shouldn’t let me touch you.” He says as he leans in to kiss along your neck.

You huff in protest, knowing that it’s more than that. You aren’t forbidden to be in a relationship with anyone you choose as long as he’s not someone else’s husband. “Why?” You murmur. “You married?”

Pero freezes and pulls back to look at you. “I’m many things, princesa, but I am not a cheater. No, I’m not married. But you are political royalty and I’m nobody.” He declares and presses his thumb against your clit as he starts to move his fingers again.

“I was teasing.” You promise, wishing you could touch him. “You aren’t nobody.” You moan when he pushes his fingers deep. “You’re the man whose name I’m going to scream.”

His cock presses against the zipper of his slacks and he kisses up to your ear, “you’re going to scream it so fucking loud, the team will think something has happened.” He promises, pumping his fingers a little faster.

You whimper, eyes sliding closed as you pull against the tie. “Fuck. Please.” You beg, your walls squeezing his fingers as he works them into you. Stretching you out for his cock. “I want them to think I’m being murdered in here.”

Pero chuckles against your ear, “don’t worry, baby. You’ll scream.” He promises and shifts to kneel, pulling his fingers out of you. He grabs your hips and drags you to the edge of the counter, pushing your thighs further apart until he surges forward to slide his tongue through your folds.

“Pero!” You cry out chest heaving because of his tongue. “Fuck- fuck, I want to suck your cock sometime.” You whine, trying to grind your hips down, but you are completely immobile since he moved you to the edge of the counter.

Your back arches as he has you almost hanging off the counter and he sucks your clit into his mouth. He fucking loves the way you taste. Tangy yet sweet. His fingers dig into your thighs and he is desperate to make you cum again for him, to hear you cry out his name.

If you had believed Pero to be feral yesterday, he is even more so today. His mouth ravenous as he devours you, obviously remembering what you liked as his tongue insistently flicks over your clit in a dizzying pattern as his fingers hold you apart, anchoring you down to his will. “Pero- god- it- your tongue.” You babble incoherently, unable to think and just rambling as he pulls you apart lick by lick.

He’s greedy for you, unsure if he will have you again so he’s eager to lap at you until he’s satisfied that you’re satisfied. He loves hearing you ramble and he wants to hear more. His tongue pushes into you while his nose presses against your clit, making you whine and your head hits the cabinet behind you.

“So good, fuck - who would - would guess you like to - to eat pussy?” You moan his name again, feeling completely wanton. You aren’t even undressed, just tied to your cabinet with your skirt pushed up and your guard devouring your cunt like he’s getting paid for it. “Jesus.”

Pero groans at your moans, the way the tension in your body melts away has him lapping at your clit and sucking on it like those strawberry candies his abuela would give him as a kid. He’s desperate to hear you cum for him.

His tongue applies the perfect pressure as your thighs tense under his hands. “Pero- baby, I’m close.” You gasp out. “I’m gonna cum- I’m gunna-“ you squeal his name again when the pleasure busts inside you, breaking apart and rushing through your cunt like dam.

He grunts into your flesh, hands squeezing your thighs hard enough to leave a mark as he laps at your clit, sliding his tongue down to enjoy every drop of your orgasm - of the pleasure he gave you- from your body. He laps until you whine and then he pulls back, standing up with a slick chin. “Hermosa.” He pants as he surges forward to press his lips to yours.

You moan into the kiss, pulling at the cabinet again because you want to touch him. “Fuck me.” You beg against his lips. “Fuck me hard. I need it. I need you.” You aren’t too prideful to beg, wanting to feel him again. “Please.”

Pero chuckles, “you need to learn your lesson.” He unhooks you from the cabinet and grabs your thighs, lifting you from the counter to carry you into the living room. He sets you down and growls, “kneel” which you eagerly do. “You’re going to suck my cock like a good girl. You’re going to fucking obey me because if you don’t, I’m gonna punish you.” He grunts as he pulls his hard cock from his pants. “Suck.” He orders, holding his cock for you.

Your hands are still tied together but this is so sexy it has your cunt clenching around nothing. You aren’t in control, he is. Leaning forward, your tongue presses to the tip and he growls. “I said suck, not lick.” Your mouth opens obediently and he pushes inside with a thrust that would have you gagging if you had that reflex.

Pero’s eyes roll back as you take him deep on the first time and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock. “Fuck. Such a good girl.” He coos, reaching down to caress your cheek as you start to bob your head for him.

Your eyes leak tears but you don’t let up. Wanting this to be as good for him as his tongue was buried in your pussy. You’re leaking onto the floor, dripping with arousal as he holds the back of your head with one hand, applying more pressure when he wants you to take him deeper.

You take him deeper and he rocks his hips, holding the back of your head so he can control the movements. You choke and he chuckles, “if only your voters could see you now. Dirty little whore sucking my cock.” He thrusts again and you sputter. He pulls out and hunches over to look at you, “you gonna do as I say?” He asks, his hand still on your head.

“Maybe.” You smirk slightly up at him, leaning forward as you try to lick him again. The derogatory language is a kink of yours that never gets indulged in, because you don’t tell anyone about it. Not trusting past lovers enough. “Maybe not.” You pout when he pulls his hips back to deny you a taste of his cock.

Pero chuckles at your pout and he reaches down to grab your tied wrists, pulling you to your feet and he guides you to your bedroom. “You’re gonna do as I say if you want to cum on my cock.” He warns and he turns you so he can unzip your dress. “Do not move your hands.” He demands as he unties your wrists so he can push your dress down your body. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, leaning in to bite down on your shoulder as he unclips your bra, wanting you to be naked in front of him.

You have to curl your hands into fists, wanting to touch him but wanting to cum on his cock more. “Pero.” You moan when he cups your breasts, tilting your head back and you love how he touches you. “Kiss me.”

He groans, loving the way you arch into his touch and he gives in to your demand, leaning in to press his lips to yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth and he swallows your moans of pleasure. “Kneel on the bed.” He demands when he pulls back, slapping your breast.

You gasp in pleasure, kneeling on the bed like he ordered you to and shiver as you wait for his instructions. You willingly give up control right now, wanting to see what he has in store for you.

Pero watches your cunt flutter as he strips off, pushing his pants down and he throws his socks across the room. He grabs his tie again and kneels on the bed behind you, “I’m going to wreck you, princesa. Make sure you don’t disobey me again.” He growls and grabs your wrists to tie them together again. You nearly fall forward but he keeps you upright by gripping your wrists in one of his hands, his other hand pumping his cock as he lines himself up.

Pero slams his hips up, making you scream as he fills you. It’s loud, and your entire body lights up in pleasure. He’s rough and dominant, making the air seep from your lungs.

He groans at how wet and tight you are around him. His cock twitching inside you as you take every inch of his cock. “Fuck, hermosa. You’re so good.” He grunts and tightens his grip on your wrists.

You moan, squeezing him tight as he rocks up into you. “Pero.” You groan and close your eyes as he holds you up by your wrists, impaled on his cock. “I’m- you’re good.” You pant. “You’re so fucking good.”

He loves the way you pant and moan, your cunt fluttering around his cock as he pushes into you over and over again. “That’s it baby. Mierda. Tú coño es mi cielo.” He hisses and grips your wrists tighter so he can thrust harder into you.

You whimper, loving the rough treatment of you. He gives you exactly what you need. “Tu polla es mia.” You moan back to him, pushing your hips down so he can grind deeper into you.

His cock twitches inside you at you speaking his mother tongue and he loves the way you grind back onto him. “You’re so fucking hungry to cum on my cock, aren’t you?” He coos mockingly, loving the way you hiss when he uses his free hand to smack your ass.

Crying out again, you clench around him at the sting of his slap. “Yes! Fuck, yes Pero.” You moan. “It’s so good. No one has ever fucked me like you do.”

He knows you’re lost in the moment but he hopes you’re telling the truth. He wants to possess you, overwhelm you, make you listen to him instead of putting your life at risk. He groans your name and clenches his jaw as he rams into you again and again.

It’s perfect. His body fits yours so well and he manages to make you want more and turn into jelly at the same time. Your thighs shake because you are so close, the angle is perfect. “So close.”

He keeps that same angle, feeling your walls flutter around his cock, and he hisses, thrusting a few more times as your thighs shake until you stiffen beneath him as your orgasm overcomes your body. “That’s it, hermosa.” He coos, rubbing your ass as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him.

You moan his name again and again, loving how you are fucked through it. He takes care of you without you even having to beg him. “I want- fuck, I want to feel you.” You whimper, “I need it.”

He wants to make you cum again but he doesn’t think he can hold back as he thrusts into you, working you through your orgasm until it’s too much. He grunts your name, his nails digging into your wrist as he thrusts deep and starts to paint your walls with his cum.

You whine when you feel the heat of his cum flooding your cunt. Closing your eyes as he fills you up. “So good.” You murmur softly. “Fuck, you are good at making me feel completely boneless.”

He rocks himself through it and sighs, leaning down to kiss along your neck while he works on untying your wrists. “You going to listen to me now, hermosa?” He asks, helping you lay down on your side.

“When I think you’re right.” You admit, smirking when he shoots you a heavy frown. He’s still buried inside you and you tighten your muscles around him. “You have to admit that it sent a stronger message for me to complete the interview today.”

Pero sighs, “a stronger message isn’t worth risking your life. You can’t run if you’re dead.” He says as he pulls out of you and helps you lay down on the bed. “I’ll clean you up.” He says as he shuffles off the bed, not wanting to just leave you like he did last night.

You know that he’s not happy that you aren’t listening to him and hiding behind your walls, frightened, but you don’t give in to terror tactics. When he comes back with the rag, you wonder if he will leave again. “I’ll compromise with you.” You offer. “I can’t stay behind armored walls all the time, but if there’s a time where you seriously think I’m in danger, I’ll do what you say.”

Pero stares at you for a second, pondering your bargain, and finally he nods. “Deal.” He says and gently cleans you up. He doesn’t get dressed or reach for his clothes after he tosses the rag in your bathroom. He shifts to lay down beside you, pulling you into his arms, “you okay? Your wrists hurt?”

You curl against his chest. “No.” You promise, reaching up to caress his chest. “You didn’t hurt me at all. I loved it.” You smile, feeling better about your evening now that he has laid back down with you.

Pero strokes your back, “bueno.” He murmurs and turns his head to kiss your forehead. He knows he shouldn’t be in your bed. He shouldn’t be touching you but he can’t keep away. Once you’re elected, his job will be done and he will move on to the next while you succeed in D.C, marry some asshole politician while he remembers this time with you, hopefully enough to carry him the rest of his lonely life.

You cuddle into his chest and sigh softly, relaxed and safe. “This feels good.” You admit quietly. “Take a nap with me?” Despite having pushed to continue the interview, your body is exhausted and you need some rest since you’ve been through so much. Now that you are finally relaxed, you want to sleep.

Pero doesn’t deny you. He pulls you close, letting you throw your leg over his hip, and he snuggles into your neck, breathing you in. “Come on, get some sleep, hermosa.” He murmurs, closing his eyes. It’s weird to be so relaxed but he doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep curled around you.

The nap is probably the most relaxing sleep you’ve had since the bid for congress started. You love the warmth of his body and at some point, you end up on your back with Pero’s weight pressing you down into the mattress.

Pero wakes up before you do and he groans as he shifts off your body. You whine and try to keep him close but he needs to check in with the team and he wants to get you dinner. He grunts as he pulls on his briefs and makes his way into the living room to check his phone. A couple of missed calls from William and a few texts but nothing that can’t wait. He makes his way into the kitchen to open your fridge and he inspects what is available before he gets started on making you dinner.

When you wake up, you’re alone again. Bleary eyed and yawning, you hear a curse and a loud clanging from the kitchen. Donning your robe, you stumble into the living room, seeing Pero at the stove. “We aren’t ordering food?” You ask.

Pero sighs, setting down the spatula. “I was trying to make you breakfast for dinner. Show - make up for running out last time.” He confesses with a slight blush on his cheeks. He sighs and glances at the scrambled eggs and bacon, flour on his face from the pancakes.

It’s possibly the sweetest gesture you’ve ever received. “Thank you.” You murmur, walking over and pressing a kiss to his warm cheek. “That’s so sweet. I love breakfast for dinner.”

Pero flushes slightly, “go sit down. There’s coffee and orange juice. It won’t be long.” He promises, “this is all I can cook. Well, breakfast and paella.” He chuckles, “my mama taught me how to cook paella.”

You moan softly, mouth watering at the idea. “We will have to get the ingredients for paella.” You hum, sitting down at the bar and watching him greedily. The muscles in his back ripple and pull tight as he moves. “I love paella.”

He looks over his shoulder with a smirk, “we will make it one day.” He promises and flips the pancakes, leaving them another minute before he puts them on the plates. He turns off the stove and carries the plate over to you with the eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Syrup on the table alongside the butter, he takes a seat beside you to tuck into his own food.

“It looks good, thank you.” You appreciate the fact that he made you dinner, it’s a lot more than previous lovers have done. You put some syrup over your pancakes and cut into them eagerly. Groaning quietly, you roll your eyes in pleasure. “Oh this is good.”

Pero is pleased that you are enjoying it and he digs into his cooking, enjoying your groans of pleasure as you eat. He is still shirtless and he can feel your eyes on him. “Baby, I can feel you watching me.”

“Nothing wrong with watching a handsome man.” You tease, smirking slightly when he seems to be shy about that. “You have to know how sexy you are.” You huff. “Raw and appealing? Dangerous. You look like you could be on the cover of a pirate romance novel.”

Pero snorts, “a pirate romance novel?” He chuckles and you nod, “very smutty.” Pero smirks, “yeah? What does the main character do in this pirate romance novel?”

You grin. “Well he’s a scoundrel, kidnapping the innocent maiden and ravaging her.” You tease. “All while plundering for gold and treasure, but his favorite thing is to make her scream loud enough for his crew to hear. Branding her as his.”

Pero smirks, “yeah? He’s a scoundrel. He brands her as his.” He asks, pushing away from the table after he sets his knife and fork down. He pats his lap, “come here and tell me what he does to brand her as his.”

You hum, sliding off your chair and into his lap easily, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Well, he fucks her every night, leaving her catatonic with pleasure and unable to look at another man. She’s fair skinned, so his marks are on her neck, her breasts, her hips where he has sucked on the skin, squeezed it harshly.” You know he can’t mark you, but you don’t mind bruises you can feel. “He protects her against dangers. Keeps her safe even in dangerous waters.”

Pero hums, leaning in to kiss along your neck, his hands gripping your thigh and your waist. “He keeps her safe no matter what?” He murmurs against your cheek, kissing up to your ear and he bites on your earlobe.

“He does.” You tilt your head, moaning softly and you start to grind down on his cock. “He’s very good at it.”

He starts to harden beneath you, a groan escaping his lips as he kisses your skin. “Good. I know he’d keep her safe no matter what. How does he satisfy her?” He asks, his hand sliding up to squeeze your breast through your robe.

You whimper and roll your hips. “He takes control. Giving her what she needs without ever asking. Letting her be free to just enjoy herself.”

Pero loves the way you grind down onto him and he unties your robe, he cups your breast and tilts it up. He leans down to take your nipple into his mouth, biting down on it before he sucks on it.

Your fingers sink into his hair and you lean back, giving him more access to your body. “Fuck, Pero.” You moan quietly, loving how he is rough and gentle all at the same time. “So good. More.”

He groans, sliding his other hand down and he pushes your thighs apart. You moan when his fingers find your clit and he presses the bundle of nerves while he mouthes at your nipple.

It’s slow this time. He doesn’t rush to prepare you or do anything more than tease your breast. Making it seem like nothing else exists but the two of you as you are perched on his lap. “Pero.” You groan, completely under the spell of his touch.

He isn’t in any hurry to be inside you so he rubs your clit and groans your name softly as he kisses his way back up to your neck, “hermosa.” He murmurs into your skin, meaning the word with his entire being.

“You are beautiful too.” You promise, fingers carding through his hair. “You are strong and protective. It was sexy when you defended me today.” You admit quietly. “I know I’m safe with you.”

Pero is relieved to hear you feel that way and he smiles against your neck, “I want you to always feel safe with me.” He declares and rubs your clit a little faster, wanting to hear your sweet moans as you cum. “I will protect you as long as you want me, as long as you need me.” He vows and groans when you pull on his hair a little.

t’s on the tip of your tongue to say that he can stay as long as he wants, because you want him, but you don’t. Feeling like he wouldn’t believe that. Instead, you press your lips to his, kissing him deeply and moaning into his mouth as he touches you.

He slides his tongue into your mouth and he continues rubbing your clit, hard and pressing into your back, and he wants you to cum for him. He wants to feel you shake against him. He’s already addicted to it.

Pero’s touch turns demanding and you love it. Rocking into his touch as you kiss. Giving him what he wants as he works you towards the peak.

He wants you to cum for him. He rubs your clit a little faster and groans when you start to stiffen against him. You throw your head back against his shoulder and moan as you fall apart in his arms, his lips against your neck as he works you through it.

“Fuck, fuck.” You whine, never having someone who has been as thorough as him when it comes to making sure that your needs are met. He’s incredible and it makes the orgasm even more intense knowing you can break and he will be right there.

He’s hard beneath you but doesn’t push for more as he pulls his hand away from between your thighs and slides his hand up to cup your breast, breathing you in as he knows this will come to an end at some point.

“How do you want me?” You ask, trying to catch your breath as you reach down to slip your hand under the waistband of his boxers. Wrapping your hand around his hard cock and moaning when he twitches against your palm.

“Fuck.” He hisses, “Princesa. I want - I want you to ride me.” He demands, “want to see your face when you cum again. Want to see you fall apart for me before I fill you up.” He murmurs, nudging his nose against your jaw.

You hum, shifting your hips so you can line up on his cock as you pull him out of his boxers. Pero pushes your robe off your shoulders and you drop it to the ground as you lower yourself on him. Moaning his name as he fills you up.

Pero closes his eyes, feeling like he’s entered heaven when you sink down onto his cock. You are wet and hot and fit him like a glove. Like it’s meant to be. He doesn’t allow himself to focus on that and instead, his hands find your waist, caressing your skin as you start to rock on top of him. “Fuck, you’re so perfect, hermosa.” He murmurs, “so fucking perfect.” He leans in to kiss your neck, wanting to mark you but knowing he can’t.

You settle down. Squeezing him a few good times just to hear him grunt and feel him rock his hips up. Enjoying how he pushes away the loneliness that you had been ignoring for so long. “Relax, lover.” You murmur, closing your eyes. “Let me do all the work.”

Pero loves hearing you call him lover. He slides his hands up to cup your tits and he squeezes the flesh. “I want you to cum on my cock. Soak me. Take what you want from me.” Pero demands, loving how you squeeze him inside of your body.

You groan quietly, using his body as you start to slowly ride him. Keeping the pace slower as he touches you. “Your cock is perfect.” You promise, kissing along his jaw. “All I can do is cum on it.”

His hands alone along your back and he watches you as you start to move. Your brow furrows in concentration and he loves it. He knows he’s getting in too deep and it’s not a good thing but he can’t help himself. You are intoxicating.

You love how he holds his hips still and lets you ride him. He doesn’t take over, doesn’t try to set the pace. He just lets you take what you want from him. “Pero.” You kiss up his jaw and bite the hinge. “You feel so good inside me.”

He wants to say so much but he’s never been a man of many words, he can’t tell you how much this moment means to him. How you have seemingly changed his world in such a short time. Before you, he was alone, working to fill the void, but meeting you…it’s like a switch was flipped and he’s hungry for you, for your body, for your attention. He can’t tell you that. You’ll be moving on to marry some rich asshole and have his babies while you are in office. He’s not good enough and his past will come back to haunt him. For now, he lets you use his body and he will leave when the time comes. It’s what has to happen.

You love how he touches you. It’s more intimate than just fucking. It’s like he is your lover, that there are emotions beyond the physical. Panting into his skin, you completely give in to what it feels like to be surrounded by him. “Baby, I love this.” You whine. “You’re so perfect for me.”

He buries his face in your neck, kissing along your neck as you rock on top of him. Your toes on the tile of the kitchen floor as you move yourself. He wants this to be your pace, your pleasure. He will get his after you do.

You whimper, feeling how deep he gets from this angle and loving it. He fits you perfectly, reaching that spot inside you that every time he pulses, your walls clench around him. “God baby, I could sit on your cock all day.” You moan. “That could be how you protect me, just keep me in bed.”

Pero chuckles, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass, “yeah? Is that the way to keep you safe, princess? Keep you creaming my cock? What about your campaign? Are you going to announce that you’re too busy to run anymore because you are cumming on your guard’s cock?”

You moan, imagining the reaction to such a wild announcement. “Yes.” You giggle. “Or you will have to be buried deep inside me as I give speeches from the stage.”

Pero snorts in amusement, imagining Thomas’s face if he were to witness that. “I don’t think your daddy would like that, baby.” He chuckles and smacks your ass, “and I don’t want anyone else seeing your gorgeous tits.”

“They are gorgeous, aren’t they?” You preen, poking your chest up and into his face as he groans and dips his head to wrap his lips around your nipple. “Oh fuck baby, yes. Fuck, I - more.”

He bites down on your nipple, slapping your other breast with his hand. He groans when you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging, and he hisses against your flesh. He wants to make you fall apart, be addicted to him. He wants you to need him like he needs you now.

You cry out in pleasure when he bites down again. Rolling your hope faster as you ride him. Bouncing on his cock as fast as you can while keeping your nipple in his mouth. “Fuck!” You squeal in pleasure.

“Mierda, princesa. Need you to cum for me again.” He growls against your breast, loving the way you’re growing desperate to cum, and he slides his hand down between you to rub your clit. He needs you to cum for him.

You could never call Pero a selfish lover and you stiffen in his arms. Crying out as you clench down around him and pressing your mouth to his shoulder to stifle your sounds while you shake in his arms.

When you clamp down on his cock, he’s overwhelmed by your pleasure and he hisses, grabbing your aaa and he rocks up into you. “I - fuck - I’m gonna cum.” He pants, “fuck, hermosa. Mi princesa.” He groans as he thrusts up into you and falls apart. He fills you up, painting your walls with his hot seed.

“Pero.” You whine if his name is in complete bliss. You love the decadent feeling of him filling you with his cum. It’s slightly cavewomanish, but you love the primal, raw feeling. “Fuck.”

He sighs, burying his face in your neck, and he loves the way you caress his back. “Jesus, we need to clean up again.” He chuckles, kissing along your shoulder until he pulls back to look at you. He cups your cheek and loves the slightly dazed look in your eyes.

“Do you want to soak in a bath with me?” You ask, knowing that he doesn’t relax often but maybe he will if he’s with you. “You can bring your gun into the bathroom.” You tease.

Pero snorts, “I’ll set it on the side just in case someone breaks into the bathroom.” He says, confirming that he will have a bath with you. He wants to be close to you while he can.

You are pleased that he will unwind with you, cupping his cheeks and kissing him softly before you start to slowly pull off his cock. “Perfect.” You hum.

Pero grunts as you lift off of him but you walk off on shaky legs to start the water for the bath and he smiles to himself. He’s getting in deep but he can’t find it in himself to care right now. All he wants is to be close to you and that’s what he’s going to do.

****

 Pero winks at you as you sit down opposite him at your kitchen table with your cup of coffee. In his hand is his phone as he checks your schedule for the week. Fundraisers, campaign events, meet and greets, interviews. It’s a lot and he’s anxious about locking down security to keep you safe. Your phone rings from its place on the table and he frowns when you answer it with “dad?” and he wonders if something has happened.

“Sweetheart, I was hoping that you could squeeze me into your schedule for lunch today.” Your father gets straight to the point, just like he always had. You wonder what he has to say or if this is some kind of meet and greet. “Let me see and I’ll get back to you.”

“Please honey. It’s important. There’s this guy I want you to meet. He could really help your profile in D.C and according to my assistant, he’s ‘cute’. I thought this would be a good way for you to meet.” He says, “he insists on meeting today.”

“Cute.” You don’t like the sound of that. Pero had been in your bed every night since that second attack. He sleeps beside you, around you, wrapping him in your arms protectively while you both rest. “Dad, I’m not interested in being set up.”

Pero’s eyebrows raise at your words, wondering who your father is trying to set you up with. He knows he has no claim to you other than sharing your bed and your body. He doesn’t have your heart. “Please, sweetheart. Even if you don’t want to be set up, he could really help your campaign.” Your father urges and you sigh, “fine. Fine. What time?” Your father tells you he will have his assistant text the details and you hang up after saying goodbye. “A date?” Pero hums, pretending to not be interested but his heart is pounding.

“Someone my father says can help my campaign.” You snort, unsure of how anyone can help when you are this close to the election. You wonder if he’s jealous, knowing you would be in his shoes. You’ve fallen in love with him, but you can’t admit that to him. He would never believe it. “Lunch.”

He wants to make up some excuse about safety and vetting this man but he knows he can’t. He can’t demand anything from you. He nods, “let me know when and where and I will make sure you get there safe and sound.” He promises and looks back at his phone, trying to not look like he’s bothered.

You are hurt by the fact that he seems so nonchalant about this. Hoping that he would have some opinion on it. “Okay.” You murmur. “I guess I should go get ready.”

Pero doesn’t look up from his phone as you make your way into your bedroom to get ready and he sighs, setting his phone down when you’re out of the room. “Fuck.” He murmurs to himself, knowing that he can’t make a claim on you.

By the time you are dressed, you’ve managed to get irritated at Pero. He hasn’t come to talk to you, or kiss you. You hate it. It’s a dose of reality, reminding you that he’s just fucking you because you are available.

Pero notices that you are a little more dressed up than usual and that makes his jaw clench. He asks if you’re ready and you nod. He stands and escorts you to your car, helping you in the front passenger seat. He shuts the door and walks around the front of the car to get into the driver's seat. “So lunch?” He asks when he’s out on the road, the GPS telling him where you are going to eat lunch with another man.

You don’t speak to him beyond answering him, glancing at your phone and answering emails. The chilly divide between you makes your heart ache but you refuse to bare your heart and soul when it’s clear he can’t care less.

Pero doesn’t push for details and he retreats into his professional demeanor. He sighs and pulls up outside the restaurant. It’s fancy and has a valet but Pero doesn’t let them take the car. He gets out and opens the door for you before the valet boy can. He takes your hand and helps you out, squeezing your hand and his dark eyes meet yours as the reality hits that you are going inside to have lunch with another man. Even if your father is there. Secret service is everywhere so Pero isn't needed - at least that’s the order he’s given when he walks into the restaurant, so he heads back outside to wait in the car.

You don’t like that Pero isn’t with you. “Dad….Pero is supposed to stay with me.” You remind him, as if he isn’t the one who had hired him. Your father lifts a brow and chuckles. “You can live without him for a lunch.” He huffs, holding your hand and guiding you towards the table. “My secret service detail is enough for this little meeting.”

Pero isn't happy to sit in the car but he grabs his phone and calls William to ask where he is. “Ah so you finally call me for something other than business?” He asks playfully and Pero scoffs, “pendejo. How do you know I’m not calling about something for work?” He asks the Irishman. “Because I can tell by your voice. Is it about her?” He asks and Pero licks his lips, knowing he shouldn’t say anything but he needs to speak to someone and who can he speak to if he can’t speak to his best friend? “She’s on a fucking date. Set up by her father.” Pero hisses and William laughs. “A date? So her daddy doesn’t know that you two have been-?” Pero growls, “of course he doesn’t. And she didn’t - she didn’t say no to this fucking date.” He grumbles and William chuckles, “you really are a fuckin’ moron, my friend. She can’t say no because then you’ll be in the firing line. She’s protecting you.” He promises and Pero rubs his cheek, “when she’s elected…she will forget all about me. It’s best if I don’t get too attached.” Pero confesses to himself and his friend. “I think she might surprise you.” He hums and Pero snorts, “women are always full of surprises but I think it’s best if I don’t let myself get too involved.” Pero says even though he is involved already. He wants to go inside and get you, take you away, but he can’t. That’s selfish. “I’ll talk to you soon, pendejo.” He says, wanting to be alone with his thoughts for now. “Don’t do something stupid, you prick.” William says before he hangs up the phone.

The man your father has brought to your attention is the last man you would ever be interested in. If you had found the political elite boring and unattractive before, you really do now that you’ve had Pero in your bed for months. The self importance and the power that they think they hold is just unappealing when you have a man who can overpower you in a second but treats you like a beautiful, filthy slut one moment and a princess the next. That feeling that you have fallen for Pero is cemented and you try to be polite during the lunch, but you aren’t interested in anything that is being offered, verbally or otherwise.

Pero tries to distract himself on his phone, even considers finding a cigarette even though he quit years ago. Anything to stop himself from thinking about you in there possibly meeting the man that your father would approve of. A man you should marry. “I’m going to use the restroom.” You announce, taking your purse with you so you can call Pero quickly and your father nods, barely looking up as you walk through the restaurant. Secret Service doesn’t follow you, having got the restaurant surrounded and you walk towards the back of the establishment only to be stopped by one of the waiters. “Our dishwasher is a big fan of yours. Would you mind coming back to see him as he can’t leave the kitchen?” He asks and you glance over at the table where your father is before you nod. “Sure. I can do that.” He opens the door for you and the kitchen is busy as you walk towards the dishwasher who is next to the back door. It happens so fast you barely have time to process it. A handkerchief is pressed against your mouth, smothering your scream and putting the drug into your system. You slump and you’re hidden behind shelves so the waiter lifts you up and carries you out the door. He’s not a waiter. He’s your kidnapper.

The moments tick by and the first sign of trouble is when a blacked out government SUV squeals to a stop in front of the restaurant and several agents rush out through the door. Pero’s heart stops and he jumps out of the car to rush inside.

The secret service agents try to stop him from entering but he pushes forward. Your father nods for him to be let in and he pushes into the restaurant where everyone is quiet and being held. “What the fuck happened? Where is she?” He asks, eyes frantic as he searches the crowd for you. “She - she’s gone. The - a waiter. They - shit.” Your father chokes, feeling guilty because this was a last minute event. “Get me the camera footage. Now.” Pero demands and the manager nods, escorting him to the office to show him any footage. “Tovar, my agents can do this-” Your father says but Pero spins to look at him. “She’d be here if you had let me do my job.” He hisses, not giving a fuck that it’s the former vice president and he follows the manager into his office. The footage is found and Pero growls when he sees the asshole cover your mouth.

Your body is jostled around in the back of a van, speeding and rocking over potholes. “We have to get to the house.” The driver hisses at the person who had posed as the waiter. “They will have discovered she’s gone by now. We torch the van down by the river.”

Pero hisses as he listens to the secret service agents who are trying to justify the reason why they didn’t have agents on the fucking back door. Apparently the one who was positioned there went for a piss. “We need to focus on finding her. Not blaming someone.” Your father shakes his head, and Pero nods, “I will find her.” The secret service agents snort, “you? We have the resources that you do not. You are a security guard. A bodyguard.” They demean him and he clenches his jaw, knowing he’s not going to get any help. He nods and strides out of the restaurant, ignoring the calls for him to stay, and he strides out to his car, pulling his phone out to call William for back up.

“That was quick.” William chuckles but Pero isn’t in any mood to joke. “She’s been abducted.” He growls, furious that he hadn’t listened to his gut. “What? How? The secret service was there?” William knows that this is more personal than anything else that has happened with a client before.

“They fucking - one of them left his post and the waiter. He - he left and he took her. She - fuck!” Pero growls, hitting his hand on the steering wheel after he gets in. He has a general idea on the direction the car drove off and he takes off, keeping William on the phone.

“Shit, shit.” William hisses. “We will find her.” He promises, immediately rushing towards the computers. “Do you know what direction they drove off in?” He asks. “I can tap into the surveillance system, see if I can track the vehicle.”

“Heading north on the highway. I- shit. It’s a white van by the looks of it on the camera. Fuck. I need to find her.” Pero chokes, “I have to.” He can’t let anything happen to you. He would never forgive himself.

“We’ll find her.” William tells Pero again, knowing that he is about to go off the rails. “We will make sure you get to her first. You will be the first one that finds her, make sure she’s safe.”

Pero speeds down the highway, swerving in and out of lanes to try and catch up with the van that has you in it. In his rear view he sees black SUVs behind him but this isn’t secret service duty. This is his duty. He presses harder on the accelerator until William says “they got off at exit 201. Then turned left.” Pero growls, speeding down the ramp and he goes through the red light without care as he chases the van.

The driver is nervous, constantly checking mirrors and trying to race to the location to dump you and his partner. “Shit!” He hisses, seeing a car flying up on them. “We’ve got company! Fuck! How did they find us so fast!” He jerks the wheel, turning to the left in front of a car and making it slam on breaks as he attempts to get away from whoever is coming after them.

Pero sees the van do a u turn and he turns around in traffic, not giving a fuck as he chases the van down another street. There’s a helicopter above but Pero doesn’t give a shit as the van speeds down the road until something happens. The driver hits the curb and the van goes flying in the air. Rolling over in a parking lot of a mattress store and Pero squeals up, his gun in hand as he approaches the van.

You are jarred to consciousness, screaming out when you are slammed into the side of a vehicle and tossed about. You don’t know where you are, or what happened. Panting as you blink and your vision tries to focus but you can’t see anything clearly. “Help!” You scream, voice cracking. “Pero!”

Pero drags the driver out the driver side after practically ripping the door off. The driver has a gun in his hand and Pero wastes no time shooting the asshole in the head. His accomplice is in the back with you and he’s smarter. He grabs a knife and grabs you, pressing it against your neck after Pero opens the door. “I’ll fucking kill her.” He warns and Pero hisses, “pendejo. Let her go. It’s fucking over.”

You scream when you are grabbed, eyes wide with terror when you feel the blade digging into your skin. Only relaxing slightly when the door opens and you hear Pero when you see a dark blur in front of you. “P-Pero.”

“It’s not over. I gotta get paid man. They promised me a million bucks. I need that money.” Pero growls, knowing he can’t kill the asshole because he needs to know who said they’d pay him. “You think a million bucks is anything to her daddy? He will pay double that to get her back.” He bargains and the man shakes his head, “they will kill me.” Pero snorts, “I’m gonna fucking kill you if you don’t let her go.” He warns and the guy’s hand starts to shake. Pero notices it and takes his chance. He leaps into the van, pushing you aside and the knife slices his arm as he grabs the asshole and knocks the knife from his hand, pressing the gun to his temple. He’s tempted to kill him. Tempted to beat him to death for taking you but he has valuable information he needs.

You cry out, hitting your head against the side of the van and you don’t register anything else but darkness. Crumpling to the floor of the van in a heap as you lose consciousness again.

Pero keeps his gun to the guy's head, hating that he can't kill him like he did the other asshole but it doesn't take long for secret service to find him. A mere minute later the black SUVs pull up and Pero shoves the guy to the floor, gun pointed at him until the secret service grab him and Pero holds his hands up even if the secret service know who he is. Once he's cleared seconds later, he shoves his gun into the holster and rushes in to gather you in his arms. "We need a fucking ambulance!" He shouts just as EMTs rush and surround you after Pero carries you out of the van.

An ambulance follows any time there is a call for local police from the secret service. Paramedics rush over to you and Pero just as soon as they stop the vehicle and they transfer you to the gurney and start asking Pero rapid fire questions as they search you for any possible injuries that are able to be treated. You still don’t wake up, making him worry.

"I'm coming in the ambulance." He demands and no one argues right now as he tells them that you were drugged and hit your head when the van flipped. The secret service take care of the asshole who kidnapped you and Pero reaches for your hand when the ambulance is racing towards the hospital. You are still unconscious and Pero kisses the back of your hand. The paramedics notice but don't say anything.

Treating you like a priority trauma because of who you are, the hospital is locked down when you get there. Immediately wheeling you up to the VIP floor that has better security and sending the best trauma doctor to your bedside by the time you arrive there.

Pero rushes to follow you along the corridor until the doctors stop him and he is told to wait in the family waiting room. He nods, knowing the doctors need to do their job but he's terrified that you're seriously injured. He swallows harshly and makes his way to the waiting room to anxiously pace.

In the room, the doctors start to hook you up to the machines, checking you over and they even order a CT since you had sustained a head injury. “Check for internal bleeding.” The attending orders. “Last fucking thing we need is the Vice President’s daughter dying because we missed a step.”

Pero ignores the calls from William, his mind racing as he thinks about how he could've prevented this from happening. Fuck the secret service. He was in charge of your safety and he failed. He failed because he was too busy being jealous about you being on a date. He's a fucking idiot.

“Shit.” The attending’s eyes widen as the wand is pressed against your stomach. “No one said she was fucking pregnant.” It changes the possible course of drugs and treatment that can happen. “Goddamnit, go get that guy that came in with her.”

Pero stands up as the nurse comes into the room and he immediately asks “how is she?” The nurse closes the door behind her and asks, “did you know she is pregnant?” Pero feels like he’s been slapped in the face. His mouth dropping open in shock and he shakes his head. “I didn’t - she said she - she’s on birth control. She’s - she’s - shit. She’s pregnant?” He asks and the nurse nods, “yes. It changes the course of treatment. We need her father here to give authorisation since you aren’t her next of kin.” Pero nods and he doesn’t have to wait for long when the vice president strides into the room surrounded by men in black suits. “My daughter. What’s happening?”

The doctor comes in and shakes the Vice President’s hand. “Sir, your daughter is unconscious right now. She was involved in an accident after being abducted.” He explains. “As her next of kin, we need you to authorize any course of treatment that is not life threatening due to her condition.” The VP frowns. “What condition?” He demands and the doctor coughs slightly. “Sir, your daughter is pregnant. Around six weeks.”

Your father scoffs, "she's not even dating anyone. Who could be-" His eyes cut over to Pero who swallows and stands straight. "Your daughter and I have been sleeping together." He admits and your father clenches his jaw, furious that the man he has been paying to protect you has been fucking you and now has gotten you knocked up. "This - this will ruin her career. This will be a scandal." He growls, "you will marry her. As soon as possible." He demands and Pero frowns, "marry her? I - I cannot." He says and your father huffs, "why not? You're not man enough to own up to your mistakes?" Pero shakes his head, "I love your daughter. She was never a mistake. I just - I cannot marry her. Excuse me." He chokes and pushes his way out the room. Your father lets him go, deciding to speak to the doctor to confirm your treatment plan.

You groan quietly, head pounding and you feel like your skull has been cracked open. “Pe-ro?” You croak out, frowning even before you’ve opened your eyes. The last thing you remember is Pero rushing towards you. “Pero?” Struggling to open your eyes, you wince at the lights as you sense people around you. “Sweetheart, you’re alright.” You hear your dad, feeling him take your hand and you feel his hand over your forehead. “Where- where am I?”

“The hospital. Sweetheart, you’re safe. Secret service is here. You’re okay.” He promises, squeezing your hand. “Just relax. The doctors are looking after you.” He assures you and he hates that the first person you ask for is the father of your child, the man who left the hospital.

You blink several times and look around, expecting to see Pero standing off to the side, standing over you. “Oh.” Your face falls when you realize he’s not in the room. He's not here. “My head hurts.”

“It’s okay. They said it would. Just relax and let the doctors do their job. I’m here, honey.” He promises and he hates that Pero isn’t here. It’s clear that you love the man who just left you in this bed without explanation.

You lean back against the pillow and close your eyes. “Is Pero outside?” You ask quietly. “He doesn’t like being too far away from me.”

“He’s not here. He left.” Your father lets you know and he doesn’t want you to be upset but your heart rate picks up. “He left?” Your eyes open and your father sighs, “he left after the doctor told us…told us that you’re pregnant. Six weeks along.”

“Pregnant?” Your eyes widen in shock and you reach for your stomach. Heart twisting because Pero left without even saying a word to you. “I-“ you close your eyes, chin trembling from trying not to start crying. “I want to be alone.” You manage, your voice thick with tears. “Please.”

“Baby girl.” Your dad chokes, “I- I told him- I said he had to do the right thing and marry you but he - he’s a bastard. Don’t let this affect you. Forget him. We can make this work. You can do this.” Your father promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Just rest. You need to heal.” He says before he steps out of your room.

“Oh god.” You moan, tears splashing down your cheeks as you try to reach for the phone next to your bed. You know his phone number by heart. This has to be a mistake. He is just getting a coffee. He has to be. You dial the number quickly and listen to the phone ringing.

Pero looks at his phone and he contemplates not answering it but he can’t do that to you. You deserve an explanation. He answers by saying your name, his tone low and cold. He needs to protect you.

There a cold tone to his voice when the phone is picked up. “Pero?” You choke out, struggling to sit up as you press the phone to your ear harder. “Pero, where are you? I- I need you.” You beg, starting to cry again.

“I can’t be there, princesa.” He says as he stands outside the hospital. “I’m not good enough for you. I never was. You deserve someone better and your father proved that today. I couldn’t even protect you.” He chokes, his chest tightening.

“You couldn’t protect me because you weren’t allowed in.” You argue. “I- Pero, I want you here. I’m- I’m pregnant.”

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know, Hermosa. I know.” Your father’s demand that he marry you rings in his mind and he shakes his head. “I can’t be there. I’m not the right man for you. You should consider your options because I can’t be with you. I’m not the man you can run for congress with.”

Your voice catches in your throat and your heart shatters when you hear his words. “You….coward.” You whimper, hanging up the phone and twisting to press your face into the pillow to scream and cry.

Pero looks down at the phone in his hand and he inhales deeply. He looks up at the hospital and he’s tempted to go back inside. To explain properly. He takes a step towards the doors when his name is called. He turns and he’s tense when he sees a woman he’s never seen before in his life. “Who’s asking?” He asks and she chuckles, “someone who knows a lot about your past.”

**** 

You are released the next day. They had monitored you for the slight concussion and your father had fretted over you. Making you eager to go home and shut yourself away. Miserable when you learn that he had managed to have secret service assigned to you after the kidnapping attempt. Pero’s team is dismissed and you return back to your apartment to find every trace of your former lover gone. Leaving you to realize that he had meant what he said. He was not coming back, leaving you pregnant and alone.

Pero inhales the smoke from his cigarette as he sits at William’s kitchen table. “So she knows?” The Irishman asks and Pero nods, “she said she is going to sell the story to the papers. She’s seen too much. Has photos through the window. We made mistakes, got too comfortable. She has photos and proof of my past.” He says, tapping the smoke on the edge of the ashtray.

William grimaces and sighs. “Don’t you think that you should talk to her?” He asks, risking his wrath by bringing you up. “Warn her?” Pero scoffs and inhales another drag of his cigarette. “And tell her what? That I fought off a high ranking officer who wanted to fuck me and was dishonorably discharged for killing him?” He sneers. “She would never believe me. They buried the truth when they ruined my career, my life. All to save the reputation of that bastard.” He’s bitter about what had happened, but there wasn’t shit he could do about it. “She wouldn’t believe me.” He repeats.

“He tried to rape you, my friend. You reacted the way anyone would. You saved yourself.” William reminds him, remembering how the assault had affected his friend. He dreads to think about how Pero would’ve been if the officer had succeeded. “Tell her. She will understand. She- she loves you.” William urges and Pero swallows, “I love her. I am not good enough.” He shakes his head, “the woman wants money. Her father knew that bastard and she saw me on TV standing off to the side near - well, she saw the way I looked at her and figured she could exploit me. I can’t let anyone know but I can’t pay her. It’s hopeless.” He chokes, shaking his head.

“Your girl is smarter than you give her credit for.” William sighs, hating that Pero refuses to trust you. “And she’s got connections that could help you fight against this woman. She’s pregnant with your kid, Tovar.”

Tovar swallows harshly, snubbing his cigarette in the ashtray. He doesn’t know what to do. He exhales the smoke and closes his eyes, hating that the past he tried to escape and thought he had left in Spain has come back to haunt him.

William claps Pero on the shoulder. “I’m going to go make a call.” He offers the other man, knowing that he will stew in indecisiveness unless prompted to act. Despite protecting others' incredible well, Pero Tovar has always been shit at protecting himself. Walking into the other room, William pulls out his phone and calls the number that is your private cell.

Pero shakes his head, glancing across the living room of the home his friend had made with the love he met in China. The General as she is affectionately called is out with their two kids and Pero has watched his dear friend create a life and a family with an incredible woman. He wants the same thing. Secretly always has but he’s never felt worthy of it.

When you pick up the phone, William greets you. “I know that you don’t want to hear from me right now, and you are probably cursing his name, but you need to talk to him.” He spits out before you can hang up on him.

****

Pero frowns when his phone rings and he sees your name on the screen. He picks it up, wanting to make sure you’re okay. “Hermosa?” He answers, confused about why you’re calling him.

“Pero.” You had almost convinced yourself that you should ignore William’s advice but he has known your former lover longer than you have. “I know you probably don’t want to talk but I do.” You tell him. “I want to know why you get to decide that you aren’t good enough for me without even telling me why.”

Pero sighs, “it’s complicated and now I’m - I am trying to protect you.” He urges you to understand why he’s doing this. “Just come and talk to me. That’s all I’m asking.” You request and Pero knows he owes you an explanation. He’s quiet for a long moment before he sighs. “Okay. Are you at home?” He asks, wanting to be there soon to get your rejection over with.

“Yes.” You chew your lip, surprised that he is even agreeing to see you again. You want to see him so badly, but you are afraid of him walking away again. “I’ll see you soon.” You tell him before hanging up so he can’t change his mind.

Pero looks up as William walks in and he knows he is responsible for you calling him. He stands up and pats William on the back, "you're an asshole." He says and the Irishman chuckles, "I bet you won't be saying that later, fucker." Pero snorts, heart pounding in his chest as he slaps William on the back before he makes his way over to your apartment.

You had informed the secret service agent outside the apartment that Pero would be coming. You don’t trust anyone inside with you anymore. Unwilling to let someone that close again, especially being so emotional over your pregnancy. Changing into comfortable clothes, you wait for him, wondering what the hell could possibly be so bad.

Pero rings your doorbell and inhales sharply when he sees you standing there and fuck, you look so beautiful. He's missed you so much. "Hola, princesa." He murmurs, his stomach twisting with nerves.

“Come in.” You wave him in, opening the door wider and nodding to the agent standing beside the door. “I know you don’t want to be here, but can I offer you a drink?”

He nods, "anything with alcohol." He admits and you snort, making your way over to the bar cabinet in the corner so you can pour him a whiskey. He shifts awkwardly until you gesture for him to sit down on the sofa. You hand him the glass and he takes a sip, his eyes meeting yours after he swallows. "How are you? How's-" His eyes flick down to your stomach.

“Still there.” You admit, sliding your hand down to your stomach. You have decided to keep the baby, but you don’t know if you are going to tell him that. It depends on what he tells you. “Strong and healthy according to the doctors.”

He nods, "good." He means that, not wanting you to go through a loss. You deserve to be happy. "Or do you not-?" He adds, wondering if you are planning to keep it.

You frown slightly. “I’m keeping the baby.” You apparently decided to tell him after all. Now the question will be if he wants to have anything to do with it. Or you.

Pero nods, setting the glass down on your coffee table before he rubs his hands together. "I- I need to explain everything." He confesses, "from the beginning." He inhales deeply, closing his eyes for a second. "I- I joined the army when I was nineteen. My father...he was a bastard and I wanted to be better. I worked hard, trained hard, and ended up stationed in San Sebastian. One night...I was asleep in my barracks when I was woken up by a senior officer. I looked up to him. He was older and I aspired to be like him. He invited me to his room and I followed, wanting to discuss my path forward. He gave me some whiskey and we talked until he - well, I was a little drunk and didn't even think about it. He told me to sleep in his bed. He'd sleep on the floor and he'd wake me up before the wake up call in my barracks. I fell asleep and he - when I woke up he was trying to push his - he was trying to fuck me." Pero manages to choke out, hating how he is taken back to that moment.

Your eyes widen in shock and you reach for him. Almost grabbing him but you pull away for a second, thinking that he might not want to be touched. “Pero- I- can I?” You ask softly, wanting his permission to touch him. He gives a small nod and you take his hand, holding it as you move closer to him. It’s obvious that whatever happened after Pero woke up that night has haunted him and you refuse to let him blame himself as a victim. “Nothing you tell me will change how I feel about you.” You promise.

Pero shakes his head, "I - I blacked out. I was furious and I ended up - when I came back to myself he was dead on the floor." Pero confesses, "I was covered in blood when someone walked in and I thought I was going to be arrested. I was taken to military jail but then I was let free and dishonorably discharged. It turns out the asshole's family didn't want anyone to know what he did. He had done it before and he paid his last victim off. They wanted to protect his reputation. I ended up in a private army, met William, and he got me a visa to the U.S and now here I am. There's a journalist. She - she has photos of us through the windows here and she - she knows my past. She is going to release an article to try and destroy your campaign so that's why I need to leave." He explains, his dark eyes focused on the coffee table.

You snort, shaking your head. “She can try, but she’ll fail.” You assure him confidently. “I’ll have my team research the statistics on male victimized sexual assaults and ask why she is blackmailing - I’m assuming she’s asking for money - victims of crimes for her own financial gain.” You know the type, she has no morals and wants to enrich her life while destroying another. “I’ll go so far as to drag up the man’s true history and expose it to the world. I doubt the family would be happy about that.” You squeeze his hand. “You were attacked and defended yourself. No one in the entire world should blame you for that.”

Pero shakes his head, "she will ruin your campaign. I can't allow her to do that after you have worked so hard, mi amor. You will lose voters. I can't let you help me. It's best if I walk away. Even if it kills me." He chokes, knowing that it will be the hardest thing he will ever do.

“Then I quit.” You decide. “I will withdraw from the race.” Pero’s eyes widen in shock and he shakes his head but you cut him off before he can protest. “Because I would rather not be elected than to go without the man I love and the father of my baby.”

Pero closes his eyes at hearing what he knows to be true. You love him. He has always hoped and deep down, he knew, but he refused to acknowledge that someone like you could love a monster like him. He sighs and leans in to press his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna be an incredible congresswoman.” He murmurs, “you can do so much good. I can’t let you quit.”

“And I can’t let you walk away. Not if you love me.” You feel like he loves you, but those doubts have been amplified by all this. “Unless you don’t want this?” You ask seriously. “Some men don’t want a wife and a family. If you don’t, I won’t ever say a negative word about you, to anyone.”

Pero cups your cheeks and pulls back to look at you. “I love you. Te amo. More than you could imagine. More than I thought I was capable of. I want you. I want our baby. His hand slides down to your stomach, “I was so shocked when I found out and your father…he said I had to marry you to save your campaign but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to marry you because you got pregnant. I want to marry you because I love you.”

“Then we will get married because we love each other.” You murmur softly. “And I don’t care if I lose voters because of your past. If they vote differently due to that, they were never really on my side to begin with.”

Pero knows this won't be easy. You'll be criticized for marrying a murderer. For marrying a man who couldn't protect himself. He inhales deeply and buries his face in your neck to hide the tears that he hasn't shed in years threaten to spill over.

“Te amo, mi amor.” You murmur softly, holding him close as his chest heaves. “You are safe.” You promise, knowing that he needs reassurances just like you do, maybe more so. Maybe this is why he takes his job so seriously. “I love you.”

Pero sniffs as he pulls back, "you are so fucking incredible, hermosa." He cups your cheeks and leans in to kiss you softly, wanting to convey how much you mean to him. "Can I - can I touch you?" He asks, wanting to make sure since you have been through so much.

You groan quietly, nodding in his hands. “Yes.” You answer breathlessly. “Please, Baby. I’ve missed you so much.” You know it hasn't been very long since he’s been gone, but you’ve felt like every second has been a year apart. “The doctors say the baby is healthy and I’m okay to have sex.”

Pero sighs in relief that the baby is okay and he gently kisses you, grabbing your thighs to pull you into his lap. "I love you." He promises against your lips and his hands slide around to squeeze your ass.

“I love you too.” You murmur softly, kissing the edge of his scar on his cheek. You wonder if he got it when he was attacked, but you don’t want to make him talk about that time right now. “I need you, Pero.”

He won't deny you anything now. The mother of his child. The woman he loves. “Tell me what you need, hermosa, and it’s yours.” He promises, his hands sliding up under your shirt to caress your spine.

He’s not wearing a suit. The jeans and a Henley are wildly sexy on the Spaniard and your cunt clenches and gushes in anticipation. “I want you inside me.” You moan softly. “I want you to make love to me.”

He groans, knowing he can do that. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head and he tosses it down so he can admire your tits. “Mierda.” He pants, bends down to lick along the swell of your breasts while he fumbles to unclip your bra.

“Pero.” You moan softly, closing your eyes and letting yourself enjoy this moment. Needing it to reassure yourselves that what you have is real and true. You had meant what you said, you’d rather not be elected than to be without him. He slides your bra down your arms and when you lift them to place around his neck, he ducks his head to capture a nipple in his hot mouth. “Fuck!”

He wants to make you feel good, to make you cry out, so he gently sucks on your nipple, knowing it must be sensitive until he releases it with a pop and switches over to the other.

Tears start to slide down your cheeks, overwhelmed and so fucking happy that he’s here again that you start crying. Emotional and trembling because you love him so much and you hate that he’s had to believe that he’s a monster for so long.

Your tears make him frown when he leans back until he sees the smile on your face and he leans forward to kiss away your salty tears. "I'm here, amor." He promises, kissing your cheeks until he captures your lips in a passionate kiss, trying to relay every ounce of emotion he holds for you.

Your tears dry up quickly when you feel his passion. Catching you in fire as you drag him even closer and your hips roll forward to press your throbbing cunt against his cock. Feeling the bulk of him hardening for you.

He groans, “fuck. I love you.” He kisses along your neck, and he cups your tits, gently squeezing them. “And I love these.” He murmurs, kissing down to take your nipple into his mouth again.

You whine his name, fingers sinking into his hair like they normally do. Everything has always been so natural with Pero. He knows what you need and how to touch you. “I love you. Fuck, I love the way you touch me. No one else ever made me feel like you do, baby.”

Pero loves to hear it, his hands sliding down into your leggings to squeeze your ass. “Take these off.” He demands against your skin, wanting to see all of you, feel all of you, worship all of you.

You hum, sliding off his lap and standing on shaky legs to hook your fingers into your leggings. Stripping them down with your panties so you are completely bare. The agents won’t come into your apartment, but you don’t care if they do or not. As long as you have Pero touching you, you don’t care who sees.

Pero’s cock aches as he takes in the sight of you naked before him. His hands immediately reach out to grab your waist, pulling you close, and he leans down to press his lips to your stomach. “Nuestro niño.” He murmurs, taking in the fact that his baby is inside you.

Softening, you bend over and press your lips to his head. Incredibly touched by how loving he is to your baby. The baby you created together. “I love you.” You promise, tilting his head back and kissing his lips as you slide into his lap again.

He caresses your back and gently lifts you, shifting beneath you to lay you down on the sofa. His hands slide up your legs, pushing them apart and he groans at the sight of your cunt. You’re so goddamn beautiful. He leans in to kiss along your inner thigh, inhaling the heady scent of your pussy as he leans in to slide his tongue through your folds.

You whimper, not expecting him to use his tongue on you, but it feels so good. Pero is a surprisingly giving lover. Most would assume that he is harsh and greedy because of his dark scowls but he loves hearing you cry out his name in pleasure. “Fuck! Pero.”

He groans, caressing your thighs, and he loves the way your fingers tangle in his hair. He slides his tongue up to flick over your clit, inhaling your scent, and he is so happy he’s here with you.

Pero holds your thighs in his hands, spreading them wide so he can eat you like he wants to. You let him, would let him do anything that he wants. “Fuck baby. I love you so much.”

Pero is ravenous now. Knowing you’re his, that you love him, has him ready to devour you. He desperately wants you to cum for him. He pushes his tongue into you, curling it as he presses his nose against your clit.

His tongue turns demanding, curling up inside you. You whimper and tug on his hair, making him groan into your cunt. You’re sensitive from the pregnancy and from being apart from him for a few days, not used to him not touching you every day after months together. “Pero!” You choke out.

He wants you to cum for him, desperately needs to feel it, and he laps at your cunt like a man starved. He’s been away from you for too long and he is ravenous. Lapping at your clit before pushing his tongue back into your pussy.

When he is between your thighs, the rush of your orgasm always slams through you like a train. Pushing you off the edge with a loud cry and a buck of your hips when your cunt clamps down around his tongue. “Fuck!”

Pero loves it, loves the way you cry out when you cum, and he laps at your pussy to get every damn drop. His hands caress your thighs as you pant through your orgasm, and he sighs, leaning in to press wet kisses to your lower stomach. “Te amo, princesa.”

“I love you, Pero.” You murmur softly. “I want to feel you.” You want to see his face when he cums, feel him trembling. Your heart flutters when his dark eyes meet yours and you know that you will always be grateful that he loves you.

Pero nods, “I love you.” He promises and shifts to stand from the sofa, pulling his Henley over his head and tossing it to the floor while he kicks off his shoes. His jeans are next, unbuttoned and shoved down along with his briefs to reveal his hard, aching cock. “Are you sure, hermosa?” He asks as he kneels between your legs.

“I’ve never been more sure.” He’s asking about the sex, but you can also see the slight edge of doubt in his eyes. Unable to believe you would accept him knowing his secrets. “Come to me, amor.”

He nods, shifting closer and he grips his cock, pumping himself slowly as he takes in the sight of your beautiful body, growing his baby, and the fact that you love him. He sighs and notches himself at your entrance, slowly pushing into you with a groan.

It’s perfect. Feeling him sink into you is almost like he is coming home. You moan softly, lifting your legs to his hips and pulling him down on top of you. “You won’t hurt us,” you promise. “The baby is the size of a bean right now.”

Pero nods but he tries to keep his weight off you while he pushes deeper into you with a groan. “I - love you. I- was so fucking terrified when they took you. I failed you.” He chokes, caressing your cheek.

“No you didn’t.” You promise, leaning up to kiss him softly. “You saved me. The agents told me that you were the one that found me. They don’t know if they would have found me.” You had been told that in confidence, but you want him to know that you trust him completely.

Pero sighs, shaking his head, “I - I was terrified that you were gonna- that they would - I had to find you. There was no other choice.” He tells you and kisses your chin as he starts to move inside you.

You caress his back, urging him on. You know what he was thinking, how he must have been so frantic. Angry. He had looked like a vengeful god of old when you had watched him glaring at your captor. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes at your words and inhales deeply against your neck, breathing you in. Reassuring himself that you’re here. He rocks into you, slow and soft as he lets you absorb every rock of his hips with a soft moan.

It’s not in a bed, but it’s soft and sweet. Romantic almost. All that is between you is the little bit of air and the sheen of your sweat. Your eyes close as he makes you feel loved and cherished with his body and hopefully you make him feel the same.

Your hands caressing his back is almost healing. He swallows down the lump in his throat as you look at him with dazed eyes and he can’t help but lean in to kiss you, his tongue languidly sliding into your mouth to stroke yours.

You love him, love the way he touches you. The way he is greedy for you. You can forgive him for leaving, for not trusting you. But you won’t let him walk away again. You pour yourself into the kiss and rock your hips up, your body cradling his.

Your heels dig into his ass and he moves a little faster, panting into your mouth when you squeeze him within your walls as he rocks into you. “Mierda.” He grunts, sneaking his hand between your bodies so he can rub your clit.

You whine, loving how he always wants you to cum. You’ve never had a lover who was so focused on you before him. “Fuck, baby, I’m going to cum.” You pant out seconds before stars burst behind your eyes and your cry of his name is so loud the agents outside hear it.

When you clamp down on his cock, he knows the agents outside can hear and he fucking loves it. Loving the fact that he’s the one making you feel like this. He grunts, working you through it and he isn’t sure if he can last when he’s overwhelmed by emotion.

“Cum for me baby, I want to feel it. I’ve missed feeling you.” You beg, your nails scratching down his back lightly and you clench down around him again.

He pants, closing his eyes as he thrusts into you a half dozen more times and he hisses when it hits him hard. He groans your name as he starts to cum, painting your walls with his hot seed as he buries his face in your neck.

You whimper in pleasure. Running your fingers through his hair and stroking his back as he rocks himself through his orgasm. “I love you, Pero.” You murmur softly. “You’re who I want. A family, a life with you.”

He sighs, kissing along your jaw. “There’s so much to figure out but let’s just forget about it for right now and focus on us.” He murmurs against your skin as he relaxes, shifting to his side and he brings you into his chest, your thigh thrown over his hip.

You curl onto his chest and feel more relaxed than you have since you woke up in the hospital. “We can worry about things later.” You agree, pressing your lips to his pec. “Right now, I just want to lay here with you and rest.”

**** 

Pero opens the door for you, your secret service nearby and Pero didn’t argue with them being close since you’re pregnant. She sits at the table in the corner and Pero clenches his jaw as he places his hand on your lower back as he escorts you to the table. He wanted to do this alone but you insisted and the public setting means she can’t do anything. You sit down and Pero takes a seat beside you, his hand reaching for yours. “So you’re together.” She hums, “well, that makes this sweeter. I want fifty grand to not leak this story.” She demands and Pero snorts, “I don’t care if you leak it. We are prepared and I’m not ashamed of my past.” He sits a little straighter and you squeeze his hand.

She snorts and lifts a brow, clearly believing that she has some kind of upper hand. “Really? You want the world to know that you killed your lover in a drunken rage?” She asks, looking over at you. “How will your voters look at you? Knowing you support that?” You chuckle and pick up a report that your legal staff has put together. “They will believe that I support the victim of sexual assault.” You tell her. “The man that Pero killed in self defense had other victims.” You hum. “Four men. Four other victims who can give the exact same story as Pero. Who lived through his assault.” You lean back in your seat. “You will look like the scheming bitch you are when this little conversation is aired, alongside the victim’s stories and Pero’s account.” You nod towards the surveillance camera in the corner. “There’s audio.”

She narrows her eyes, “isn’t that illegal?” She asks and Pero snorts, “and blackmailing the former vice president’s daughter and her lover isn’t?” He counters and the woman is fuming, “and what will you do? Stand beside her like a good boy. Letting everyone know what a weak man you are to even let another man try and fuck you.” She growls and Pero clenches his jaw, “I was drunk.” She scoffs, “drunk? Pathetic.” Pero feels that anxiety swirl in his chest when he thinks about that night. What nearly happened. You hiss at her, “he is not pathetic. He’s strong. He survived and fought. Get out of here. You won’t get a dime.” She gathers her things with a huff and shakes her head, “I hope you lose. You’re a fucking cunt.” She says to you and Pero stands, his eyes narrowing but you squeeze his hand to calm him. “Get the fuck out of here.” Pero hisses, trying to keep his cool. She scurries out and Pero sits down beside you, turning his head to rest his forehead against yours. “I’m so sorry you’ve been put in this situation.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You murmur, kissing him softly. You had been worried that she would make a bigger public spectacle but it had actually gone really well. “I love you. I don’t care about what people think about that.”

Pero sighs, knowing that he’s going to rock your campaign with this revelation. He leans in to kiss you again and several in the coffee shop are recording you both. It’s time to go public. **** 

Pero rubs his hand on his leg, the other holding yours while the news anchor talks about his relationship with you and his past. It’s a lot to take but you are handling the interview well. He sits beside you, letting you take the lead on this when he hasn’t been prepared for this type of exposure.

“To be honest, I’m sorry that his - for lack of a better word - trauma had to be revealed and talked about like this.” You admit, looking over a Pero with a reassuring smile. “Hopefully, now that the truth is out there, people can see that victim shaming or blaming isn’t the right way to go about things. Do I expect him to be an advocate? No.” You hum. “He should not have to put himself on display because of my political aspirations. If my voters think differently, then I think I would have to rethink this. Especially since my fiancé and I are expecting our first child.”

The interviewer's eyes widen, “you’re - engaged and a baby on the way?” She exclaims, thrilled to have this exclusive be even more exposing. “That’s - congratulations.” She says to you and Pero who smiles and nods, “thank you.” He squeezes your hand, “and I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their messages. This hasn’t been easy to discuss, especially so publicly, but I am happy to create dialogue around a subject that is so often pushed aside because men have to appear strong and emotionless. I killed a man to defend myself and for that, I will forever be haunted by the snap decision. I apologize to his family but I can’t regret it when he was trying to - to harm me like he had done so to others. That is my past, but I am ready for a future beside this beautiful woman and our child.”

“Well, I hope that it works out for you.” She tells you both, nearly squirming in excitement for the story and signs off the interview. “Do you think you’ll win?” She asks you, off the record as the sound people come to unclip your mics and release you from the tangle of hidden cords. “I hope so.” You tell her honestly. “But even if I don’t win the election, I will still have won.” You look over at Pero and smile. “I found the love of my life guarding over me.”

Pero wraps his arm around your waist and leans in to kiss the side of your head. “I love you.” He murmurs and you smile at him with a love in your eyes he never thought he would experience. 

**** 

“And that’s why today, I’ve decided to run for president!” You declare behind the podium, the crowd cheering, and Pero stands proudly beside you, your three children at his side and he scans the crowd, constantly protecting you. Some in the press would say he’s your shadow and that’s right. He won’t risk anything happening to you or the kids. He’s your head of security and he jokingly says he protects you even while he sleeps. He never imagined that taking the job to look after the former vice president’s daughter would lead to him potentially being the first husband of the president but it’s your journey and he would follow you anywhere.

[jessthebaker]

I wish i could stay in bed all day and keep reading this to the end, but at some point i need a break too! But never fear, I will be back!

Driving Mr. Tovar

Chapter 28 - The Aftermath

Description: Tension runs high when you all come home with baggage to unload and things to sort out.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero x female reader, cursing, allusions to past domestic violence, angst, descriptions of dead bodies, dismemberment and mass-murder, mentions of character death. Word count: 8532 (2356 words added) Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

   When the plane landed back home, Pero woke up. He was still nestled into your chest with your arms around him and his face was covered in the dried salt of his tears.    He pulled away to look at you when the bump against the tarmac jolted him fully awake, and he looked so scared. As though he thought that everything that had happened, especially his betrayals, would finally have been too much for you, and that he’d already lost you.

   But while you were hurt and confused as well as angry, chocked and sad, you could never walk away from him.    No matter how you felt, you knew that there was a reason why he’d done those things, you just hadn’t been able to figure them out because you were stressed and exhausted.    But that didn’t mean that you felt like giving up on the best thing that had ever happened to you. That wouldn’t solve anything, it would just make you completely miserable.

   To emphasize this, you leaned in and brushed your cheek and nose affectionately against his. You would’ve kissed him, but your lip was all busted.    His entire being seemed to melt into your touch. Disbelieving and grateful and relieved all at once.    Still, he didn’t dare to reach for you, to ask for more, in case this was all you were willing to give him yet, but you could feel how much he wanted to. How badly he needed to know that you were still his.

   But right then, there were more important things to do. Rose was still unresponsive, and you all needed to be checked over by a doctor.    As the ramp was lowered, you pulled away from Pero and stood up to see your Ghost, glistening in the early morning sun, waiting right where you’d left it.    Although you were pretty sure that you’d left the driver door open, so someone must’ve closed it.

   “Did anyone remember to call for a doctor?” you asked, while unbuckling yourself and getting up.

   “Yes. Doctor Hyland will meet you at the house,” the computer answered, having apparently taken action to ensure everyone’s physical wellbeing without having been told to.

   And for the first time on this doomed trip, you realized just how much worse everything could’ve been if it hadn’t been there to assist you.

   “Thank you, AIVA. For everything,” you said quietly, as the others also started getting up.

   They’d all fallen asleep towards the end of the flight, but you hadn’t been able to relax enough for that, despite the fatigue that you were wrestling with.

   “You are welcome, Peg.”

   Rose couldn’t walk anymore, so Shaggy and Pero carried him to the car and put him in the front passenger seat. And then they, along with Hero, crammed themselves into the two backseats, leaving you the driver’s seat to take them home.    Hero’s position, perched on the center console in the back, meant that she had to lean a little forward, in between the front seats, not to break her neck against the roof of the car.    And that put her head mere inches from yours.

   “Why did the computer accept your commands over ours?” she questioned, and you gave her the only answer that you could.

   “I don’t know.”

   “Bullshit,” she spat between her teeth, but you just sighed.

   “Look, Rose made me the Primary Admin, but I have no idea why, it couldn’t tell me. And in case you haven’t noticed, he’s not exactly in a state to be able to explain himself.”

   You could see her face in the rear-view mirror, but it was a façade of stone, revealing nothing but her current contempt towards you.    You’d never had a problem with her before, and you weren’t entirely clear on why she was so angry with you right now. All you’d done was question why you should blow up a whole building for no apparent reason.    But it seemed to have been enough for her to decide that you were now more enemy than friend.

   You could also see Pero keeping a watchful eye on her, and while you didn’t think that she’d be stupid enough to attack you while you were driving and your partner was sitting right next to her, you hadn’t thought that she’d ever hit you either.    Your lip was swollen and very sore, and your jaw hurt like hell every time that you spoke, but everything felt intact.    It wasn’t the first time you’d been punched in the face, but you hoped that it would be the last.

   The rest of the drive was quiet, but when you rolled into the driveway, Coulson, Laura and Doris were all waiting for you, along with the doctor.    Seeing them made a terrible weight settle over your shoulders as you remembered that one of you would have to break the bad news to them. And somehow, it felt like that burden rested on your shoulders.    You weren’t sure why, but it just felt like Brix would’ve wanted it to come from you.

   You came to a stop right in front of the front steps of the main house and everyone stepped out of the car.    While the boys got Rose out of the passenger seat, you looked at Doris and saw her heart sink when she realised that her favorite guy wasn’t there.    She turned to look at you, and even though she didn’t say anything, her eyes still asked, so you stepped closer to her and took her hand.

   “He… didn’t make it,” you said, feeling your own grief worsen as you heard the words out loud, and suddenly realizing how hopelessly inadequate your understanding of the entire situation was. “I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry.”

   She squeezed your hand as her gaze dropped to the ground, but she refused to show any real emotion. Even when Laura put an arm around her shoulders and held her close, all she did was let go of your hand and seek comfort in the hand of the housekeeper instead.    You didn’t question that. The two of them were as close as sisters, whereas you were still the newbie. So, you just stood beside them, watching quietly as your employer and friend was carried inside.

   It was Dr. Hyland that had treated your wounds after your kidnapping, so you felt familiar and safe with her as you followed Pero and Shaggy where they carried Rose past his office and into his bedroom.    You’d never seen his private space before and your first impression was that it felt simplistic and completely impersonal.

   There were no computers of any kind, not even screens or pads, and no TV or radio.    Just a large bookcase, filled with nothing but encyclopedia’s, one wall-to-wall closet, a simple wooden chair, a large bed and two bedside tables. That was it.    No photos, paintings or pieces of art. No supporter flags or jerseys. No flowers anywhere. Not even a notebook or a single pencil, and no desk either, for that matter.    The wallpaper was a bland green in one tone and the bedlinen were charcoal grey.

   There was nothing in there to so much as hint at what his interests might be, or his hobbies, if he even had any beyond the horses.    This was a room that could’ve belonged to anyone, and it made you sad.    This brilliant man that had sacrificed so much to his cause, clearly didn’t even feel comfortable enough in his own home, to allow his personality to be seen.

   It was as though every room that he walked into was a cage, either of the mind or spirit, and you wondered if there was truly nowhere in this world where he dared to actually live.    To be a person and not just the tech-billionaire.    You wondered if this could really be necessary in order for him to be safe enough to work, when he still subjected himself and his employers to extreme danger on a regular basis anyway.    But surely, no one could want to live like this. So, it had to be out of necessity.

   The boys put him down on the bed while you closed the door behind them, and Dr. Hyland immediately got to work.

   “What was he given?” she asked, and Pero looked to you, since he hadn’t been with Rose for most of the ordeal.

   “Um, we don’t know exactly what, or how much, but Narcan spray helped his breathing when he was at his worst, so at least some opioids,” you said, trying to remember as much detail as you could.

   “How much Narcan did you administer?” she continued, while shining a light in his eyes.

   “Just one dose. It was all it took to get him breathing again, so I didn’t give him any more.”

   “And how did he react to that dose?” she prodded, now seemingly inspecting his hair and fingernails.

   “After a little while, he started having fits of shaking and vomiting, but the vomiting stopped after about three fits,” you recalled, having to close your eyes to bring the memories to the forefront of your thoughts. “He kept trembling after that, got feverish and began to cold sweat.    He wasn’t lucid at all, except for maybe one second right after I gave him the spray. He looked around and he seemed to be… awake, but it passed so quickly that I can’t say for certain.”

   “Okay. And how long was he held captive?” she asked, and it dawned on you that you had no clue how long you’d been gone yourself.

   “Uh… what day is it?”

   “Thursday,” she replied, and you exchanged a look with Pero, because it had been Sunday when you’d left, and it was obvious from his expression that he hadn’t known how long you’d been gone either.

   “A-approximately five days,” you answered the doctor, but she seemed oblivious to the shock in your voice.

   You’d been their captive for almost that long as well. Being underground and having no routines to go by, your senses had been tricked.    But now, the way that your stomach ached, and your muscles involuntarily shook whenever you tried to use them for anything more strenuous than just carrying yourself, took on a whole different meaning.

   You’d been starved and beaten, deprived of any real sleep and then spent more than half a day running around on pure adrenaline.    You’d been separated from Pero and the team, then lost a chosen little brother, then fought with your family, all while trying to care for a man that was impossibly important to you, without knowing what you were doing.

   There was a lot to unpack and you expected a torrent of emotion to hit you as soon as you gave yourself permission to think it through.    But if you allowed yourself to think too much about it all, you’d soon collapse from the overwhelming magnitude of everything you’d gone through. And that wouldn’t be of any help to anyone, so you buried it for now.

   “Okay. I’ll get him started on fluids and then we’ll go from there,” Dr. Hyland continued without pause, clearly unaffected by all of this, which was good. “I’ll need all of you to stay close, I wanna check you over too, once I’ve got this under control.”

   “We will be in the dining room,” Pero assured her, before taking your hand and leading you back towards the front door.

   The rest of the staff was waiting there, Doris still staying close to Laura in search of comfort, while Hero kept to herself, leaning against the doorway.    Shaggy joined you too, having followed from Rose’s room, and then your partner gestured to the dining room, urging everyone to head there and take their seats.

   He began by asking Shaggy and Hero to explain how things had gone wrong with the meeting, and they quickly confirmed what he’d assumed; that Maki had been discovered and forced to arrange a fake meeting, and how they’d been overwhelmed by the sheer number of people that had stormed the house.    Sam’s phone had been the first thing that they’d destroyed, obviously unaware of the back-up device hidden under his skin.

   Pero then picked up the story, explaining to everyone about the automated messages, and you were quite surprised to learn that not even the security team had known about that.    But they both took it in stride, probably well and truly used to being left out of certain details, so he carried on, describing the code and how the two of you had set off that night to try and find them.

   He made no mention of the part where you’d given him no choice but to let you tag along, since it had nothing to do with the overall story.

   He then recounted everything that he could remember from the moment that you’d landed in Africa, until he got to his first betrayal.    You could tell that this was something that he wanted to discuss with you privately, so you played along to help him avoid having to detail exactly what he’d done, in front of the whole group, trusting that he wouldn’t keep avoiding it whenever the two of you would get a chance to talk.

   Next, he asked you to explain everything that you’d seen from your perspective, from the moment that you’d gotten separated to the moment that you were reunited, before he continued his own story.    He smiled a little when you told them how you’d ordered AIVA to redirect some drones to protect them, probably because he knew that the machine would’ve argued against it.

   And sure enough, that smile only widened when you recounted how the computer had reminded you that Star Wars was a completed battle plan and should be allowed to play out in accordance with its programming.    To which you’d given a needlessly, but satisfactorily colourful reply.

   But everyone got very quiet and somber when you then told them about how you’d cared for Rose, how he’d stopped breathing, and how you’d worked to keep him alive.    Then the agonising wait, watching those little dots move like chess-pieces on a board in a game that you weren’t allowed to play.    Pero cut in there, continuing from where he’d left off, after sending you and Rose away.

   And hearing him talk about how he’d massacred that entire hallway of hostiles, made you feel nauseous.    The way that he described it… the sound their limbs had made as they’d hit the floor, the sickening splatter of the blood, their screams and the way that they’d tried to flee from him.    Even the poor souls already dying on the floor, trying desperately to get away from his terrifying form… Hearing it should’ve repulsed you.

   But as you watched his own disgust and self-loathing and almost disbelief at his own actions, all you felt was compassion.    Sadness, and the echo of the fear that you’d felt when you’d first seen that side of him yourself, was also there, but most of all you just wanted to comfort him. Especially since it wasn’t that long ago that he would never have sat among any group of people and confessed to doubting his own actions.

   But this wasn’t the time or place for digging through his head and heart, so you filed that away to be dealt with at a later time, as well.    Then Pero took a steadying breath, and you noted that he seemed to be purposefully avoiding meeting your eyes, before he preceded to explain how he’d gotten the team out, and then what had happened by those south doors.

   Fuck… Holy fucking shit.

   You knew what Claymores were, from books and movies, and you knew what they did to a human body. How those little metal balls tore the meat and shattered the bones…    The imagery was too much.    You practically jumped out of your seat, tipping your chair over and almost stumbling over the legs of it as you quickly moved away from the table, unable to stay still with the sudden crawling under your skin.

   Hero had kept her anger to herself for the entirety of the storytelling, but your reaction seemed to make her temper flare again.

   “What the hell are you so upset about? You didn’t even know him,” she spat, and then scoffed in a very obviously condescending way.

   You’d been largely indifferent to her anger until that point, because you still didn’t understand it. But with the emotional overload in your system at that moment, you reached your limit.

   “Really, Hero? That’s what’s eating you? That he was more your friend than mine, so I’m not entitled to be more upset than your emotionally constipated ass?! Fuck you!” you threw back at her, fully aware that you were antagonizing a lioness, but too upset to give a shit.

   She sprang to her feet and came at you, and you made no attempt to protect or defend yourself. Not because you expected anyone to save you, but because Hero was not your enemy, and you weren’t going to fight her.    Thankfully, she didn’t punch you this time, but she did shove you backwards so violently that you crashed into the damned cart that always stood parked against the wall, toppling it over with how hard you hit it, and smashed to the floor on your left side.

   Pero had stood up right after she did, but he was on the other side of the table, so he couldn’t get to her in time to stop her.    But when you saw the rage in his eyes as he quickly approached her from behind, you knew that you had to stop him or he might very well kill her.    You raised a hand to signal him to stop but he barely even reacted.

   Hero did though, seeing where your eyes were drawn, and she turned on her toes, anticipating an attack and trying to prepare for it.    Unfortunately, there was no preparing for the rage that was coming at her, and she found herself instinctively backing away from him when she took in his expression.

   You scrambled to your feet and got in between them, putting your hands on Pero’s chest while gently asking him to back off. But like a predator that had spotted its prey, his eyes never left hers, despite your attempts to break his focus, and those eyes were black pits of death.    He was too raw still. Too close to that massacre to have fully cleansed it from his blood yet. He was still ready for battle, ready to kill, maim, torture, whatever he had to.

   “Easy… it’s not really me she wants to hurt,” you soothed, looking for any words that might break through his anger. “I’m just… too annoying to her right now. Because I’m not like her.    I’m not afraid of what I feel, or of letting it be seen, like she is.”

   The words seemed to come to you from out of nowhere, as if you’d plucked them from the very air around you. But as soon as you’d said them, you knew that they were true.    It didn’t matter much, though. Because Pero gave no indication that he’d heard a single word, he just kept trying to kill Hero with his eyes.

   “Touch her again, I cut off your hands. Comprendes?” he growled at her, and you could feel how much he wanted to step past you and get to her, but you wouldn’t let him.

   “No. You’re done cutting off hands for the foreseeable future, my love,” you sternly reminded him, before reaching inside yourself to bring out your strongest and most determined voice. “Now, look at me!”

   He finally heard you, and when you flinched at the sight of that darkness being directed at you, he seemed to realize that he’d gone too far, and closed his eyes for a minute, while he tried to calm himself.    You leaned in to rest your forehead against his chin and the physical connection seemed to unlock his body.

   He tilted his head forward so that his forehead was against yours. Then his breathing eased, and his hands softened out of the tight fists that they’d closed into as he’d been prepared to fight.    When he opened his eyes again, they were back to their beautiful chocolate brown, and you drew a sigh of relief, which he noticed.    But it was Hero that spoke first.

   “I’m sorry, Peg.    You’re right, I’m not really angry with you. I don’t even know…” she tried, but trailed off when her own thoughts apparently got too scrambled.

   You pulled away from Pero and turned back towards her, but took a firm hold of his right hand, so you’d know if he tried anything.

   “He was the one that recruited you,” you said, recalling one of the many short conversations you’d had with Brix in the last few weeks. “And even though you’re the same age, he became something like the father-figure you never had, right?”

   The shock in her expression was so absolute that it would’ve been comical in a different setting.

   “H-… how do you know that?” she breathed, and you smiled softly.

   “Because I did know Brix.    After I got him to let go of his macho persona, he used to come and find me on his days off, and if I had the time, I’d sit and just talk with him.    He told me about his mother, about how she’d shunned him after he came out as bisexual in his teens, and how it damaged him. Made him obsessed with looking butch and manly, so that no one would ever question his masculinity,” you recalled, and saw recognition in her eyes, followed by the sadness that always came with knowing about people’s struggles.

   “He told me about his time in the army and the things that happened to him there that broke him. The kid that he’d been forced to shoot,” you continued. “And he told me about this young, cocky navy brat that he’d had the pleasure of recruiting, based on Rose’s recommendation, and how he’d loved you from the moment he met you.    How you made him feel brave, made him forget the horrors of his past with your humour and wit. And how you’d latched on to him and made him your brother like it was the most obvious thing in the world.”

   You had to pause and take a few deep breaths, because your own sorrow was becoming overwhelming as you talked about him like this, remembered him like this.    But you made no effort to hold back the tears, and it seemed as though seeing yours made Hero feel okay about letting her own fall too.

   “That was the one thing that impressed him the most about Rose,” you recalled with a deep warmth in your chest. “Not his intellect, or his wealth or his power, but how he just knew that you’d be the right partner for Brix. That you were the missing piece that would make him believe in family again.    And then it was the same when Rose brought in Shaggy. He somehow just knew that this goofy nerd would complete your team.”

   You looked over at Shaggy by the table, and he met your eyes with a grateful little tilt of his head, too emotional to say anything.    You turned back to Hero, letting go of Pero so that you could step closer to her, hoping that he was calm enough by now to be okay without your touch.

   “You’re angry because you’ve lost a third of your heart and it fucking hurts.    And I’m sorry that I tried to stop you from realizing his last wish. I’m sorry that you didn’t get to give the order.    I was scared and hurting, and I didn’t understand what was happening any more than I could make sense of why none of you were able to explain it to me.    But now that I’ve heard the whole story, I do understand. And I really am so sorry,” you finished, and saw her face contort into a picture of pure pain.

   Finally letting it all out, she doubled over and crashed to the floor and you did your best to catch her, so that she wouldn’t break her kneecaps.    But she still crashed hard and ended up in a foetal position on the floor in front of you, sobbing and screaming like a child.    For a moment, you wondered if perhaps young childhood was the last time that she’d allowed herself to cry like that.

   But before you could do anything else, Shaggy was kneeling next to her, taking her in his arms and holding her as he quietly cried with her. And when she realized that it was him, she wrapped her arms around him and her entire hands turned white with how hard she gripped the back of his shirt.    This was a moment for family, and as much as Rose considered all of you his family, you weren’t really close with either Shaggy or Hero.

   So, you backed away and let them have their moment, and as soon as he saw that you were free, Pero reached for you.    You knew that he wanted a moment too, and you were all for that because there was a lot to sort out for the two of you as well.    But you had one more thing that you wanted to do before you left the dining room, so you held up one index finger to him, while you returned to the table.

   “Hey, Doris. Are you okay?” you asked as you took a seat next to her.

   She was sitting beside Laura, who still had one arm around her shoulders, but even so, the woman looked so small and alone in her sorrow.

   “Don’t you worry about me, crazy girl,” she said, probably trying to ease the tension in her own frame, but not really succeeding. “You’ve got quite enough to deal with all on your own.”

   “True enough,” you admitted with a heavy sigh. “But he told me about you two. I know that it was special… and that he really liked you.”

   “He said that?” she whispered, not really daring to believe it.

   “His exact words were: ‘I love the fact that she just likes to be with me, with no big expectations of relationships or commitments. I love that she can just sit next to me for hours and not say a word, and still make me smile like an idiot.’”

   “Oh… bless that boy,” she whispered with a shaky voice, before producing a handkerchief from somewhere, which she used to lightly dab at her eyes and conceal her snivels. “Did he tell you that we never even… that I didn’t actually want that?”

   “Yeah, he did. And he was glad for it,” you told her. “Not because he wouldn’t have slept with you if you’d wanted to, but just because of the lack of pressure.    He was completely at ease with you, no matter what you got up to, and to someone like him, that was a true gift.”

   “Thank you.    I know that I’ve been a bit… harsh with you, from time to time, but I do like you.    You’re quite special, you know that?” she quietly admitted, and you had to smile.

   “Someone keeps trying to tell me that,” you chuckled, throwing a thumb over your shoulder towards Pero, who was waiting for you by the entrance to the dining room.

   “Well, he’s right,” Doris agreed after a brief pause. “For the life of me, I can’t make heads or tails of you, girl, but I do know that you are a remarkable person.”

   Surprised to hear her give you such a direct compliment, you found yourself unable to respond. But it didn’t really matter, because she kept going.

   “No one else could’ve tamed that beast, but you. No one else would’ve stepped between him and Hero just now.    And then there’s the kidnapping and the siege…    I don’t know where you find the courage to do these things, but what really baffles me is how you remain the same after.    How does it not make you harder, colder, each time? How are you still this kind and caring person that just refuses to let this strange family implode, no matter what happens to it?”

   She sounded genuinely perplexed, whereas for you, the answer was easy to find.    Although, it did remind you that despite everything you’d been through together, Pero and Rose were still the only people in this family that truly knew you, and what you came from.

   “Believe it or not, my life was filled with danger and pain long before I got here. This place is about as peaceful as my adult life has ever been,” you said, not offering any details because you knew how sensitive she was.

   Her eyes were almost as fiery red as her hair, filled with utter disbelief. You could see how hard she was struggling, how desperately she wanted to believe that no one could’ve lived such a terrible life that the estate could ever be seen as harmonious.    But in your eyes she found nothing but truth, and she was forced to accept that you weren’t kidding.    It seemed to send chills through her.

   “Don’t worry. I won’t tell you about it,” you promised, leaning over to carefully give her a little hug and then shoot her an encouraging wink as you pulled back.

   You didn’t let her see the sadness that gripped you when you got up and turned away from her, then moved over to where Pero was waiting for you.    You’d been the big sister all your life, so it was instinctive for you to take care of everyone else first. But you’d done as much as you could now, which meant that it was time for you to try and take care of yourself. And that was always the hardest part.

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

   He’d promised Dr. Hyland that you wouldn’t go far but he wanted a little privacy, so he brought you to the staircase in the front hall and you sat down next to each other, close enough that your left knee was resting against his right one.

   “First, and most importantly, I must tell you something that Brix wanted me to say to you,” he started as soon as you’d sat down.

   The wetness in your eyes increased before he’d said anything more, because you were moved by the mere notion that the man had thought of you in his final time on this earth.    Even now, when you were happily embedded into this family, it was as though you still didn’t expect anyone to be kind to you, just because they liked and cared about you.    Somehow, you still seemed to expect to be hurt or excluded, even by your loved ones.

   “He said: Tell her that I’m not sorry,” Pero continued, reciting the words that had been burned into his memory forever. “Tell your warrior that I chose my fate, and that in doing so, I saved your life. I wouldn’t take it back for all the world, because with you, she’ll always be happy.    And there’s no better reason to do anything, than to make someone happy.    She taught me that.”

   In your eyes he saw his own reaction to those words as Brix had said them. The shock of realizing that he was right, that he’d taken Pero’s place on the sacrificial podium, and that he was glad for that. For the both of you.    And then the pain of realizing that such a wonderful person had to die to save him.

   It was like you shrank before his eyes, as though your heart shied away from having to accept just how much Brix had loved you.    The wetness graduated into tears and you bowed your head and let them fall, but you didn’t allow yourself to crumble into full-fledged sorrow. You knew that there was more you needed to talk through, and you seemed to want it over with, so he continued.

   “I’m so sorry for tricking you, Angel. I knew what I was doing, I planned it, making myself feel sick with how I used your trust to get you to go where I wanted.    I told myself that there was no other way, that it was the only way to keep everyone safe, but you were right… I had lost hope.    I didn’t believe, as you did, that we could save each other,” he confessed, feeling just as rotten now as he had when he’d led you to that door.

   He paused, waiting and listening, in case you wanted to add anything. But you were still absorbing, it seemed, because you just kept looking at your own hands, tightly braided together on your knees.

   “But now I can’t help but think that if I hadn’t done this, Brix might have lived.    Perhaps your sharp mind would have known that something was off about that entryway. Or maybe your… gut.    I should’ve trusted your gut, rather than listened to my fear,” he admitted, while his shame was starting to make him hope that you would punish him for his treachery.

   Obviously, he should’ve known better than to ever expect that from you.

   “Yes. You should’ve trusted me,” you agreed, with a voice that was calm, but also hiding a lot of strong emotions. “But there’s no way of knowing what would’ve happened if you had. Perhaps we’d have lost Sam instead…    What ifs and maybes are brain-killers, Pero. All they do is twist you up until you don’t trust reality anymore.”

   You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and somehow expelling a large portion of what he guessed was hurt, from your frame as you exhaled slowly.    He wondered how you did that. How you could just decide to let feelings go like that, or at the very least, not let them take over and make you impulsive.    When you picked up your thoughts again, your voice was steady and strong.

   “I wish you hadn’t done it, but neither of us can undo it, and I love you far too much to ever let one mistake destroy us.    So, why don’t we just try and accept that it happened but that it’s over, and we’re alive. There isn’t much we can do but try and be grateful for that,” you concluded, and he once again caught a glimpse of that all-powerful hope in your eyes.

   It was a mere echo of what you’d shown him before, but it brought all of that amazement back, and suddenly it was Pero that was struggling to keep his voice calm.

   “How did you manage it, Belleza?” he blurted out, completely changing the subject, which understandably left you confused.

   “Manage what?”

   “The look you gave me before the ramp closed…” he said, finding it difficult to explain what he was really asking. “How did you find so much hope to give me in such a terrible moment?”

   You kept meeting his eyes, and when he fell silent, you tilted your head to the side and fixed him with one of those expressions that told him that this should probably be completely obvious to him.

   “Because you had none,” you answered simply, without a flicker of a change in your face or voice to help guide him.

   He was utterly thrown by your statement and felt how the confusion in his mind manifested in his features as he stared at you, waiting for you to elaborate.    You made him wait for it as you pursed your lips for a second, while you gathered your thoughts and figured out how to explain.

   “My therapist gave me this quote once. I don’t know who said it, but it goes something like this: if you meet a person without a smile; give them yours.    I’ve tried to live by that quote for most of my life since then. Tried to offer small bits of kindness to people I meet, as a way to remind myself of how much power there is in something as simple, and costless, as a smile.”

   To demonstrate, you shot him a small but warm smile that instantly made his own body want to mirror you, spreading light and joy through his blood.    He’d never really considered how infectious something that simple could be, since he hadn’t allowed anyone to infect him before, and he was staggered by how impactful it was.    But what really got to him was how that smile lingered in your eyes as you continued, even though your words turned somber.

   “When you didn’t answer my question about your hope, I knew that you’d already given up. And that meant that nothing I could say would help restore your faith, in yourself or anyone else.    So, I gave you the only thing that I could, in the hopes that it would give you just enough power to see you live through the day.”

   Oh, Angel…

   How could he ever explain how your hope had made him truly worship you?    That it had made him believe you to be a real-life goddess to this world. There were no words he could think of that would ever explain what power you’d awoken in his heart, with just one look at him.    But he owed you. He needed to make up his lack of trust in you, but an attempt at an explanation would have to do for now.

   “In that moment, you made me believe that you would watch over me and not let me fall, no matter how many enemies stood before me,” he started, trying to recall that feeling so that he could accurately describe it. “You made me believe that I would succeed because I was under your protection, and that you wouldn’t allow me to fail. To leave this world.    With one look you gave me this belief…    And now I’m convinced that you really are a goddess. Why you would waste your power on someone like me is beyond me, but I truly believe that you are more than human, Belleza.    There’s no other explanation for what you can do.”

   You just stared at him while he spoke, and there was something in your eyes that seemed to be trying to convince you that he was exaggerating, but not quite managing to.    Perhaps because of just how sincere he was being.    After about a minute, you shook your head a fraction and your brow furrowed in what appeared to be mild frustration.

   “I don’t know what I could possibly say to that…?” you finally answered, pulling your shoulders up in a miniature shrug, but Pero just smiled in return.

   “There’s no need to say anything. Just know that this is how I see you, and that I will always believe in you, even if I believe in nothing else.    You are my hope.”

   Still looking mostly bewildered, you took his hand and brought it to your mouth, placing a tender kiss on the back of it, careful not to hurt your lip as you did.    He knew that that was your way of saying that even though you might not fully grasp what he was feeling, you respected it, and wouldn’t dismiss it.    After a few seconds, you moved his hand down to your chest and held it as though it was a comfort blanket.

   “You don’t need to explain what happened on the plane,” you said in a low voice. “I get it now, after hearing Brix’s last request.    I understand that it hurt too much to try and explain it right then, and if I’d been in a better state of mind, I would’ve been able to see that in your faces. I’m sorry.”

   “Ay, do not apologize, Belleza,” he replied, feeling sad again as you returned to the more difficult subjects. “He was your friend too, and you were hurting just as we were, but given no time to adjust, or accept what had happened.    It was foolish of us to think that you wouldn’t react, that you wouldn’t try to protect him, even in death.    This is not something to feel sorry for.”

   You sighed heavily and looked away from him, staring down at the hallway floor and he could see that your thoughts were taking you away from the room.

   “From the moment you stepped on that plane, I knew that something was gonna happen. Something bad.    And when I was waiting, alone with Sam, unable to do anything to help anyone, that feeling grew stronger,” you paused then, as if you needed to gather your strength to be able to say what came next. “I knew that someone was gonna die, and even though I was powerless to stop it, seeing you return without Brix made me feel responsible.    Like I hadn’t done enough somehow, even though I know that I did everything I could.”

   He pulled his hand free from your clutches and moved to put that entire arm over your shoulders instead, pulling you into his side and resting his head against yours.

   “We all did. It just… wasn’t enough this time,” he whispered into your hair, but the words felt so inadequate somehow.

   Dr. Hyland walked into the hallway then, asking you to join the others in the dining room again so that she could examine everyone.    As the two of you walked back in, you noticed that everyone was still right where they’d been when you’d stepped out.    Hero had just begun to settle down, having crawled out of her foetal position but still cradled in Shaggy’s arms, breathing heavily and trembling.

   The doctor was quick and efficient and since everyone except Pero were pretty much unharmed, the exams didn’t take long. Still, he was relieved to hear that your jaw was fine.    He hadn’t known that you’d been kicked in the leg, but the bruises made him want to kill Hondo all over again.    Thankfully though, the bulk of the torture that you’d all suffered had been more psychological than physical, mostly just consisting of the firehose, which didn’t leave any scars.

   When Hyland then removed his bandages, to inspect his wounds, she found them in a better state than she’d expected, and he assumed that it was due to your care.    But when he thanked you for cleaning him up, your eyes darted to Shaggy, and you told Pero about how he’d taken care of it so that you could keep comforting your partner.    Shaggy heard what you said and simply nodded at him, as though his actions had been mostly insignificant, but Pero could’ve kissed him, he was so grateful.

   Nothing needed stitches, so the doctor merely cleaned and dressed the wounds again and told him to take it easy until they’d closed up properly, to keep from tearing them further, and he promised that he would.

   “Eat, drink and rest, all of you,” she then announced to the room, instead of wasting time with individual advice. “Now, I’m sure you’re all concerned about Mr. Rose.    I’ve managed to sedate him, so we’ll see how he’s doing once his brain has gotten some rest, but I really can’t say how much damage the drugs might have done, at this point.    He’s severely dehydrated and malnourished, but other than that, his body is okay. It seems that they went straight for his mind without subjecting him to any other form of… persuasion… first.    I’ll stay here and keep monitoring him, so I’ll update you as soon as I know more.”

   “Thank you, doctor,” everyone mumbled together, and when she left the room, Pero turned to Coulson.

   “How are the boys?”

   “They’re good,” the butler reassured in his usual, calm manner. “They’ve been a bit quiet and less energetic these past few days, but they always are when they don’t see you.”

   “Thank you for caring for them,” he offered, and Coulson just nodded.

   “Of course.”

   Eager to see them, Pero reached for your hand, and you gave it to him, so he led you out of the house and headed for the stables.    It felt a bit surreal to walk past your house, remembering everything that had happened since you’d last set foot in there. How quickly it had gone from a nice evening with the horses, to a nightmare.

   As you reached the barn, he walked straight to the back door, opening it and stepping out into the pasture.    The boys had already eaten their breakfast and walked further away in the enclosure, to the greener grass, well out of view, but not earshot, so Pero whistled loudly.

   A distant neighing responded, and before long, the ground was shaking with their powerful strides as they galloped towards you.    A wide smile spread across his face as he watched King come into view, running so fast that Pace was having trouble keeping up.

   “Buenos dias, hermano. I missed you,” he called towards the approaching horse.

   But as the animal got closer, he slowed, and lowered his head to gently sniff Pero’s hands, before softly rubbing his head against the man’s belly. As though he was terrified of accidentally being too rough with him.    And when Pace joined you, energetically throwing his head and whipping his tail, King momentarily pulled his ears back and inclined his head ever so slightly towards him, and Pace instantly settled down.

   “What is it, chico?” he asked, while rubbing soothingly at King’s forehead. “What are you afraid of? You know that we won’t break, there’s no need to be so cautious.”

   But the horse just closed his eyes and burrowed his head deeper into Pero’s belly.

   “I don’t think it’s fear, honey,” you observed. “I think he’s relieved.    So much of his family has been lost recently, it must’ve been awful to realize that we might be gone too.    I think he just needs a minute to touch and be touched and know that everything’s okay.”

   “Ay, hijo…” he sighed, feeling bad now. “I’m sorry for scaring you, again. I’m so sorry.”

   He kept caressing the horse’s cheeks, ears and neck, while mumbling little things to him. And when he glanced over at you, you were scratching Pace’s chest where he’d been bitten by mosquitoes, making him pull his head up and grimace with pleasure.    But soon enough, King pulled back and then moved over to you. He chased Pace away and lifted his head over your shoulder before using his chin to push you into his chest.    He was hugging you, and you just smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck.

   “Hey, big boy,” you cooed as you wrapped your arms around his head. “I missed you too.”

   Pero watched the horse as he held on to you, and he felt certain that King knew, just like him, that you were more than a mere human.    That you were special, and that anyone blessed with your affection would do well to cherish it.

   The two of you spent the rest of that day with the horses.    You went strolling through the pasture and played games with them, only leaving them to go up to the main house for meals and to check on Rose.    But when you took them inside for the night, and then made to leave, King suddenly got extremely anxious and started kicking the walls of his box, while calling out to you.

   “Hey, chico, don’t worry. We’ll be here in the morning, I promise,” Pero tried to soothe him, but the horse only got more agitated when he tried to leave again. “Okay, listen to me. I haven’t slept in a bed, or barely even slept at all, in almost a week.    I am not sleeping here tonight, I’m sorry.”

   He then opened the doors to both boxes, and addressed both horses.

   “If you wish to have our company, you will have to sleep with us,” he announced, then took your hand and walked back to the house.

   And sure enough, both horses stepped out of their stalls and followed.    But when he walked into the house and they both strolled in right after him, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

   “You’re serious?” you asked with an incredulous brow. “You’re actually gonna let them sleep in here?”

   “I’m way too tired to argue with them, Belleza. I haven’t showered in almost a week, and I have no idea when I even slept last.    I really don’t care where they sleep, only that they let me sleep.”

   You didn’t look irritated, just confused.    But you were as desperate for a shower and rest as he was, so you dropped it, and the two of you disappeared into your rooms to freshen up separately.    Five days of grime would take some scrubbing to get off, and it was just easier to do alone.

   He finished a few minutes before you, and climbed into bed to wait for you, with the bedroom door open.    But before you got there, King squeezed through the small opening, and walked up to the side of the bed.

   “Floor, chico. Do not even think about the bed,” he warned, recalling a previous incident.

   The animal blew warm air on Pero’s face, and affectionately used his upper lip to grace his cheek, as if to kiss him goodnight.    Then he pulled away, and laid down on the floor by the bed, closely followed by Pace, who walked in after he heard King lay down.

   So, by the time you got there, freezing on the threshold for a moment as you took in the sight, the bedroom floor was absolutely filled with horse, to the point where you had to climb into bed from the foot-end of it.    But you chuckled heartily as you climbed under the covers with him, turning on your side, facing the room, so that he could spoon you while you both watched the horses.

   “This is possibly the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some weird shit,” you declared, and Pero huffed lightly.

   “Just pretend that they’re stuffed bears.”

   “Right. And when they inevitably start snoring and farting in their sleep?”

   “They are gentlemen who have been invited into our home. They will behave,” he tiredly explained, but you weren’t ready to let this go.

   “You say that as if you actually know it,” you pondered. “As if you’ve let them in before.”

   “It may have happened once before,” he mumbled into your neck, before thinking it over and adding: “Maybe twice.”

   “Oh, god. So, you really always have been a softie, then. This proves it.”

   “Angel… go to sleep,” he lovingly admonished, and he could feel your smile throughout your entire body.

   He loved that feeling all the time, but especially that night. Because it meant that you might really be okay.    And if you could recover from this ordeal, then so could he.

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

Link to Chapter 29

Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging. I would dearly appreciate it <3

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[chronically-ghosted]

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!

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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. 

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!

[prolix-yuy]

Ah, but it's cold outside

Pairing: Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Summary: If you could throw Pero Tovar out of your bed and breakfast you would, but something more than your constant bickering keeps him darkening your door.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, fingering, PiV sex, consenting unprotected sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), cumming inside, allusions to oral sex (f receiving), Pero Tovar is Uncircumcised, pain kink, exhibitionism, slight degradation kink, enemies to lovers as self-actualization? We love to see it.

Notes: Happy Holidays @221bshrlocked! I am your not-so-Secret Santa for @pedrostories Secret Santa event! I love love LOVED your prompts and had to give you as many as I could possibly jam into one fic. Plus it's been a while since I've written Pero and I need that grumpy man to get his ass handed to him every now and then. I hope you enjoy!

Cross-posted on AO3

With the wind howling outside and the lights flickering dangerously, the last person you want to see on your front steps is Pero Tovar. But you barely have time to register the dark-haired pain in your ass before he’s pushing past you and into the warm haven of your bed and breakfast.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another week,” you call over your shoulder, closing the door against the freezing air. Even when the latch clicks the force of the gusts still rattles the door. 

“I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome,” he huffs, swatting snow off his wool jacket to puddle on the floor. Rolling your eyes, you stalk into the kitchen for towels. 

“It’s late, what do you want?” you call from the other room, unable to stop yourself from twisting your mouth into a pretty fair imitation of Pero’s scowl. You’d just turned off all the lights, only the twinkling glows of Christmas decorations still lighting the main floor. 

“The road’s snowed out, I can’t see shit. I debated on whether it would be easier on my nerves to keep going or stop here.” He waves at your exasperated face when he catches the towel you toss. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The telltale frustration rises in your throat, and you swallow it down. “I don’t have any rooms, everyone’s hiding out from the storm.” Busying yourself with the late-night tasks you know by heart, Pero thumps along behind you.

“Believe me, I would rather be in my own bed than your ‘charming’ ones, but I am out of options. Anything. A couch. It’s too cold to sleep in the truck.”

There it is again, that seething annoyance climbing up your spine. You take in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before gesturing at the common room.

“The couch is the best I can do.”

Before you’re done speaking he’s striding in, shucking off his jacket to drape over a chair before kneeling by the dying fire. You’re about to scold him for kicking it back to life but if the power does fail the heat will be welcome. 

“I have to finish closing up, yell if you need something,” you add, his dismissive wave meeting your mocking wave back. The scrunch in your shoulders eases partway through the mess of dishes you’re washing, thankful that the silence of late nights is still yours even with the eerie howls and creaks of the storm surrounding you.

Yours and Pero’s relationship was barely that, if anyone asked. When he first came to town you were elated that a carpenter-handyman type was finally local. You had so many projects half-finished or begging to start in your bed and breakfast, a cozy Tudor-style house you bought at the peak of another career crisis. Thankfully this choice was a revelation, even with the tremendous undertaking. The pipes were of indeterminate age and prone to cracks, the noise of the radiators a heart-pounding alarm clock. The unpleasant odors of past smokers and bad cooks hung heavy everywhere you turned, but paint and YouTube videos and determination brought it up to a standard you were proud of. However, you didn’t want to know what electrocution feels like, or be chummy with the scent of carbon monoxide, so after a proper number of niceties and crossed paths you invited Pero over. 

The first day he darkened your door, you felt something wildly different than his entrance this evening. He was dark haired, roguish in an unfamiliar way. Simply dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket over a black t-shirt, his frame tugged against mouthwatering places you tried not to stare at. He was polite, wiping his feet at the door and setting his toolbox down gently. His accented voice was deep, sonorous, goddamn sexy. You had to focus on showing him the finicky electrical box and the concerning gas hookup in the kitchen to stop your mind from wandering to steamy romance novel plots. 

Then he started speaking, and it all went to hell. 

“You should take down the curtains too,” he hummed, the cadence almost masking the disdain before your brain snapped to attention.

“The…curtains? Are they a fire hazard?”

“No, they are ugly.”

Heat flooded your face, your teeth clacking together as you whipped to look at Pero. His face is the picture of disgust, and when he meets your eyes there isn’t a hint of embarrassment in them. “Did they come with the place?”

“No, they fit the aesthetic.”

“This is an aesthetic?”

You raised your eyebrows, hands on your hips but he didn’t back down one bit. He kept talking.

“I thought the furniture was from the previous owner. Cheaper, you know. You like it?” He looks around as if someone would back him up, but you just fold your arms.

“People don’t come to a bed and breakfast because it’s modern, they come because it’s quaint and charming and…”

“...cheaper than the Marriott…”

“And how would you do it then? Design the space for me, oh wise one.”

“Not how my grandmother would do it.”

Pero did not get your business that day.

Embarrassingly enough, he did get it three weeks later when your gas line started leaking. He critiqued how many mouse droppings were behind the stove and recommended an exterminator. You almost threw him out.

So if anyone asks, you and Pero do not have a relationship. You have a business agreement, at best. A begrudging one. He comes when you call - not quickly, of course, and it feels like a personal slight even when he insists he has many clients - and you pay him after haggling over the cost of the pipe or how long he actually worked for (he has a tendency to charge for his hour-long lunch breaks). He makes his snide little comments and you spit a retort back, and sometimes you swear you catch him smirking to himself after you deliver something especially sharp. 

As you dry your hands, you dwell maybe a few minutes too long on this. You’d never admit it in earshot of his big head, but there’s something incredibly freeing about talking to Pero. Sure, he criticizes and complains about anything he comes within five feet of, but he’s never cruel to you. He never speaks down to you, or makes you feel inferior because you don’t know something. Most of the time he explains what he’s doing so you can do it yourself, with only a few jabs thrown in for flavor. No contractor has ever treated you as capable before. Most try to talk over your or around the topic, and you have to smile and gently redirect them to understand that yes, you are aware of what an impact driver is and no, you think drywall screws would be overkill to reattach that molding. You’d rather snark at Pero all day then have one of those pillow-scream-worthy conversations again.

Shaking off the retrospection, you take a plate of leftover roast chicken and potatoes into the common room. Pero, as you expected, has stoked the fire into an almost concerning blaze but the warmth is welcome. He’s settling back into the well-worn couch and scrolling on his phone as you plop the plate on his lap. Your knuckles graze the top of his thigh when you withdraw, a nervous tingle dancing through your stomach.

What the hell was that about? It’s Pero, for fuck’s sake.

“Eat,” you order, rounding the couch to drop into the open space. If there’s one order Pero will never argue about it’s to eat, which he does with gusto and a nod in your direction. The crackle of the fire covers the ravenous chewing - even barely hungry he eats like a man starved - as you let your body relax into the cushions. All the guests are tucked away, breakfast is prepped and ready, and the silence is welcome. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived.

“I did not think you would be fully booked. I wouldn’t have bothered stopping by.”

It’s too late and you’re too tired to deal with this bullshit right now. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“And why would you think that Pero? Because somehow I could never run a business this well?”

“That’s not…”

“Or am I not paying you enough? Are we about to have a heart to heart over hourly rates?”

“I am not…”

“Then fucking out with it then! If you hate being here, being around me so much, then just tell me why so I can stop trying to give a shit about it.”

The silence that follows pulls your hands from your eyes, and where you thought Pero would be glaring at you he’s…confused. Which is…also confusing.

“I thought this was fun,” he says, voice softening to a rumble that loses its edges in the fire. “The, you know, the back and forth.” He studies his hands, blunt thumbnail dragging along a knuckle. “Most people defer to me because I’m…” Gesturing at himself, what could be a brag instead is dripping with annoyance. “The men pretend to be in league with me, and the women laugh at everything I say. It’s so…boring.”

You’re frozen in place, brows knit as you let him speak, a tingle rising up the back of your neck and flooding your fingertips.

“Any bullshit that entertains me, I can do with them. But not with you.” He can’t meet your eyes, instead staring into the fire that paints the planes of his face in luscious amber. “You never let me get away with shit. I like that. I thought you liked that too. You always seemed to get…brighter when we were…” His hands come up and make little quibbling mouths, finally looking at you. 

Have you ever seen his gaze so bare before?

“I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”

Inside your body, a mounting wave of understanding and excitement fills your limbs. No one has ever praised your fire, your brightness, only wanting to tamp it down into something manageable and palatable. Now before you is a man who not only revels in it, but encourages it? You’ve never felt this thrum of excitement before, like holding a tuning fork against your sternum. 

“You did,” you say, the strength of your voice surprising. Rising to stand, Pero’s chin tilts, a supplicant before you. “Because if you had given me even an inkling of an idea that this was foreplay, I wouldn’t have held back.”

Much like your own revelation, you can see your words change Pero. His brow smooths before arching in tandem with his growing smirk. Hands coming down to grasp the seat cushion, his veins bulge against the creak of upholstery. He tilts his chin to you with shrinking obedience. 

“Then I am very interested in seeing you at your worst.” 

The words drive you to clench. This is dangerous new territory, but nothing could hold you back from striding headfirst into it. Two swaying steps place you in front of Pero, his knees widening to stand between. The new angle makes him lean back, exposing the tantalizing length of his neck dotted with delicate freckles. 

“I don’t know, Pero, you may not deserve that honor.” A giggle rises in your throat, letting yourself enjoy your new-found freedom. Saying exactly what’s on your mind without the nagging fear of being too much. By Pero’s expression, he’s enjoying it too. You wind up another retort, but his next words steal your breath. 

“Are you wet right now?” he says, tongue slipping out to lick at his lower lip. The crude statement slams heat into your face, and suddenly your hand is in the air and headed for Pero’s stubbly cheek. 

“Ah!” he scolds, catching your wrist firmly before you make contact. Your brain barely has time to register you were going to smack him! when he yanks you closer, catching yourself on the back of the couch.

“I knew you were sharp in many more ways,” he gloats, and you can’t decide if you want to try wiping that smirk off his face with your palm or your mouth. “I’ll ask again - are you wet right now?”

This is the precipice of desire and level thinking, your toes on the edge. Strong voices shout that this is crazy, foolish, ill-advised. You feel too good to pay them mind.

“Why don’t you find out?”

Hunger roars in Pero’s eyes but his movements are slow, steady as he helps you straighten to standing. The fire licks at your back, but his hands finding the waist of your jeans are scorching. Eyes flick up to you as he pops the button loose, thick fingers grasping the small zip to open it tooth by tooth. The challenge is to let him take his time, and you’re up for it. By the generous tenting in his pants he’s affected too. 

“What will I find if I take these off? Pretty little panties? Something lace? Nothing at all?” he husks, toying with the plaquet as he purposefully doesn’t look. 

“I think my previous answer still stands,” you retort, and your boldness earns you a rakish smile while Pero rolls your jeans down. The darkness of night shrouds your form, but anyone stumbling in could find you like this. Something tells you Pero likes it better that way.

“Perfect,” he whispers, and his hot breath ghosting over your mound raises goosebumps. 

“At this rate it’ll be morning before…” you tease, lips forming around a smile, but that morphs into a choked exhale when Pero deftly pulls aside your panties and slides his thumb over your clit. Your hands come to his shoulders, digging in as he traces an experimental circle. 

“I knew you were dripping,” Pero purrs, and words fail as two fingers slide through your folds to press at your entrance. “I want to fuck you on my fingers, is that amenable to the lady?” 

Staccato laughter punctuates your “yes” before he presses in, those hands you’d marveled at fitting into the hot clutch of your cunt just shy of painful. Then he curls them and you can’t stop the high-pitched whine that whistles out. 

“Just needed something to scratch that itch, hm? Needed a little finger fucking to relax?” he says, and even with your body responding beautifully to his slick rhythm you can’t let that go. One hand twists into his hair, wrapping locks around your fingers before squeezing. 

Like an electric shock Pero’s body locks up, mouth falling open and his hips undulating more than you expected. You tut at him, superiority flooding your brain even as your pussy drenches his hand.

“Tattling on yourself, Pero. Let your mouth run just a little and I’ll learn all your secrets.” His fingers redouble their efforts, thumb sliding over your clit as he coaxes your orgasm to the surface, but now his head is in your hands, nails digging into his scalp as he fights against succumbing to the pricks of pain.

“Devil woman,” he hisses with no fire. “Tell me what you want - fuck, you’re so fucking wet - tell me what you want to make you cum.”

Your mind races with possibilities - your slick smeared on Pero’s beard, his hands wrapped around your headboard, what his lips would feel like - but the mounting need in your chest is to be filled. 

“I want to fuck you. Right here.”

Pero curses colorfully, fumbling at his belt. You ease his hand from your pussy, the ache of the loss a yawning chasm but he needs both to yank off his jeans and boxers. Pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, you’re nude and silhouetted by the dying fire. Pero is struggling with his shirt when he glances up at you, stunned into stillness. 

“Mierda,” he whispers. It’s said like a prayer, and at this moment you know why worship is addictive. Pero’s reverent gaze is a stronger aphrodisiac than any oyster could hope to be. He comes back to himself enough to yank the shirt over his head, revealing dark chest hair leading down to a healthy mess of curls surrounding his flushing cock. He fists it, sliding the foreskin down to reveal the deep purpling head slick with precum. Cocking your hip, you fake a loud sigh.

“Fine, I guess you have a big enough dick to act the way you do,” you observe, diffusing the weighty moment enough for Pero to scoff and smile. It’s new on his face, his scowl so everpresent, that you bask in it briefly. 

“Come sit on my lap,” he implores, reaching out to take your hand. After all the sparring, the gentleness puts you off-kilter, unused to being allowed both. 

“What are you, Santa?” you ask, straddling him and settling on his thighs as he rolls his eyes.

“Are you trying to make me lose this? Is it a little too intimidating for all your big talk?” Pero teases, stroking his definitely still very hard cock before tapping the head against your mound. 

“Don’t worry, I know how to get it back if you do,” you quip, dragging your fingernails lightly down his chest before he can retort. He reacts exactly how you’d hoped, muscles clenching and a bead of precum dribbling from his tip. “Do you like it when I make it hurt just a little bit?”

“Yes,” he groans, unashamed, unselfconscious, and your cunt throbs. “You can make it hurt more,” he says, eyes widening suddenly as you see him realize he said that out loud. Sliding closer to hover over his proud cock, you take another sweat-damp handful of hair and squeeze. His groans are growing in volume but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can blame it on the storm in the morning. 

“I’ll let you have anything you want if you’re a good boy for me.”

The whine he’s clearly embarrassed to have let out is cut off by a sudden inhale.

“Wait,” he gasps, hands digging into your hips to hold you above his cock. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control,” you interject, “and I haven’t slept with anyone in…like, eight months.”

Pero’s hands knead into your flesh, eyes searching your face.

“I’ll pull out.”

You don’t even think about it.

“Don’t you dare.”

If what you saw was hunger before, what’s in Pero’s expression now is ravenous. His lips curl back into a snarl, eyes deep and dark. Suddenly his fingers are inside you, scissoring you open roughly as you pant into his ear. 

“Tell me to slow down,” he growls, but you shake your head. “Tell me…when I need to.”

“I need you, Pero, please, now.”

No longer holding you still, Pero’s hands guide you down onto his cock. The moment his head breaches a whole body shiver races through.

“Are you…”

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

He fills you until he’s in your guts, your lungs, surrounding you with his arms and his thighs below. The splay of his hands on your back makes you dizzy, head buzzy with hormones and his musk and every place he’s touching you in a symphony of pleasure. Faintly you realize he’s saying something, lips moving against your shoulder.

“Pero?”

“Can I kiss you?”

A few drops of clarity sharpen the mush in your brain.

“You’re inside of me and we forgot to kiss.”

Pero’s chest hitches once, then again, then the both of you are moving out of sync as hiccupy laughter overtakes you. He pants when you clench around him, trying to catch his breath until you both come back to your senses. 

“I was enjoying what you were saying too much,” he admits, leaning back against the couch. His face is shadowed but you catch the glint of his eyes, the wetness of his plush lips. How had you resisted them this long?

Pero beats you to initiate, pulling you down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s soft and chaste, his hands cupping your head as you part. But you beat him to return the kiss, pressing him into the couch with a deeper kiss, barely waiting for him to react before urging his lips open. He hums greedily into your mouth, letting you explore with your tongue before he fills you with his. It’s not long before his mouth is frantic, gripping your hips as he makes an experimental thrust into your cunt that breaks your lips apart.

“Pero, fuck,” you gasp, nails digging into his back as he thrusts up deep and smooth. You meet his pace, rolling your hips to grind your clit against him. Fighting for dominance, you finally push him back and ride him in earnest, lifting up over and over again to slam his cock into your cunt. He’s mesmerized by how your tits bounce, taking one in his palm to knead to tease your nipple as your orgasm creeps up your spine. 

“Fuck, Pero, you feel so good,” you moan, slowing to grind down, the friction of his pubic hair on your clit giving you the edge to pull your climax close. 

“You feel amazing on my cock. Are you close?”

“Yes,” you pant, using every inch of Pero to find that moment of bliss. “Fuck, yes Pero, I want to cum on you. Want to feel you inside.” It’s right there, you’re at the brink of tipping over.

“Fuck, yes, oh fuck, say my name like that. Say it when you’re cumming.”

Your nerves sing and your body pulses to the beat of Pero, Pero, Pero rasping from your lips. He’s growling something you wish you could understand but the blood is pumping too loudly in your ears. The only thing you register is the couch against your back as Pero flips you. He’s pressed long against your body, hips snapping into your cunt even as you’re so tight around him. 

“...beautiful, you’re so beautiful, can’t stop…” you faintly hear as the sensations of Pero’s hands roaming your body, his humid mouth at your neck, and the wet slap of his cock bring you back to your body. His thrusts are becoming erratic, right on the cusp of his own orgasm, when you dig your nails into his back and rake them down his spine. 

Pero’s orgasmic bellow is muffled in your neck as the throb of his cock empties inside you. You offer little scratches up and down his arms and shoulders as he comes down, hips pressing in deeper as he lets out satisfied groans. Finally he slumps, head resting on your chest as he catches his breath. 

The silence is back, the dimming fire combating the dark. This was by far the best fuck you’d had in ages, and in no small part due to the freedom to just be. But when the sun rises - hell, when the post-orgasmic haze lifts - what will this even look like?

Pero sighs and lifts up on his hands, easing his cock out before softly swearing and grabbing his shirt to wipe away the cum dripping out of you. 

“I might recommend getting this couch cleaned,” he muses, sitting up on his knees to look down at your loose-limbed body with a lopsided grin. 

“I don’t think we’re the first ones to do that on this particular piece of furniture,” you joke, enjoying the wrinkle of disgust on Pero’s face. 

“Then I definitely recommend a shower. And request a bedsheet.”

The statement is unassuming in a way that you needed. Yes, this is new and strange, but you’ve always embraced both. 

“You know, there is still one bed left in this bed and breakfast.”

Pero’s head perks up.

“The only problem is that it’s mine.”

A roguish smile dimples Pero’s cheek as he hovers over you.

“And what must I do to share it with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

END

"I ought to say, "No, no, no sir" Mind if I move in closer? At least I'm gonna say that I tried What's the sense in hurting my pride? I really can't stay Baby, don't hold out Baby, it's cold outside."

[hellfire-state-of-mind]

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?

[cedarsue]

hm so I'm seeing a Pero Tovar x reader fic where you're the princess of a small kingdom far west of the Great Wall and Pero is your Sworn Protector in this time of war but you fall in love with him despite his gruffness and your father's wishes and he slowly warms up to you until he finds himself Irrevocably Devoted To You

[ravensmadreads]

Unhinged totally unasked for thots about Riding Pedro Boys

Authors Note: So this came from me chugging entirely too many energy drinks and then projectile vomiting in Taylors inbox. I'd like to warn you that: English isn't my first language, I have never written smut before, I'm not a real writer, and also I'm trash goblin levels of unhinged about this. That being said; Enjoy and uhh. Forgive me Fandom

JAVIER PEÑA

Javier Pena doesn't let you do it.

Don't @ me LISTEN! (YES I STARTED OFF WITH A CONTROVERSIAL THOT FUCKING BITE ME.)

That man does not have the time, or the patience, or the good sense (the sense is at the other end) to let you ride. He needs the control okay? And sometimes it's not even about the control ! It's the frustration. It piles and piles and piles until he snaps. He needs to do. He will bend you over and work his frustration away until he has had enough and you let him because he needs it. (And lets be real he makes it worth your while every single time)

BUT. When he finally fucking retires, and gets a ranch, and breaths air not tinged with the smells of death, cigarettes and guns for the first time in however many years, and maybe drinks some fucking water, he takes you out on a date. He fumbles through the entire thing, panics because he thinks he blew it, still manages to get you home, gets ridden for the first time in like 6 years, and can't walk straight for an entire day and stammers every time someone asks him why.

JAVIER GUTIERREZ

Javi G loves it. He loves watching you. Gets all puppy dog wide eyed (remember the pool scene face??? Thats it.) and you have to really focus because his look of straight up wonder and awe and bright eyed eagerness makes you want to cry. He's panting like he's running a marathon, running his big hands EVERYWHERE he can reach. He makes you feel worshipped and adored and so very very loved. Thanks you after. For being so amazing, and so wonderful to him, and thanks the universe that he found you. Cause he's sap. You definitely cry after.

JOEL MILLER

(Watch me be controversial again) Joel is fucking tired okay? He has old man bones and creaky joints and his back is achy. Patrol was agony, Jesse wouldn't shut up the entire time, and Tommy was giving him shit, and he has no energy to drill anyone into the mattress (as much as we all want him to). He's just plain tired. He likes you on top. Likes it slow (like a roast chicken on a sunday slow). Enjoys the gradual build up, likes to lean back, watch with half open eyes as you take your time. Wants to indulge in something beautiful at the end of the world, and that something is you. He makes sexy grunting noises, mutters a whole lot of praise ~and filth~ and just y'know. Savours it. 🫠🫠🫠 savours you. 🫠

DIETER BRAVO

Dieter is a maniac. (Leave him alone he has adhd!!) He can't still still for the life of him so you best believe he changes positions 6 times and the only way you're getting to ride is if you're also putting some weight elsewhere. To hold him down! You squeeze his neck once and he MELTS. INSTANTLY. Loses all sense. Starts babbling and whimpering and making extremely pathetic noises. Will definitely buck up and whine. PRAISES YOU. BEGGING. LOUD NOISES.

MAX PHILLIPS

Max is a heathen. He just likes watching you bounce. That's it. That's the post :p

MARCUS PIKE

Marcus P is a romantic. He will be doing the whole "lean forward and try to get kisses in between" while also "moaning and maintaining eye contact" and he's holding you so tight , squeezing your sides and also muttering declarations of love. About how he wants a life with you, and a family, and a home, and a future. How he's going to "make you so happy baby, I promise I will, I swear to you". Doesn't let you off for from on top of him for atleast a half hour after; kissing all over your face and rubbing your back and petting your hair "I meant all of it sweetheart. I want all of you." shsbzgwgsvsg ilovehimsomuch and I've only ever seen gifsets of this man what is wrong with me

MARCUS MORENO

Marcus M is A MENACE. He wears his stupid glasses, and has his stupid shirt off, while he does stupid taxes/meeting plans in bed. You keep throwing side glances and getting increasingly wound up and he just has this gentle smirk but he's mostly ignoring you. You sidle up to him and maybe start kissing his jaw, laying gentle pecks down his neck, and he's still fukcungh working "Baby. I need to finish this. I'm sorry, you need to wait." But that smirk is still there and it's driving you crazy and maybe you keep kissing until you reach his *coughs* and then you're working on getting him interested. You can still hear the fucking pen scratching though and so you go deeper, and he raises an eyebrow. "be good now honey" You're settling in his lap and he has you sitting there until he has finished his paperwork with you whimpering and trying not to squirm because you want to be good you really do and you know he'll make it so much better but he feels so good and when he's finally finally done you get to move but you're so wound up you can't pull yourself together enough to find a rhythm and you're nearly in tears and he has to grip your sides and murmur instructions in your ear and help you until you're satisfied and just when you think he's done, and about to flip you over, he adjusts his grip and starts moving from underneath you until you're crying and he's finished ~which doesnt happen until you've come 2 more times~

DAVE YORK

Dave. Oh my gosh Dave. Dave is a strict dom if ever there was one. With him it's a punishment. He'll tell you to hold off until he's done which is freaking impossible with how deep he gets, and how he likes to warm up his hands on your butt while you're trying desperately to hold onto that last thread of control. He is muttering absolute filth, holding your arms behind your back with one hand while the other is either laying smack after smack or rubbing you furiously all the while he's got the smuggest look. "Don't you dare baby. Be a good girl now. Listen and obey for once". But you can't because he's not fair and he knows it. And when you do finally fall apart he's clenching his teeth trying to hold back himself and his hands are holding you up as you gasp his name like it's the only word you know. He's running his hands down your back and kissing you softly and helping you catch your breath and when you finally get your heart to stop pounding and look up at him, he's watching you with this dangerously soft smile and he goes "oh you're in for it now aren't you honey?" and kisses your forehead while you try not to whimper.

FRANKIE MORALES

Frankie is a soft boy. He loves it. Craves it. He loves giving up control. Wants you to tie him up and have your way until he has no thoughts left in that pretty little head. He is swearing like an absolute sailor the entire time, calling you ma'am, begging to be released so he can kiss you and touch you, absolutely nearly breaks the head board once he was so desperate. Wants to be edged but also is the biggest WIMP about it. Will pout and swear and beg and plead but then want you to deny him again. Will definitely be mumbling absolute nonsense once you're done. Needs all the aftercare. Blushes pink when he gets it. Wraps himself around you like a HUGE koala bear after. ~and returns the edging favour 3 times over when he gets in his Captain Francisco Morales Mood~

JACK DANIELS

BONUS TWO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT and tumblr won't let me put gifs for:

Jack makes every single cowboy joke known to man. You have to put your hand on his mouth to get him to shut the hell up. His eyes get all glassy when you do. He puts his hat on top of your head and busies himself in your neck (dual benefits: A. He shuts up and B. HICKIES) will definitely drag you on top of him in his Bronco (he likes to show off) will pull up on the side of the road almost 70% of the times you drive together. Bites you over your clothes. Loves the way you grab desperately at this leather jacket. Definitely makes you bend over and 'clean up the mess sugar' before driving like the hounds of hell are after him all the way back home and doing it all over again because "we gotta make you a mama now love"

PERO TOVAR

Pero got married after he came back and retired as a sell sword. His wife is a soft but sassy thing who's a little (read: not at all, she returns his snark twice over) intimidated by him but also thinks he's a good man because he saved her village from raiders. She has seen him grumble and snark at but then also share his food with the orphans who works at the village inn. She's inexperienced (let me live my victorian life) and he doesn't really think he deserves her but also he's not so much an idiot to say no to someone like her. She's the village "healer" and he met her when he got stabbed by one of the raiders (arm wound: not serious.) He has to teach her. She gets shy and flustered, which is a total 180 from her sassy self, and Pero loves it. She makes the most amazing sounds that have him thinking that maybe he did something right in his life to end up in her arms. She wants to please her new husband and asks her married friends for advice and they tell her about this new position. So she asks him, stuttering and tripping over words, if she could try something she heard about? From a friend? She straddles him and Pero loses his mind. He's closing his eyes and clenching his jaw so hard and she's whimpering in the most DELICIOUS way and he's trying so hard to hold back and let her take her pace and she's so worried "am I not doing it right?" Pero has to take 3 deep breaths before he's centred enough to answer and then he helps her. Puts his hands on her hips to guide her. Puts one of her hands on his shoulder "steady now pequenita" and puts the other low on her belly and presses in so she can feel him. Loves the way she cries out. Bends forward to leave little marks everywhere he can reach. She's scrambling at his chest, leaving nail marks he loves, and finally grabbing his hair and pulling until he groans. And when they're both done and sated and sweaty he kisses her, looks her in the eye and winks. "I'm going to have to go thank your friend now, mi esposa."

DIN DJARIN

Din and you dont have time. The razor crest is finally in hyperspace, you got shot at for the 50th time in 2 weeks, (because Murphys Law seems to be the only law Mando never breaks), you're exhausted, sweaty, and the giggly green monster of chaos only made you chase him down from the top of a weapons cabinet twice before he finally decided to take a nap. You're frustrated, and in desperate need of a shower, and a nap, but also you can't get the image of Mando fighting out of your head. Before you know it, the hormones have taken over and you're attacking him in the pilot seat. The bucket is off (I refuse to look at my own reflection in the tin cans helmet while we do the do), he's got you arching into him, your shirt is half torn from the top because Din refuses to wait for "so many fucking buttons Meshla" the gloved hand is squeezing the back of your neck, his mouth is on your chest, his other hand (you only managed to get one glove off) is splayed out on your back. You're riding him like you're trying to break him and his thigh holster? thing (do i look like i can figure out what they're called?) is digging marks into your skin but you're too turned on to care. It's frantic, it's messy, you're PRAYING the tiny green menace stays asleep as you do your best to muffle your sounds. The refresher isn't big enough for a round two, (you still do your best), and your legs feel like jelly, when you finally pass out; curled up on top of the human space heater while he hums Mando'a in your ear.

*****

TAGGING: @chronically-ghosted (you are a menace but ily)

@fuckyeahdindjarin (here I go trying that writing thing again, stop me pls)

[burntheedges]

Roll-A-Trope Challenge Masterlist

Y'all the response to this challenge blew me away!! 🥺🥰 We are going to have so many amazing fics to read! 🧡 Check here for all of the character/trope pairings from when people joined.

I'll link each one as they're posted. Under the cut you'll soon find fics for Dave York, Dieter Bravo, Din Djarin, Dio Morrissey, Ezra (Prospect), Frankie Morales, Jack Daniels, Javi Gutierrez, Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Marcus Acacius, Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike, Max Phillips, Nathan Landry, Oberyn Martell, Pero Tovar, and Tim Rockford! And so many amazing tropes!!

Last updated: 3/29/25 | Fic count: 57!

Dave York

Audience of One by @katareyoudrilling | 3k | Dave x f!reader Trope: famous person AU

Can You Remember Who You Were? by @punkshort | 9.1k | Dave x f!reader Trope: reincarnation

Danger Zone by @almostempty | 6k | Dave x Lana Kane (you) x Sterling Archer (crossover with Archer (TV)) Trope: snowed in

Down Bad by @schnarfer | 6.1k | Dave x f!reader | part 2 Trope: only one bed (and bonus, it's a coffee shop AU!)

It's Only Make Believe by @jennaispunk | 7k | Dieter x f!actress!reader Trope: fake dating

Sunshine & Rainbows by @jeewrites | 10.1k | Dave x f!reader Trope: amnesia

Dieter Bravo

Broken Hearts Mended by @bitchesuntitled | 6.1k | Dieter x f!reader Trope: time travel

Just like the Picture by @nerdieforpedro | 936 | Dieter x gn!reader Trope: landlord

late night. by @trulybetty | 6.3k | Dieter x f!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

Teleportation and Blue Whiskey (part 1) by @davnittbraes | 1.5k | Dieter x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator

this protector by @perotovar | 3.1k | Dieter x Din Trope: only one bed

Din Djarin

Familiar yet Foreign by @whxtedreams | 3.7k | Din x f!reader Trope: fake marriage

New Home (Part 1) by @weirdoneattheparty | 2.1k | Din x f!reader Trope: friends to lovers

something worse by @corazondebeskar-reads | 3.2k | Din x f!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

The Long Way Round by @din-cognito | 3.17k | Din x gn!reader Trope: road trip

Dio Morrissey

Crimes Against Each Other by @crowandmousewritingco | 2.9k | Dio x trans!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

Ezra (Prospect)

To Leave the Green by @cas-readsandwrites | 2k | Ezra & Cee, gen Trope: time loop

Frankie Morales

a kiss, my panacea by @skittlesfics | 917 | Frankie x gn!reader Trope: sickfic

Better Love by @docharleythegeekqueen | 3.4k | Frankie x reader Trope: snowed in

Dreamers (part 1) by @beefrobeefcal | 3.4k | Frankie x reader Trope: soulmates | now with Part 2!

Forever starts tonight by @sawymredfox | 3.6k | Frankie x f!reader Trope: pining

GOING DOWN by @aurorawritestoescape | 3.4k | Frankie x f!reader and Joel x f!reader Trope: exes

I Like You A Latte by @inept-the-magnificent | 752 | Frankie x f!reader Trope: coffee shop AU

I'm Yours by @ashleyfilm | 3.2k | Frankie x reader Trope: secret relationship

To Feel Your Body Against Mine by @flightlessangelwings | 4.5k | Frankie x f!reader Trope: secret relationship

Jack Daniels

i'd give anything for more time by @penvisions | 2k | Jack x f!reader trope: time loop

If I should die before you do by @maggiemayhemnj | 1.7k | Jack x f!reader trope: soulmates

Life's a Dance by @wordywarriorwrites | 2k | Jack x reader Trope: didn't know they were dating

Lucid Dreams by @fhatbhabiee | 3.2k | Jack x reader Trope: friends to lovers

Javi Gutierrez

Things You Knew by @eff4freddie | 8k | Javi G x reader Trope: soulmates

To Make a Day for You by @yopossum | 3k? | Javi G x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator

Javier Peña

3 sides of a man by @milla-frenchy | 3.3k | Javi x f!reader Trope: secret relationship

between two floors by @glowingxeyes | 1k | Javi x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator | there’s a part 2 and 3!

GOING DOWN by @almostfoxglove | 3.3k | Javi P x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator

good guys, bad deeds by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer | 3.9k | Javi x f!reader Trope: only one bed

Joel Miller

Birds of a Feather by @whocaresstillthelouvre | 5.3k | Joel x f!reader Trope: snowed in

Besties by @butterphii | >1k | Joel x f!reader

drive by @kedsandtubesocks | 2k | Joel x f!reader Trope: road trip

For Better or Worse by @captainredspade | Joel x f!reader Trope: fake marriage

Fragile State by @galway-girlatwork | 2.5k | Joel x OFC!Tara Trope: amnesia

Galway Girl by @yxtkiwiyxt | 7k | Joel x f!reader | part 2!! Trope: soulmates

If You're Reading This by @crowandmousewritingco | 4.5k | Joel x nb!reader Trope: epistolary

It Had To Be You by @jobean12-blog | 4.8k | Joel x f!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

Wish by @hotgirlbedtimescenarios | 1.7k Trope: time travel

Marcus Acacius

Searching for the stars by @the-mandawhor1an | 2.7k | Marcus x f!reader Trope: time travel

Marcus Moreno

Through Every Lifetime by @joelalorian | 4.5k | Marcus x f!reader Trope: reincarnation

Marcus Pike

Pike's Place by @pedges-world | Marcus x reader Trope: snowed in | series!!

Max Phillips

A Little Broken by @clawdeewritesfanfic | 3.2k | Max x f!reader Trope: pining

Time After Time by @grogusmum | drabble | Max x f!reader Trope: reincarnation

Nathan Landry

consensus ad idem by @sunshinehaze1 | 4.9k | Nathan x f!reader Trope: snowed in

Oberyn Martell

sweet and sour by @iamasaddie | 5.5k | Oberyn x f!reader Trope: fake relationship

The Correspondence of the Contagious by @crowandmousewritingco | 1.4k | Oberyn x gn!reader x Ellaria Trope: epistolary

Pero Tovar

Memories made, memories lost by @avastrasposts | 7.9k | Pero x f!reader Trope: amnesia

nothing is sure by @tinytinymenace | 2.5k | Pero x OFC Trope: didn't know they were dating

Tim Rockford

|Bump in the Night| by @dc418writes | Tim x black!reader Trope: friends to lovers

Keep Quiet by @auteurdelabre | Tim x f!reader Trope: secret relationship

When Only Memories Remain by @artsy-girl-76 | 3.4k | Tim x f!reader Trope: "shop" AU

[absurdthirst]

St. Valentine's Miracle {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.9k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, insults, mentions of prostitution, mentions of rape, violence, fighting, Tovar kills a man, adrenaline fueled sex, begging, slightly subby Pero, cock riding, unprotected sex, anger, miscommunication, pregnancy, morning sickness, throwing up, stubbornness, confessions, oral sex (female receiving), pregnancy sex, gentle Pero, childbirth

Comments: Pero Tovar infuriates you. One night, things boil over and you shift from enemies to lovers with a surprising result that changes everything on St. Valentine's Day.

A/N: ❤️❤️HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!❤️❤️

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

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

Pero Tovar tilts his cup back, letting the last swallow of ale slide down his throat before he slams his cup down on the worn smooth rough hewn table in the middle of the tavern. A belch comes out and he smirks when he opens his mouth again. “Another ale, wench.” He demands, knowing that the request will infuriate you. Not because of the coin he spends. No, you will greedily pocket that. It’s because of him calling you a wench. Even though that is what you are, you seem to think you deserve to be called the tavern keeper. So, just to irritate you, Pero calls you a wench every time he gets a chance just to set your teeth on edge.

You clench your jaw, shaking your head as you pour another ale for the ill mannered mercenary and you carry it over to him, slamming it down in front of him so it spills. You grab the empty tankard and he smirks, tilting his head towards your cleavage that's in his face when you lean over him. "You're a pig." You scoff, grabbing your rag to wipe down the table.

Pero grunts as he reaches for the mug. Ever since he arrived in this village, ready to settle down and put his sword down for good, the two of you have been at each other’s throats. It might be because he asked how much it would be to fuck you along with he room he had wanted for the night, but how was he to know you weren’t a whore? He had assumed it was a brothel when he walked in and found a woman behind the bar. “And you are a shrew.” He shoots back.

You scoff, “I’d rather be a shrew than have your unwanted attention, Tovar.” You intentionally drag the wet rag over his face when you walk past and he sputters, “bitch.” You smirk as you stride to the bar, looking to the other patrons who are waiting for their drinks.

He scowls as he watches you stroll away from him without the extra swish a whore would put into her step. Not trying to entice a man, but your hips move generously on their own. You are confident and since that first disastrous interaction, you tolerate him like a festering sore. It wasn’t his fault he had thought you were to be bought although it never crosses his mind to apologize for the mistake. He never had to do that before. William was the sweet talker, he did the glowering. He takes another sip of his mug and then decides that he’s hungry. “Wench! Bring me some stew!” He demands, waiting until you are busy again just to get back at you.

You clench your jaw, unable to believe he is demanding. “Bastard.” You murmur under your breath, deciding to take your time to serve everyone who has been waiting before you head into the kitchen to pour a bowl of stew for him. You are tempted to spit in it but you don’t, carrying it over to the grumpy Spaniard. “Here you go.” You slam it down so it spills over a little, “impatient prick.”

He chuckles darkly. “You decided to take too long.” He huffs. “I am not hungry now.” He smirks when you whirl around and glare at him. He knows he will eat it, but it is satisfying to see your eyes flash with anger and hatred for him. “It is probably poisoned anyway.”

"I wouldn't waste the poison on someone like you." You retort, "eat it or don't. You are still paying for it." You hiss and he chuckles, enjoying seeing you so riled up and you take a breath, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. "Enjoy your meal, sir." You offer and spin around, making your way back to the bar.

Pero tucks into the stew after a moment. Eating the delicious meal eagerly. You make better food than he does and it’s not often that he would go a week without coming to eat here while drinking his ale. He just enjoys the way you spit at him.

You watch Pero from the corner of your eye as you wipe down the counter. The men are getting louder, rowdier, and you are glad you have the knife strapped to your thigh. Pero tilts his head back to sip his ale and you can't help but admire his neck, strong and muscular as he gulps. He's dangerous and a prick but damn if he isn't handsome. It's a shame he's such a prick.

“Her cunt has to be tighter than a fist.” His eyes cut over to where the two brothers that he has been at odds with talk loudly at their table. He doesn’t like many men, only one man he has ever counted as a friend and he had turned back to China to chase a woman, but he loathes these two. He itches to put a knife in the youngest throat, just to have some blessed silence from the ridiculous boasts. “Good thing you will never know.” He grunts, smirking as he takes another sip of the ale.

The younger one snorts, "says you, Tovar. She wants me. I can tell. She keeps looking over here with a look in her eyes." He smirks and his brother nods, "she definitely needs a cock inside her. Maybe she will relax a little." He smirks and you look over just as the brother winks at you. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose but he waves you over. You sigh under your breath, knowing you need to go over there if he wants more ale. You make your way through the tavern and approach their table, "what can I get you?" You ask, gripping your skirts.

“Bend over and lift your skirts.” The older brother comments, making Pero snort and roll his eyes. At least he had offered coins for the use of your cunt. “Want to see how loud you scream in pleasure.” He continues, making Pero chuckle in disbelief. “Hard to make someone scream when you can’t find your cock beneath your belly.” He huffs as he finishes his stew and pushes the bowl back.

You chuckle, agreeing with Pero, and the brother scowls, standing from his seat. You fumble for your knife but he grabs your arms, “you dare to fucking insult me? You fucking bitch. Only good for one thing.” He growls, tightening his grip and he tries to spin you to push you face down onto the table.

Pero has no problem insulting you, trading barbs and venom with glee. He wouldn’t touch you without your agreement and he doesn’t allow any other men to abuse women around him. Especially not one who brings him his ale. The chair scrapes back loudly as he leaps up and slams against elder brother, knocking you away from his grip and growling furiously as he faces the bastard. “Don’t fucking touch her.” He warns dangerously.

You scramble away from him, chest heaving, and you watch as Pero sizes up the brother. He’s bigger than Pero but that doesn’t stop the Spaniard from getting in his face. He growls and the younger brother stands, “is she yours? I didn’t fucking think so, Tovar. So she’s fair game for everyone.”

Pero scoffs and shakes his head. “She chooses.” He spits out. “And she didn’t choose any of the limp pricks here.” His eyes cut over to you, finding you watching with wide eyes and he glances back at the two brothers. “Leave and I’ll let you breathe for another day.”

The brother snorts, looking over at you, “do you want me to fuck that pretty little cunt?” He coos and you clench your jaw, “no. No. Get the fuck out of my tavern.” You hiss, “you are barred.”

It’s obvious that he didn’t like that answer, the younger brother reaching for his dagger and Pero chuckles darkly. “Amigo, I would not do that if you wish to see the next sunrise.” He promises. “Leave and fight another day, eh?”

The brother bristles and you narrow your eyes at him, knowing he is going to struggle to walk away but his brother pulls on his shoulder. “Fuck you.” He growls, shrugging off his brother, and he brings his hand up, smacking your face so hard your head turns. “No bitch tells me what to do.”

Pero lunges at the older brother. Growling as he reaches for the dagger that is strapped to his waist. Fury clouding his vision and he grabs the other man’s hand, bringing his forehead down to slam against his, head butting him as he starts a fight with the two brothers.

You gasp, stumbling back as Pero fights the brothers. You never expected him to defend you and you fumble to pull the knife from your thigh under your skirts. Gripping it, you watch as Pero swings his knife at the older brother while the younger one stalks behind him. You step closer, acting before you think as you swipe his arm with your knife to stop him.

He sees the younger man behind him, knowing that he will do something, so he turns right as you cut him with your knife. “Bitch!” He cries out grabbing his arm before he backhands you, launching himself towards you. “I’ll teach you to say no to me and my brother!” He yells, doubling over when Pero punches him in the stomach and grabs the back of his shirt to throw him over the table. The older brother attacks him and without a second’s thought, Tovar turns and drives his blade deep into the man’s gullet.

You stumble back into the benches, watching the man choke on his own blood as Pero withdraws the knife. He falls to his knees and his brother screams in anger, surging forward to attack Pero. You grip your knife, now coated in blood, wanting to help the Spaniard but he swings his fight, punching the remaining brother while the other slumps down on the floor, choking a few more times before he goes silent.

Pero grabs the man’s shirt, hauling him close to growl fiercely. “Take your brother’s worthless body and flee.” He hisses. “Or I will kill you too.” He shoves him away and watches as the man falls back over the broken chair behind him and scrambles over to his brother’s body. Terrified that he would actually be killed. Those patrons who had not fled at the beginning of the fight quickly rush out of the tavern while Pero stands there calmly, wiping his blade clean and resheathing it in his belt. His dark eyes turn towards you, flickering down to the bloody dagger still in your grip and then back up to your wide eyes. “Another ale.” He tells you, bending down and picking up his cup off the floor.

You stare at him in shock, unable to believe he sits down and holds the tankard up towards you. You wipe the bloody knife on your skirts and you lift them to shove the knife back in your sheath and you take his cup with a shaking hand to refill it.

 The younger brother finally hauls his brother’s body out of the tavern, the place quiet except for the crackling of the fire in the hearth as you come and set the cup down in front of him. “The business is gone tonight.” He observes as he picks the cup up and takes a thirsty swallow. He feels kind of guilty that your business has died off for the night.

You glance around, finally realizing that the tavern had emptied and you shake your head, "you've scared everyone off. Now - now I will lose coins." You growl at him, the adrenaline transforming into anger. "Bastard." You murmur as you fetch him another ale. You slam it down on the table in front of him, ale sloshing, and you watch him casually take a sip, "drink up. I am closing."

He snorts and leans back against the chair. “Not very grateful for saving you.” He grunts. “Perhaps you did want your skirts tossed up.” He takes another sip of his ale, draining it until it is gone and stands to walk to the door.. “Should I call the younger one back?” He asks as he strides away

You lean against the table, chest heaving, and you growl before you charge over to him before he opens the door. “You’re a bastard.” You hiss at him, grabbing his upper arm to stop him from walking out, “and you are an ass.” He spins around, eyebrows raised, “I’m an ass for stopping them from taking what doesn’t belong to them?” He asks and you shake your head, “you’re an ass because - because-” You cut yourself by cupping his cheeks and you press your lips to his, heart pounding in your chest.

Groaning, Pero’s arms wrap around your body and he spins you around to press you against the same table he has just left. Ravenous as he licks into your mouth and tastes you when you gasp in surprise. He wants you. He’s wanted you from the first time he had seen you, thinking to buy the night between your thighs but you hadn’t been for sale. He reaches down and squeezes your ass as he hardens in his breeches. The adrenaline is still racing in his blood and turning to lust until you push him away. “What-“ he frowns, confused. Your chest is heaving and your lips are swollen from his attention.

“Shut up. Don’t talk and ruin this.” You demand, grabbing his hand from your ass to guide him through the tavern to your quarters near the kitchen. No one is allowed in here except you and that’s how it’s been until now. “Strip.” You order, wanting to see his body, one you’ve imagined more times than you’ve ever admit, even with a knife to your neck.

His brows pull together but he starts to unbutton the vest that he has started wearing over his shirt. It’s not as thick as the leather armor he had been used to, but it’s an extra layer of protection. Pulling out extra daggers that he has hidden and dropping his clothes to the ground. Pulling his shirt over his head and then bending down and hopping around on one foot as he pulls off his boots. Standing straight to find you smirking as he reaches for the laces of his breeches.

You stand there, watching him as he bares his body in front of your hungry eyes. Your chest heaves and you reach up to slowly undo the laces of your dress as he works on his breeches.

He is already half hard, but he shucks his breeches down with no shame. His cock is a good size and he’s never had any reason to doubt he could satisfy a woman. It bobs heavily, still thickening and growing as he kicks aside his breeches and stands proudly in front of you.

You shrug off the top layer of your dress and you freeze when you see his cock bouncing as he stands there. He's strong, scarred, and intimidating, but you won't let that show as you stand, continuing to undo your dress until it drops from your form. You stand naked before him, heart thumping in your chest, and you surge forward to press your lips to his again, bare skin against his.

It has been a long time since Pero has been completely naked with a woman. He groans, hands sliding down your shoulders and back, over your sides and hips until he is grabbing your ass and pulling you closer. “Hermosa.” He groans against your lip, cock twitching against your belly. So often the women he paid to fuck would just lift their skirts, so to feel your bare breasts against his chest is wonderful.

You moan as your hands caress his back, feeling the scars from battles he survived, and you slide your hand lower until you're gripping his cock. His groan is muffled against your chin and you chuckle, squeezing him and feeling him grow in your grip. "Beg me." You demand, "beg to cum."

He scoffs, scowling at you. He doesn’t beg to cum. You squeeze his cock again and he twitches in your hand. “I want to fuck you.” He admits after a moment. “I want you to beg.” You repeat and he huffs, knowing you could just as easily send him away and he would be left with just his hand for pleasure. His own hand comes up to cup your breast as his other squeezes your ass. “Let me fuck you, hermosa.” He croons softly. “You won’t regret a night on my cock.”

“Not good enough.” You squeeze his cock, pumping him slowly and his eyes flutter at the sensation. You know you won’t get what you want by telling him so you’ll get it with action. “Go lay down.” You order, pointing to the cot in your room.

It is rare that he takes orders that don't benefit him and this is no exception. You want him and if you want to ride him, he has no objections. Especially with your bare tits in his face. He moves over to the cot and lays down, finding it soft and sweet smelling, smelling like you. He wraps his hand around his cock and starts to pump it as he watches you with dark eyes.

You watch him, your cunt clenching with need, but you refuse to show it as you slowly make your way over to the cot. “You look desperate.” You mock him as you shift to straddle his thighs, looking down at the almost purple cock in his hand, “it’s pathetic.”

“It is.” His voice is raspy, low. He doesn’t stop moving his hand up and down his aching cock. “It has been a long time since I have been buried deep inside a hot cunt.” He licks his dry lips and reaches out to caress your breast. “Hermosa.” He murmurs softly.

You bat his hand away, liking how needy he looks. So unlike the harsh and demanding mercenary that orders ale in your tavern. You reach down to cover his hand with yours, working his cock. "You have to beg to fuck me." You remind him, leaning down to dribble your spit on the purple head of his cock.

“Mierda.” Pero hisses. His thighs tensing and his hands harden on your skin for a brief second before he makes himself relax. He has no wish to hurt you and make your soft skin tender. You are beautiful and he moans when your spit is rubbed over his cock with your hand. “Let me have you.” He begs breathlessly. “Sit on my cock. Let me feel your cunt around me.”

You giggle, happy to see the glazed look of lust and need in his eyes. You are dripping between your thighs and you hate how much you want him. The terrifying experience makes you desperate to feel something other than fear. You let go of his cock and he whines, making you chuckle. "Patience, Tovar." You tut and you shift up to straddle his hips, lifting yours so you can grip his cock. "Please." He murmurs and you position him at your entrance until you slowly sink down onto him.

Pero makes a strangled sound, his hands whipping to your hips and he holds them in an iron grip but he doesn’t force you to take him faster. He doesn’t snap his hips up to bury his cock deep like he wants to. His toes curl and he hisses out curses under his breath in Spanish as you take him. Loving how hot and tight you are around him.

You take him slow inside you, loving the tortured look on his face, and you shift your hands to press your palms to his chest. He's thick and he stretches you in a way that makes your breath catch. "You look so desperate, Tovar. Like my cunt is the gateway to heaven." You smirk, caressing his chest.

Scowling at you, he growls under his breath as his cock twitches inside you. Pulling a moan out of you and it’s his turn to smirk. “You are the one riding my cock like a needy whore.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, to spit at him. Lunging forward, he pushes you back while he lowers his head to wrap around one of your nipples.

Your breath catches and you moan his name, your fingers tangling in his hair to push him harder into your chest. “You’re a bastard.” You declare breathlessly but it doesn’t hit as hard as it should when you are grinding down onto his cock.

He chuckles against your skin, eyes flicking up to your face as his tongue slowly flicks against the distended nub. He sucks it into his mouth and hums as he pulls deep and harshly against it. Loving how your cunt walls clench around him.

You pull on his hair, dragging his face from your tit, and his neck tilts as you look down at him. “You’re a bastard.” You repeat with more conviction, rocking onto his cock a little faster as you tug on his hair and you lean down to kiss his neck, nipping it seconds later.

He groans in pleasure, sliding his hands down to your ass to help you rock on his cock before he slaps it. “You like it, eh? Me being a bastard? You like a man who is rough?” You roll your eyes at him and huff when you pull away so he drags your lips to his, his hand around then back of your neck to hold you close.

You let him push his tongue into your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair again, and he grunts when you bite down on his lip when he withdraws his tongue. “You’re a prick who thinks he can act how he wants.” You hiss back at him, reaching for his hands from your back and you shift, pushing him back when your fingers wrap around his wrists, lifting his hands above his head. Your tits sway in his face and you are surprised he allowed you to do this. “Need someone to show you how to behave. You’re an animal.”

He watches your breasts bounce, twitching inside you but he doesn’t try to thrust up into your heat. You obviously want control. “So you will teach me?” He chuckles darkly and twitches inside you again. “You are not a princess though, are you?” He rasps out. “You are a violent wench, drawing blood tonight.” He is honestly proud of you for defending yourself, for helping him when you could have just watched. “A demon.”

You growl at his depiction of you, knowing that he’s not wrong but hearing it spoken out loud has you squeezing his wrists in your grip. “Had to help you since you had two on one and I wasn’t sure if you could handle it.” You taunt him, knowing it’s a lie but you want to rile him up.

He smirks, enjoying your banter and the way you taunt him. “I would have had no problem killing both of them.” He promises. “You are the one who was shaking when bringing me an ale.”

“In anger. You infuriate me. I have been groped and you - you escalated it. I still need to mop the blood from the floor.” You hiss. “You act without a thought.” You slam back onto his cock.

He huffs. “No, I kept a man from taking what was not his.” He grunts, correcting you. “No one else was coming to your aid.” Everyone else in the tavern had silently watched. “A man who rapes a woman deserves to die.”

“I had it handled.” You lie, knowing that he stopped one of the worst things from happening to you. You grind down, shifting to press your chest to his and he hisses at the change in the angle. “Whatever you want to believe.” He growls and you let go of his wrist, gripping his chin instead, “I don’t need rescuing.”

His dark eyes are steady on yours, watching you. “You don’t need rescuing.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around you and starting to move his hips. Thrusting up into your body while he holds you.

A cry escapes your lips and you lean down to press your lips to his, cupping his cheek and you caress it. You slide your tongue into his mouth, letting him fuck you and you moan, rocking back onto him.

This is what he craves. Kissing you back as he drives his hips up again and again. Burying himself so deep in your cunt that your walls spasm around him. One arm anchors you in place while the other cups your breast, pinching the nipple roughly as he groans into your mouth.

You pant, getting lost in the sensations, and your breath puffs against his neck as he thrusts up into you. “Fuck.” You curse, “Pero.” You are getting worked up as he thrusts up into you.

He loves the little sounds you make. The desperate mewls of pleasure that pour out of your mouth as you cling to him. Your body is getting slick with sweat and he pants out your name, rocking steadily up into you. “Cum for me.” He growls, desperate to hold out until you shout his name. 

You struggle to breathe as he thrusts up into you, your cunt pulsing as he pushes you and pushes you until you break. You cry out his name, falling apart around him, and you soak his cock. “Fill- fill me up.” You beg, needing to see and feel him fall over the edge.

Pero’s eyes roll back and he hisses through his teeth. Snarling at the command and eager to give you what you want. His grip on you tightens and it only takes a few thrusts before he is burying his cock deep and flooding your womb with his hot seed, groaning your name.

You watch him as he cums, filling your cunt and you caress his cheek, leaning down to rest your forehead against his as you try to catch your breath. “Fuck.” You curse, feeling exhausted and it takes you a while to remember the man beneath you but when you do, you shift off him, walking over to the basin to clean yourself up with a wet rag.

Pero watches you. His eyes follow you as you clean up and he doesn’t know what to say, sure that you will kick him out of your bed. So he is surprised when you bring the rag back over to him and climb into the cot with him again. “Do not ruin this.” You huff when he opens his mouth, so he doesn’t say anything. Smirking slightly as you settle down beside him and he tosses the rag to the floor after cleaning up and he closes his eyes. Eager to sleep after such a long day.

You find yourself curled into him when you wake up in the middle of the night. His arm around your waist and you smile, closing your eyes and you let yourself drift back off to sleep. You feel safe in his arms. 

****

The early morning sun hits your face and you wince, blinking as you try to adjust to the brightness. You inhale deeply and stretch, shifting to look at Pero, but you frown when you find the space he occupied is empty. The sheets cool when you touch them, and you hate that tears spring into your eyes as you get out of your bed. You reach for your shift and pull it over your head, making your way out into the tavern to see if Pero is out there. He isn't. You cross your arms and shake your head, glancing around and your eyes widen when you see the blood on the floor has been cleaned up. You are surprised and you huff, unsure of why he left without even saying goodbye.

Pero curses as he pulls the stone out of the horse's hoof, pressing against the beast’s belly and then dropping the foot. The hoof is bruised and even though he only got half of the field planted, he couldn’t make the poor beast lame by making it work while injured. “Mierda.” He hisses, straightening up and starting to unstrap the horse from the plow to guide it back to the barn. Since he was done early, he could fix the chair that had been broken in the fight last night and take it back to you. Finding himself eager to see if you are happy that he had cleaned up and fixed what was broken. Maybe he could spend the night in your bed again. It was the best sleep he had since the exhausted sleep at the wall. He smirks as looks at the barrel of water. He will have to bathe before he visits the tavern again.

You are in a sour mood all morning, preparing the stew and bread to serve and when you allow your first patrons to enter around midday. You sigh and wipe your hands on your apron, hating that you search for Pero in the crowd of men that appear. You get lost in your work, serving ale and bowls of stew until he finally walks in. He left you this morning without a word and that hurt.

By the time he had cleaned up and finished fixing the chair, the sun was starting to hang low in the sky. Holding the fixed furniture in his hand, he strides into the tavern. Immediately seeking you out, finding you bending over a table to serve ales to a group of travelers, he grunts in appreciation of the curve of your ass. Remembering how it had felt bare in his hands as you bounced on his cock. “The dead man did not stop visitors today.” He grunts, eyeing the travelers with a small smirk on his face.

You frown when he seems to return victoriously to the tavern. You huff, "I wondered where the chair went." You look down at the chair he fixed, your heart thumping, but you know he only fixed it because he felt guilty.

“What kind of stew did you make tonight?” He isn’t offended at your lack of enthusiasm for his appearance, setting the chair down and sitting in it. Secretly happy that the damn thing didn’t collapse. He’s not a furniture maker. He was a mercenary and now he’s trying to be a farmer for all the good it is doing him.

You stare at him, remembering that empty bed. He may be trying his hand at farming but he doesn’t get up at dawn with the others. Always a late start, so that excuse doesn’t wash. You swallow and glance around the tavern, taking a moment, before you look at him again, “chicken.” You declare, “killed it this morning, imagining it was you.”

He frowns at the venom in your voice and then tightens his jaw. “Then I’ll just have an ale, wench.” He grunts, narrowing his eyes at you and trying to figure out why you are still spitting at him after letting him spend the night in your bed. He had thought cumming would have made you sweeter. “I have no use for a stew to curdle my stomach.”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him when you realize he likely killed the man because he wanted your cunt for himself. You make your way through the tavern, pouring a tankard of ale, and you just barely resist slamming it down in front of him, wanting to pour it over his head, but you sarcastically say “don’t choke on it” and spin on your heel.

Pero watches you stalk off, frowning slightly as he reaches for the ale you had poured him. He had hoped things would be different, but you still despise him. It was a good thing he had left your bed when he woke up, hating to think what your wrath would have been like had you woken to find him still asleep in your bed. “Shrew.” He huffs under his breath, tipping the mug up.

****

You frown as you look in the mirror. Standing naked, you turn to the side and back again, confused by your rounded stomach. “I can’t be.” You murmur, rubbing the small bump as you try to remember when you last bled. You squint as if it works to help you think but soon your eyes widen. “Tovar. You bastard.” You growl, knowing it’s not the man’s fault. In all your emotional turmoil after he abandoned your bed once he got what he wanted, you’d forgotten to drink your tea. You’re with child. You try not to panic, knowing you have a stable income and a home in the tavern but you worry for your child’s acceptance in the village. They will be branded a bastard, cast aside, but you know you’ll love them. Inhaling deeply, you dress and decide whether to tell Tovar. You don’t have long to decide as your name is called and you need to get to work. The stew needs to be prepared.

Pero blows out a sigh as he enters the tavern, sure that he will once again butt heads with you. It’s not as satisfying as it once had been, not when he knows how you moan and how soft your skin is. You’ve never allowed him back into your bed, not that he’s asked. The tavern isn’t full yet, but it will be. The days are getting shorter and he’s just hauled in the last of his crops. It was a decent year and he is ready to rest after the backbreaking work. “Ale!” He calls out as he moves over to his normal table.

You sigh when you hear his voice. You have been worried about how you’d feel when you see him knowing you’re carrying his child. You pour a cup of ale and carry it over to him, setting it down. “Anything else?” You ask softly, so taken back by your revelation that you can’t even muster the energy to be snarky.

He’s so surprised by your lack of attitude that he freezes for a moment, jaw slaw. “Um, stew.” He decides, just as quiet. “It smells good.” It makes his mouth water almost as much as you do. You look pretty, although maybe a little tired.

You nod, knowing you struggled to cook the stew this morning but you powered through after placing some herbs under your nose. Your heart thumps at seeing Tovar, your hands gripping the bowl as you remember what he looked like beneath you, and you shake your head, reaching for the ladle. Your stomach twists as the smell hits your nose but you take a deep breath and carry it through the tavern. Your stomach lurching and you try to calm down but when you stand in front of Tovar, you gag and throw up straight into the bowl of stew.

Leaping up, Pero manages to avoid the splash. Taking your waist gently and reaching up to hold you steady as you grip the edge of the table and empty your belly of pitiful amounts of food and drink. It might be lucky that you haven’t eaten much, but you work too hard to survive off that. “Come, hermosa.” He huffs when you finally stop retching, “let me help you to your room.” He doesn’t give you a chance to argue with him, turning you around and steering you towards the back. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.” He jokes.

You shake your head, “I- shit. I’m so sorry.” You manage to choke out but he guides you to the chair in the corner and you watch him as he rushes to grab some water and a wet rag for you to clean yourself up. You sip the water and sigh, feeling a lot better. “Thanks.” You wipe your face with the wet rag and you sigh, “I need to get back.” Pero shakes his head, “no. You’re sick. You need to rest.” You huff, “I can’t. I need to run the tavern.” Pero growls at your stubbornness, “idiota.” He hisses, “you need to rest.” You ignore him and stand up, swaying slightly, and his hands grip your waist after he rushes over to you. “I’m fine.” You push his hands away, ignoring the way his eyes widen. “You’re-” He chokes and you snort, finishing his sentence, “pregnant.”

Pregnant. He’s never gotten a woman pregnant before. At least not that he knows of. Never wanting to leave a trail of bastards behind him because of how the child was treated. As if they were to blame for their parents. “Pregnant.” He whispers, stepping back and his eyes slide over to the cot where you had created a new life. “Are you sure?” He asks, making you snort. “I have not bleed since that night.” You hiss and he knows you would not lie about something like that. “I-I” he trips over his tongue, unsure of what to say. “The babe makes you sick?”

You nod, “yes. I thought it was a malady. I have been sick for a few days and this morning…” You bring your hand to your stomach, “I noticed a bump.” You confess, “and then I tried to remember the last time I bled. It was before that night. I don’t expect anything. I am prepared to have this child alone.” You add, not wanting him to have some sense of duty.

Pero frowns and shakes his head. “The child will be a bastard. Shunned.” He huffs, not understanding why you would say such things. “You believe that men try to abuse you now?” He snorts. “They will come sniffing when your belly grows and they know a man crawled between your legs.”

“I can take care of myself.” You growl at him, “I have a home. I have coins. I can handle myself.” Pero shakes his head, “and a child? You think it’s fair for our child to grow up as a bastard? People telling him he has a whore for a mother.” His growl makes you react before you can think and your hand comes up to slap him. You stare at him in surprise at your action and Pero’s eyes are full of hurt. “Get out.” You demand, clenching your jaw.

He hisses, his cheek stinging from the slap but he would never hit you back. His fist clenches to keep from reaching for you again and he bows mockingly. “As my lady wishes.” He huffs before he turns on his heel and walks out of your room. He knows that some will see him come out of your private area and rumors will spread, but you seem to believe that you can handle it. He needs to think about what he will do next.

You choke, tears stinging in your eyes, and you stumble over to the chair. A sob escapes your lips and your hand comes down to rest on your belly. “It’s okay. We will be okay.” You promise, sniffing as you wipe your eyes, and you stand up. Inhaling deeply, you steady yourself and make your way back into the tavern. You have a job to do.

****

The next day Pero is at the tavern well before the doors open. You don’t rent rooms, so no one comes and goes at odd hours. He sees the smoke coming out of the chimney, a lazy little curl from a banked fire so it’s possible you are still sleeping as he glances around behind the building. It’s apparent you used to have a sizable stable and he wonders if at one point the tavern was an inn. Still, the space here would allow him to erect the spit he had built last night. The wagon he had dragged into town is unhitched from the horse and he glances towards the door only a few times before he starts to get to work.

You barely manage to drag yourself out of bed, your stomach churning, and you reach for the pot you’ve taken to storing next to your cot. You retch, bringing up last night's dinner until you can breathe again. You rub your belly, “you are trouble already. Just like your father.” You snort and you work fast to clean up and get ready for the day. You steel yourself to prepare the stew as you walk into the kitchen but you are surprised when you smell something cooking. You frown, glancing around the kitchen and when you can’t see anything, you walk outside. You’re met with the sight of Tovar stirring a pot and you are shocked. “What - what are you doing?”

Pero looks up at you, still in a chemise and your feet bare. “What does it look like?” He snorts. “You should get dressed, it’s cold outside.” He knows you have been sick, he heard you from out here and he hates that his babe is being so rough on you. “The stew should be ready in a few hours.” He adds, pulling the large ladle out and handing it on the edge of the spit that holds the heavy pot over the fire he had built underneath it. He frowns when he sees you still standing in the door.

You are confused, wondering why he’s cooking a stew. “Why- why did you - why did you do this?” You ask, crossing your arms to warm yourself up a little and your shift pulls tight over your small bump. He frowns, “you were sick yesterday because of the stew. I wanted to help. I have bread too.” He says, gesturing with his thumb to the wagon. “I don’t need help.” You remind him, watching as his eyes drop down to your belly.

“No one will eat stew you have emptied your belly into.” Pero scoffs, wondering if you will be stubborn the entire time. He wishes he could curse you for it, but he likes your strong willed nature. “You should go-“ Pero shakes his head and holds up his hand. “I am not leaving. The stew is made. Accept it, hermosa.”

Your instinct is to curse him but you are so surprised by his actions. “Fine. Stand out here and cook like a housewife.” You spit, spinning on your heel to stride back into the tavern to dress. It isn’t long before you have patrons and you are serving ale. “I’ll have a bowl of the stew.” One of the men asks and you nod, making your way outside to where Pero is stirring the stew. “I have one order of the stew.”

He smirks as he lifts a brow. “How are you going to carry it into the tavern when you can barely stomach the smell of it?” He asks, taking the bowl out of your hand and waving you away. “I will bring it.” He grumbles as he starts to serve up a generous portion of the stew. It’s rich and fragrant, although he can see you swallowing harshly at the scent. “Go inside. I will find him.” He huffs.

You nod, unwilling to argue when he steps away and you get a breath of fresh air. Leaning against the wall for a second, you wonder if you’ll be like this until the babe is born. You hope not. You’re going to struggle to work if that’s the case. You make your way back inside and see Pero serving the man, taking the coins for the ale and the stew, and when he passes by, you stop him. “Thank you.” You murmur, knowing you can’t let him do all this without a word of appreciation.

He doesn’t say anything, just nodding his head once and he holds out his hand to offer you the coins. “Let me know when someone else orders the stew.” He murmurs after a moment. “I will take care of it for you.” He doesn’t want to crowd you, knowing you will take offense, but it cannot be good to get sick every time you need to serve some stew.

You request stew several times from him until the ale is flowing and the customers are slowly making their way home. Your feet ache and you take a moment to sit down when you see Pero cleaning the stew pot outside. When he’s done, he strides into the tavern, and you stand to fetch him a cup of ale.

“You should rest.” Pero takes the ale and takes a large gulp of the brew. “I have to get more ale out of the cellar.” You groan softly and he frowns. “You lift those barrels?” He demands, aware that the casks of ale are smaller than some of the giant ones he has seen in some fortresses, but it is still too much for you to do by yourself. “I will do it, hermosa.” You stiffen angrily as if he has insulted you. “I don’t need your help.” You hiss, even as he can see how tired you are. “I can provide for myself just fine.” Pero grits his teeth, annoyed that you are being so stubborn. “Why are you being such a bitch?”

Your chest tightens and your pulse flutters in anger. “I’ve been alone since my mother died. I was one and four. I have had to do everything by myself. Survive. My mother let my father have the power over her. She didn’t know how to do anything and when he left, she fell apart and I had to take over. I had to be the parent. I am used to doing everything by myself and I don’t like owing anyone.” You answer truthfully, “so if that makes me a bitch then so be it.”

Pero frowns, softening and shuffling where he stands. Awkward and unsure of what to say. “Then be a bitch.” He says gruffly, nodding. “I will not stop helping. Even when you spit at me. It is my doing that you are sick. Leave the ale, I will do it before you open tomorrow.” He moves over to the table and sets down the last of the bread that he had brought. “Eat and rest. I will leave you in peace for now.” He nods to you again. “Buenos noches, hermosa.”

You watch him go, glancing at the bread he had left for you, and you sigh as you reach for it. You’re hungry and tired and annoyed at him for making it harder to hate him today. It’s easier for everyone if you push him away. You won’t suffer the heartbreak and your child won’t lose a parent. It’s best if they never know what they could’ve had.

The next morning, he’s at your back door before you are awake. Knocking quietly, and shuffling as he waits. He feels bare without armor and weapons, fingers twitching over the small wooden toy that he had carved last night. It’s rough and not very good, but he had remembered it being one of the few toys that he had when he was a boy.

You hear the knock and your heart thumps as you wrap your blanket around your shoulders, making your way to the front door with a candlestick in hand to defend yourself. You carefully open the back door and see Tovar standing there. “What are you doing?” You gasp, shocked to see him as you grip the candlestick.

“I’m here to change the barrels out.” He reminds you, grunting out the response with a small eye roll. “And give you this.” He thrusts the small wooden toy at you, waiting for you to mock the effort that he put into it. It’s poor quality, but he wants his child to have things that he had made for them.

You lower your arm with the candlestick and place it on the table by the back door before you take the small wooden horse with wide eyes, surprised that he can whittle something so delicate. “Tovar-” You murmur and he snorts, “I know it’s shit but I wanted our child to have one thing from me.” He says and tears sting in your eyes at the gesture. You’ve been teary since you found out and you realize the babe is really affecting you.

He frowns at your tears and shuffles, not good with emotions. “It’s not that bad.” He grumbles as he stares at you looking down at the little toy. “I had one, when I was a boy. Only toy I remember ever having.” He confesses. “My first sword was real.”

Your heart clenches at that, knowing he started fighting when he was very young to earn money for his family. “It’s - it’s perfect.” You assure him, “I love it.” Your eyes meet his and a tear falls down your cheek, “for our child.”

“I was a bastard.” He announces, jaw tense. “My father never acknowledged me. Never gave my mother anything for me.” Swallows harshly. “I am not the same man my father was.” He spits. “I’ve killed men, I’ve stolen. I lie. But I would never let my child starve, bastard or not.” He turns and moves towards the doorway that leads to the main area of the tavern to start moving the empty ale kegs out to make room for the new ones.

You can see the determination on his face and it makes your breath catch. He’s serious. “You don’t have to be - I don’t want you to be here through a sense of duty. Our child deserves to have two parents that love them. Not obligated to be around.” You say, fiddling with the toy.

Pero stops and turns back towards you. His eyes are unreadable and he swallows. “I never do anything I don’t want to do, hermosa.” He promises.

You know that's the case. He's as stubborn as a mule. You know he would run for the hills if he didn't want to be a father. You aren't convinced yet but you are softening. Must be the baby making you see him in a new light.

You don’t say anything else, so he turns back to the front room. Knowing that he needs to get the keg changed out and have you show him how to get into it to draw up mugs of ale. He’s not sure about things like this, but he knows that you need more rest, you can’t be running about all the time doing everything yourself.

**** 

It's been a few months since you found out you're with child and you thought Tovar would be long gone by now but he's here, changing kegs and cooking stew. As soon as he collects the coins for the payment, he deposits them into your hand. You are getting bigger but you've managed to conceal your bump beneath your skirts, not wanting anyone to know and already brand your child a bastard before they are even born. You have found yourself growing softer towards the Spaniard. He arrives at the tavern at dawn and leaves after the last patron has left. You are shocked by his dedication to you and the baby without any demands for physical appreciation and pretty words. He's also made more toys for the child, spending his free time gathering cloths and he even paid one of the older women to knit several clothes for the babe. He has proven himself to be someone you can rely on and that has made him infinitely more attractive. You watch him as he works and at night, you touch yourself to thoughts of the night you conceived the baby.

Pero grins as he runs his hand along the smooth surface of the wood. His carving has much improved. Nights spent alone, thinking about you growing his babe as he makes little toys has steadied his hand. Fixing broken tables and chairs for the tavern has taught him how to fit furniture together better. This piece, this is for you. The crib he has carved and built is already standing in the corner of his cottage, ready to deliver to you. Now that this piece is done, he will take a risk and show you how he feels. After all, it is St. Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

You take a drink of water and rest for a moment after you wash several dishes. Pero had come early to cook the stew and you had sent him to fetch some apples from the orchard nearby. You are craving an apple pie and you also want to bake to thank Pero for all his hard work. You look up as he walks in the tavern, his signature scowl on his face until his eyes meet yours and his expression softens. That makes your heart flutter. It’s St Valentine’s Day and your tavern has been full of amorous couples wanting a meal before they retire to the inn. You wipe down the counter as he walks over to you, bag of apples in his hand. “Thank you.” You smile, “I can’t wait to bake those.”

Pero nods and watches as you turn to move towards your dough that you have been working on. Baked pies and breads have been far easier on your stomach than the stews you serve your guests. He likes watching you as you work. “I will check the floor.” He announces. “You work on your pies, hermosa.”

You watch him go, strong shoulders and a threatening gait has your cunt clenching as you remember what he felt like beneath you. In the time he’s been helping, he’s opened up, talking to you even if you don’t respond, and you found his voice soothing and his stories interesting. Even if you sometimes roll your eyes. You prepare the pies with the apple and you place them in to cook as Pero bids goodbye to the last patron. “Lock the door. I’m closing early. No one is here. Apparently they are all celebrating love.” You snort, wiping your hands on your apron.

“Sí.” He frowns, sure that the pies were to sell, but you should be able to make some coins off of them tomorrow. “Come to your rooms.” He urges you. “I have something to show you.” He’s nervous, hoping you like the gifts he had managed to sneak into your bedroom while you had been busy.

You frown in confusion but nod, letting him guide you to your rooms with his hand on your back. You open the door and he ushers you in, waiting for you to notice and when you do, your eyes widen. “Oh my-” You choke, walking over to the crib. “You made this?” You ask him in awe, caressing the wood that’s been delicately carved.

“I did not know if you had one.” He explains, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “The babe- I thought it would be nice to have a bed for it to sleep in.” He hopes you like it. You look like you are about to cry again. He prefers when you yell at him over the tears. “If you do not like it-“ he shrugs helplessly.

You shake your head, turning towards him, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you.” You choke, sobbing as this becomes real. You’re going to be a mother. You’re going to have a baby. “It’s perfect.”

It's the first time he’s really touched you besides his fingers brushing yours when he gives you the coins since the day he found out you were pregnant. The bump pressing against his stomach is larger than it was before. His arms come around you and he holds tight for a moment. “There’s something else.” He tells you softly.

You pull back to look into his eyes, confused until he gently turns you. You gasp when you see what is at the end of your cot. “Pero…” You murmur in awe of his craftsmanship. You caress the trunk, admiring the carved butterflies and flowers in the wood. “It’s beautiful.” Your heart flutters and you can’t believe he made this for you.

“You deserve it.” He hums, watching you as your fingers trail over the delicate carvings. You are so beautiful, full of his child, full of life. “I didn’t see one, so I thought that you deserved a place to put your things.”

“I never took you as being observant.” You scoff playfully and he narrows his eyes, shaking his head, “I noticed. That night.” He reveals and you step closer to him, your hand on your bump. “Why - why did you do this?” You ask, looking back at the trunk.

“Open the trunk.” Pero orders quietly, watching you with dark eyes. “Please, hermosa.” You look surprised that he would use manners and he snorts in amusement. “I am not a man who speaks prettily, who has words to say.” He tells you as you kneel down in front of the trunk. “I am a man who speaks with his hands. His actions.”

You frown, confused by the request, but you open the trunk. "Pero." You gasp, pulling the fabric out of the trunk and the beautiful dress unfolds. The patterns are more intricate than anything you've ever seen before. The color is stunning. "It's - it's perfect." You choke, turning to look at him, the dress in your hands and you feel overwhelmed. "Where did you get this?"

“I had it made for you.” He explains. “From fabric I brought back from China.” He ducks his head, hoping you like it. “It is large enough for you to wear now, and when you have the babe, you can take it in.” He wanted you to enjoy it right away. “The patterns remind me of you.” He admits softly. “Hermosa….Beautiful.”

You look back at the dress, tracing the intricate pattern and you have never seen anything like this before. You gently lay the dress down in the trunk, shifting to stand and Pero rushes forward to take your hands, helping you stand. You look at him when you're upright, and his dark eyes are apprehensive. You know he's not a man of words and he's shown you how he feels in his actions. Your heart flutters and you surge forward, cupping his cheeks to press your lips to his.

Pero hums in surprise and his eyes flutter as he slowly wraps his arms around your thickened waist and draws you closer to him. Keeping the kiss just as gentle as it started, his heart pounds in his chest, hoping that you feel the same way.

The kiss is gentle, such a contrast from the rough nature of the mercenary. He pulls back after a moment and you caress his cheek. "I'll say it for both of us. I love you." You murmur, looking at him with adoration. You never imagined that you'd fall for him but seeing how he's been taking care of the tavern for you and now the gifts...it's hard to resist him.

“You do?” He whispers softly, thinking that he might be in a fevered dream. “You love me?” His hand moves around to cup your belly tenderly. “I love you and I love our child. I want to- to be here, with you.” He admits, pressing his forehead against yours. “To marry you.”

"Do you know what my first thought was when I saw the dress?" You ask softly, nudging his nose with yours. He doesn't say anything, wanting you to continue. You smile, "I imagined getting married in that dress. To you."

“Do you want to say our vows before the babe is born?” He asks seriously, arching a brow as he starts to smile. “We can see if the priest will marry us tomorrow.”

You can't believe this is happening but your chest tightens with happiness. "Tomorrow. I want to be your wife tomorrow." You promise, an excited giggle escaping your lips. Pero nods, "tomorow." You caress his cheek, "promise me you won't be easier on me just because I'm your wife."

Pero snorts in amusement. “You wouldn’t let me.” He predicts. “You will still grumble and fight, making my cock hard every time you do.” He smirks when your eyes widen. “I am a difficult man, hermosa. You don’t think fighting makes me hard?”

You smirk, sliding your hands down to his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath your palm. "It's a good thing I want you to fuck me every time you make me angry." You giggle when he growls and his hands slide down to squeeze your ass, "whenever you want, amor." You moan and lean in to kiss him, sliding your hands into his hair.

Pero still lets you control the kiss. His mouth opens in invitation and he groans when your tongue touches his. He turns you both and starts guiding you towards your cot. “We will have to get a bigger bed.” He grunts with a smile.

You giggle, reaching for the hem of his shirt, grateful he doesn't wear his armor. He pulls back for a moment to let you lift his shirt over his head, exposing his chest. "Farming has made you stronger." You observe the more prominent muscles on his body. "Wanted to provide for you and the babe." He explains and you sigh happily, leaning in to kiss the skin above his heart. "My husband." You murmur, leaning back and his hands reach for the ties that keep your dress together.

He slowly starts untie your laces. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs. “Stole my breath that night.” He groans when your breasts fall out of the chemise when he pulls down your dress. “They are bigger.” His greedy hands cup them and weigh them in his palms for a moment.

You giggle at the hungry look on his face, "they are. They ache...you could help me soothe it with your tongue, my love." You hint, shrugging off your chemise so it falls to the floor and you are left naked in front of him.

Your belly is large, rounded heavily without the concealing layers of your dresses. “Hermosa.” He whispers, twitching in his breeches as he slides his hands to your waist to bring you closer to him. Leaning down, he presses his lips to your stomach. “Mi bebé.” He murmurs softly, looking up at you after he kisses your skin.

You run your fingers through his hair as he caresses your belly. "Our baby." you murmur, smiling at him. His eyes soften and you pull him closer to kiss his lips. His hands caress your waist and you reach down to start untying his breeches. "Need you, Pero. Touched myself so many times thinking of that night. The baby...makes me desperate for your touch."

“Just the baby?” He chuckles as he stands up to make it easier to shuck his pants. He’s already hard and aching, a constant state of being around you. “You are sure that it is just that and not being eager to take my cock again?” He teases. “You screamed my name the last time.”

"In frustration. You didn't make me cum fast enough." You retort, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his hard length after you lick your palm. He groans and you chuckle, starting to pump him. "I bet you want me to scream it again for you."

“Yes.” He pants out, rocking his hips towards your touch. “Stroked my cock every night thinking about how your cunt felt around me.” He grunts. “Hated leaving that morning.” He moans softly when you squeeze him. “Needed to work, show you that I could provide for you if I had a chance to win your heart.”

“I wish you would’ve stayed. You hurt me when you left.” You confess, “thought you just wanted my cunt and you had gotten what you wanted and left.” You sigh as you stroke him.

Pero frowns and he reaches down to cover your hand, making you stop. His eyes are dark and somber as he looks at you. “Never, hermosa.” He promises you. “I want you until I am taking my last breath. I wanted to give you more than just a gruff mercenary.”

You pull your hand away from his cock, dragging him down onto your cot, and you straddle him with your belly pressed between you. "You were enough." You promise, cupping his cheeks, and his hard cock is pressing against your pelvis. "You are enough."

“How do you want this, hermosa?” He asks softly, knowing what your belly is large enough that he would not want to risk being on top of you. He would not hurt the baby. “I want to make you feel good.” He licks his lips and kisses you. “There’s- have you ever had a man kiss your cunt?” He asks. “It is done. I have done it before. Women like it.”

You shake your head, "no. I - that sounds - I want it. I want you to do it." You plead softly, your hand coming up to squeeze your breast. "I can get on my knees." You say as you shift off the cot, kneeling on the end of it with your hands gripping the edge. You look back over your shoulder to where Pero is leaning against your pillow. "Please, my love." You beg, needing to feel him.

He chuckles as he leans forward, caressing your ass. “I have never done it from this position, but it should be the same, no?” He asks, letting his fingers slide down the crevice of your ass and over your puckered hole to finger the wet folds of your sex. “Relax, esposa, I will make you feel good.” He coos, confident he will make you squeal with his tongue. He leans forward and has no hesitation as he dives into your folds, his nose pressed against your other hole.

You gasp, leaning forward on your forearms to give him more access, and you moan when his tongue pushes into your cunt. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. His tongue is magic, curling as his hands squeeze your ass, “fuck.” You curse, tits swaying as you grind back onto him.

He hums as he licks into you, tasting your musky essence. You are tangy and sweet, delicious and he loves how wet you already are. Growling into your cunt as he devours you, feasts on you like he is a man starved. Until he pulls back. “Turn over, hermosa.” He orders. “Lay on your back so you can rest while I make you cum.”

You nod, shifting away from him so you can carefully lay down. Your bump blocking your view of him as he settles between your thighs. Your chest heaves as his tongue slides between your folds again, flicking your clit with each swipe, and you pant his name.

Pero groans into your cunt, finding you completely addictive. He could spend forever right here, making you whimper his name like that. Sliding a hand up your hip, he covers your baby bump possessively as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

You moan, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair as you slowly rock your hips up into his mouth. "Fuck." You curse, wishing you could see him below your bump.

He chuckles and hums as he slides his tongue around your clit, just missing it until you whine in protest. “How do you feel now, hermosa?” He rasps, his cock aching to sink into you, but he’s going to give you this before he does. Show you how he feels for you.

“Good. So good. Need you inside me.” You demand and he shakes his head against your folds, “not yet.” He says, taking your clit into his mouth to suck hard on it. You whine, chest heaving.. Your thighs squeeze his head and you moan his name.

You are close, he can taste the desperation in your body. The way your thighs tighten around him and he doesn’t let up. Sliding his hand higher, he cups your breast and flicks his thumb over the hard nipple as you come close to shattering around him.

You pant, getting closer and closer to the edge, “fuck.” You moan, covering his hand with yours. “I love you.” You pant and it transforms into a cry as you cum, your orgasm racing through your body.

Pero groans, lapping at your clit and drinking down the juices that are pouring out of you. Working you through it until your body goes lip and your thighs tense every time his tongue touches you. He kisses your thigh and then your stomach as he pushes to his hands and looks up at you with a wicked smirk. “Delicious.”

You giggle at the mischief on his face and you watch as he kneels so you reach down to grip his cock. “Need you inside me, my love.” You plead, slowly stroking his cock.

“I don’t want to crush you.” He pants, eyes rolling back as you touch his aching cock. “Turn on your side.” He grunts. “I will fuck you that way, so I am not on top of you.”

You nod, letting go of his cock so you can shift onto your side. Your hand on your belly as you watch him move. He looks deadly when he’s moving around the tavern but right now he’s soft and slow as he moves to lay down behind you.

He slides one arm under your chest, cupping one of your breasts while he takes his cock in his hand and shuffles his hips forward. “Put your leg on top of mine.” He grunts, twitching when you open up for him and he feels the wet slick of your folds against his cock. “Te amo,” he murmurs. “I love you.” He vows as he slowly starts to push inside your walls.

Your mouth falls open as he stretches you out, his cock filling you up in the way you’ve craved since he left your bed - even if you hated him for a while. You whimper and reach for his hand, gripping it as he starts to move inside you. “Love you too.” You promise, closing your eyes as you focus on him.

He starts slowly, not wanting to hurt you or the baby. He’s never fucked a pregnant woman before and he would be more uncertain except you are moaning your encouragement. Still, he doesn’t snap his hips like he would have, keeping the thrusts long and drawn out as he moves in and out of your body. Murmuring how perfect you are and how he has dreamed of this.

You moan, “feel so good, Pero.” You caress his forearm as he caresses your bump. You whimper as he rocks into you, slow and deep, and you turn your head to watch him as he thrusts into you. “I love you.” You murmur, kissing his jaw.

“I love you too.” He groans. “I prayed today. To St. Valentine. Praying that you would accept me. Let me be your husband.” He confesses, having spent so many years avoiding his faith, but he had wanted you too much to risk not praying to the saint of lovers.

You are surprised by that and your heart clenches at that confession. “He answered your prayers.” You smile, “and I’m so happy he did. I want to be your wife tomorrow and our child will be coming soon.”

“Our child.” He smiles, happy that you are carrying his child. “No one will doubt the child is mine.” He vows. “I will take care of you while you are recovering.” While he might not have had sex with a pregnant woman, he had been around them, and their babies when he was younger. He remembers that they needed loving care and it affected their health when they didn’t get it.

You love how he is promising your care and your heart flutters as you kiss his jaw. “I love you.” You promise him again, “you are going to be my husband. And a brilliant father.” You lift your leg a little higher.

He’s scared, probably more scared of failing than he was of the monsters in China. But for now, he slowly rocks into you. Touching you, kissing you. Eventually his fingers find your clit again as he thrusts. “Cum for me, esposa.” He groans in your ear as he rubs your clit.

“Fuck. You’re - it’s so good.” You moan, walls fluttering around his cock. He’s working you up, calloused fingers rubbing your clit, and you cry out moments later. Clamping down on his cock, you soak him and squeeze your eyes shut, “Pero. Oh fuck.” You gasp, thigh shaking in the air.

He groans, loving how you come apart for him. Kissing along your jaw while your cunt soaks his cock. He keeps working into you, so close himself that it only takes a few more thrusts before he is pushing deep. Flooding your walls with his seed. “Fuck, hermosa.” He hisses. “So perfect.”

**** 

“You bastard!” You curse Pero as you squeeze his hand. The pain makes you cry out as you try to push. Your wedding ring digs into his palm and your brow is covered in sweat.

He would chuckle but he hates seeing you in so much pain. “Sí, esposa.” He agrees, listening to the midwife huff as she hustles about the room. She had been annoyed that Pero insisted on staying with you while you fight to bring his child into the world. The tavern out front is empty, he had kicked everyone out when your first pains had been felt; although there is a crowd of people outside waiting for news. The entire village had apparently known you were pregnant and just kept their opinions to themselves. They liked you and they liked that Pero took care of you, your wedding solidifying their feelings. “I am a bastard for doing this to you, I will never touch you again, eh?”

You hiss as you bear down before you inhale deeply, trying to breathe through the pain as the midwife had instructed you. “Never. No matter how good you fuck me.” You pant out, squeezing his hand even harder as you scream, pushing again when the midwife is between your thighs and she grins, “there’s the head.”

“Our bebé, hermosa.” Pero twists his body, wanting to see and he swallows harshly when he sees the bloody crown of his child’s head between your legs. “Already beautiful.”

You pant, trying to catch your breath to prepare you for the next push. “Okay dearie. Let’s push again. On three. One…two…three.” She orders and you scream through gritted teeth, squeezing Pero’s hand to the point that he hisses in pain.

He knows you hurt, reaching for the rag again to wipe the sweat from your face when you finally relax again. “Almost there. You are doing good.” He grunts, although he has no idea if you actually are. He just wants to encourage you. “Get it over with, esposa. Hold your child.”

You growl at his demand, “fuck you, Tovar.” You hiss at him and he smirks, making you hiss in fury. The midwife watches on in shock at the way you speak to your husband but the insult works as the child slides free of your body. Your gasp of relief echoes in the room and moments later, your child’s cry fills the air. You sob, reaching for the babe.

Pero watches in wonder as the midwife brings the child up to your chest, still covered with blood and whatever else was involved with childbirth. He leans over the two of you, instantly in love. “It’s a girl?” He asks, not seeing a cock before the baby was wrapped up in softly blankets. “Yes.” You answer and the midwife wonders if Pero is upset, but the gruff mercenary just beams proudly. “Valentina.” He offers. “We should name her Valentina.”

You have tears running down your face as you look at the squawking baby. You stroke her cheek as she roots to find your nipple and you help her, in awe of her and totally in love. “Valentina.” You murmur, “after the day we finally confessed how we felt.” You look up at Pero and offer him a watery grin. “I love it. I love her. I love you.” You rush out, feeling so overwhelmed.

“I love you, esposa. Just like I love our baby girl.” He leans over and kisses your lips softly before pressing his lips to her now dry and wiped off head. “So tiny.” He worries, pulling back and watching in wonder. “Are you sure there is not another babe in her belly?” He demands to the midwife. “She was so large.”

You scoff and reach out to hit him, “you’re such a prick.” He chuckles and the midwife is surprised by your relationship but she can see how much you love each other. “You wouldn’t have me any other way, esposa.” He smirks and you roll your eyes, “no. I wouldn’t. Valentina and I are lucky to have you. Most of the time.” You tease and Pero huffs, leaning down to kiss you. “Pain in my ass.” He mutters against your lips and you smile, knowing that despite your bickering, you’ll be spending the rest of your life with him.

[jessthebaker]

Fuuuuuuuuuuckkkkk

(I love seeing feral!Pero but I REALLY love feral!Belleza come into her own. These two were made for each other.)

Driving Mr. Tovar

Chapter 25 - Technology (Part 1)

Description: You and Pero go searching for Sam, but as usual, things do not go according to plan.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero x female reader, cursing, allusions to past domestic violence, angst, general violence, descriptions of dead bodies, blood, severe facial injury, minor torture, non-con groping, choking dismemberment, kidnapping. Word count: 9079 (1974 words added) Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

   Sam and his fucking tech!    If the computer had just allowed the hatch down again, Pero would’ve shoved you back out of the plane and taken off without you. You would’ve been pissed, sure, but better angry than dead.    For the life of him, he couldn’t begin to grasp why Rose would’ve given you a higher clearance even than himself, into his own system. It made no sense.

   And what the hell were you thinking?    Your presence in any type of dangerous situation would compromise his ability to both act and think clearly, surely you knew that. And yet, you were willing to risk the entire rescue operation, and the lives of everyone involved, because you were afraid of not seeing him again.    What the hell kind of logic was that?

   “Belleza, you can’t do this,” he pleaded once again, even though you’d clearly already made your mind up. “When we get there, you must stay on the plane.”

   “I’m not gonna do that.”

   “Are you trying to get us all killed? Because you know that I won’t be able to focus with you there,” he asked, seriously struggling to keep his fears in check, which was inevitably gonna rile him up into anger again.

   “I’m not letting you go alone,” you persisted. “Bad shit happens whenever we’re apart, haven’t you noticed that?”

   His blood was starting to boil, and he let go of your hand so that he could stand up and walk around to try and keep his stress under control.    It was a four-hour flight, so he’d have enough time to get himself fired up multiple times, even if he did manage to cool down.

   “You are being stupid, blando,” he faulted you, reverting to using that nickname for you in a derogative way, which only made him as angry at himself as he was with you. “There is nothing you can do to help this situation; don’t you see that?    You have no training, no skills that will help you or our friends-…”

   “I don’t care,” you cut him off, and your voice could’ve been carved from stone you were so determined.

   There was no reasoning with you. Your mind was made up, completely assured that your decision was the right one, and he couldn’t understand how you could be so at ease about it.    He abruptly decided that the flight was too long, as it gave him too much time to imagine everything that could and probably would go wrong.    But it was also way too short, and in the middle of his pacing, AIVA suddenly announced that it was time to strap in for the landing.

   He wasn’t ready. The closest thing he had to a family was this group of people that were in danger, and now, you were about to be too, and he wasn’t ready for any of it.    He sat down next to you and buckled himself in, before taking your head in his hands and turning your face towards his. Your eyes were liquid steel as you looked back at him, so full of resolve, but there was something else in there too. Not pride or confidence, but something deeper.    Was it… conviction?

   “Angel, please. I can’t do this with you… I can’t think…” he breathed, stumbling over the few words with how strangled he was starting to feel.

   “Give me a weapon,” was all you replied, surprising him with how cold you sounded.

   “What?”

   You just kept looking at him with that steely expression, making him feel helpless.    He drew a dagger from his side and handed it to you, somehow feeling like he was handing you a noose.    You took it and held it across your thighs, with the blade pointing away from him, while never breaking eye-contact.

   “I know you’re scared, Pero, but this is happening, so get your head in the game,” you scolded him. “You know better than anyone that I’m not some helpless little girl. I might not be trained or as experienced as you, but I’m no stranger to danger or fear. I won’t freeze or ignore my intuition.    I’ve been directly targeted and preyed on by three separate assholes, and I’ve survived, every time, largely thanks to my own efforts, so you don’t get to tell me that I can’t do this.    The only difference between this and Richard, Arthur or Liam, is that I’m stepping into it willingly. I’m prepared to fight this time.    So, please, trust me.”

   Logically, he knew that you were right.     He’d seen how strong and capable you were with his own eyes. He’d seen you fight trained killers and defeat them, without weapons, and he knew that you could, and would find that part of yourself when you needed it.    His brain knew that. But his heart knew only that you had to be safe. That was all that mattered, and it was impossible to force those two entities to a mutual understanding.

   He pulled your face to his and kissed you, not lovingly, but desperately, and when he broke away, pulling you even closer so that he could hold you, breathing heavily against your neck, there were tears falling from his eyes with the purity of his fear.    But he knew that there was nothing he could say to make you stay behind. For whatever reason, this had become more important to you than your own life, and even though he couldn’t fathom why, he also couldn’t hope to stop that kind of resolve.

   The aircraft swapped from using its primary engine to a secondary one, which allowed it to make a vertical landing, meaning that time was up.    Pulling away from you, he glanced at the flight information screen on the wall by the side door, which told him that you’d landed in the middle of an African village.    Rose’s last known location.

   There were automated shutters on the windows that were currently kept closed in order to prevent the inside lights from being seen from the outside. That, coupled with keeping all outside indicators off, made the plane almost invisible in the dark, just in case you weren’t alone there.    It was time to go to work, so he wiped his face and tried (failing miserably) to turn off the screaming voice in his heart, that was telling him to just take you and run as far away from here as possible.

   “AIVA, threat assessment.”

   “Scanning… … …No threat detected. Immediate area appears abandoned.”

   “Open side door,” he ordered, and all interior lights immediately turned off.

   Small red dots appeared on the floor, to indicate where it was safe to walk without bumping into anything, as a smaller door to the left opened, and he got up and headed for it, forcing himself not to listen to that voice within himself, when he heard you follow him.    But before he stepped out, he pressed his thumb to a hidden compartment right by the door, unlocking a small weapons cache and pulling out a handgun that he held out towards you.

   “Keep the knife, for close contact threats, but take this too,” he whispered, not quite able to see you in the dark.

   It did nothing to soothe his wildly thumping heart, hearing you tuck the knife into your belt at the back, before taking a firm grip around the handle of the Sig Sauer MK25 pistol. But he stepped outside anyway, keeping his focus ahead, even though all he wanted was to focus only on you.    Once outside, the starlight was enough to let him see that you had the weapon at the ready, aimed at the ground between your own feet. And it did give him a tiny bit of reassurance when he heard the light click of the safety switch on the gun being flipped.    Your head was in the game, at least.

   He moved as quickly as he dared through the village, with you on his heels, searching for the building that sat on top of the coordinates that the Auto-message had indicated.    It was almost pitch black, and he didn’t want to use a flashlight until he got inside the building, in case there were hostiles lingering around the location.    The occasional glance over his shoulder told him that you were doing good, covering his back and keeping an eye to the rear. Not it made him breathe any easier.

   He had a small device in his wristwatch that vibrated for every meter he got closer to the specified location. The vibrations were so small that they couldn’t be heard, but he could clearly feel them against his wrist.    Making watches was a hobby of Sam’s, and one he was exceptionally good at. If he’d started his own brand, he would’ve been a leading contender on the market, but he had no interest in that.

   He’d made his fortunes on computer chips, hard-drives and USB-devices, and his had always been the best brand that money could buy. But they were almost hilariously rudimentary compared to what he was actually capable of creating.    He’d just always been smart enough to realize that people needed to be allowed to get used to new technology in stages, as well as the fact that there were some things that people just shouldn’t have.

   He distrusted all technology created by others, which was why all of his cars were virtually rebuilt from the bottom up, why he built his own computers, phones and even microwave ovens and refrigerators.    Most people would call him eccentric, but Pero knew that he’d suffered a great deal because of tracking- and listening-devices hidden in phones and watches in the past, and that his precautions were actually completely reasonable.    This was only the most recent example.

   When he reached the house, he stepped inside without hesitation. AIVA was equipped with the same kind of sensors that were on the estate, only even more powerful, capable of seeing through almost anything, so if it gave the all clear, then the odds were good that there were no people around.    A fact that should’ve put his mind at ease about having you out there with him, but just didn’t. The sensors were never 100% reliable, there were materials that could fool them.

   The house was small, just three rooms, and as he turned on his flashlight, it was easy to spot where the ‘meeting’ had taken place.    One table, two chairs. Three bodies.    Maki, Rose’s contact, was one of those bodies. He was still in his chair on one side of the table, slumped and grey, having been dead for hours from the gun-shot wound in his head.    Behind him on the floor, the two other bodies were what concerned Pero the most, and your thoughts seemed to follow his.

   “These guys are wearing military outfits. Someone infiltrated this meeting, didn’t they? Someone planned this?” you asked as your mind followed the logical pattern.

   “Yes. This is Maki, the contact,” he said, pointing his flashlight at the man. “He was a mineworker and would smuggle small amounts of the metal out, whenever he happened upon it.    Rose only needed a few grams at a time, so whenever Maki had enough, he would contact him to arrange a meet. But someone must have discovered him and forced him to set up a fake meeting.”

   He stepped closer to the other two bodies, examining the clothing more thoroughly.

   “These uniforms come from the American military,” he concluded, “but they have been stolen, not given.”

   “How do you know?”

   “Because they’re brand new, latest model. If someone had given uniforms to an enemy or a radical group, they would’ve taken older ones, from surplus storages.    These would be missed immediately,” he explained while going over the bodies, looking for any additional clues, but they’d been stripped of everything but their clothes. “Look around. Rose will have left us something.”

   You took half the room each and looked closely at everything from the dust on the floor to the ceiling, but it still took nearly ten minutes until Pero eventually found it.    Almost completely hidden underneath a book on a shelf near the door to the room, was a tag from Rose’s suit. It was the laundry information tag.

   “He’s been taken to a secure facility close by. Something sturdy, like a military installation or a stone building of some kind. Perhaps a cave. I don’t know if the team is with him.”

   “How’d you get all that from a laundry tag?” you wondered, sounding quite perplexed.

   “Sam and I have many types of codes between us. One is spoken language, one is written, one is clues.    Laundry means heavy duty. Be prepared for many hostiles, secure building, lots of weapons.”

   “Wow. You guys have been in more dangerous situations than I’d like to know, haven’t you?”

   “Quite a few, yes,” he agreed, trying not to think of them, but there were a few that had been really bad and always popped up whenever the subject came up. “He did not choose a simple life.”

   “So, we look for a place that matches this description. Can’t be too many in the immediate vicinity,” you pondered, but he had to disagree with you there.

   “Close by doesn’t necessarily mean that close. Distances can be great out here; even the closest neighbor might be a hundred miles away. We’ll need AIVA.”

   He led you back to the plane and was relieved when you were both back inside and the door closed behind you, triggering the lights to automatically turn on again, although not with full brightness right away.    The craft was pullet-proof, so if any enemy attacked you there, you’d still be safe.

   “AIVA did you hear all that?” he asked the machine once the door had sealed shut.

   “Yes, however my sensors will require recalibration for long-range scanning. Stand by.”

   “Give me a map of the area, with all settlements marked out,” he requested, and the computer did as he asked, lowering a large touchscreen from the ceiling, which displayed exactly what he needed.

   “Sensors calibrated. Commencing scan,” the computer announced then.

   The digital map was updated in real time, so as the machine scanned the surrounding area, its results were instantly overlayed on the existing data. This allowed Pero to see any inconsistencies, which would be a good indicator if anyone was trying to conceal something.

   “If any military force had access to these sensors, they’d be frighteningly difficult to hide from…” you observed while you waited.

   “Yes, which is precisely why Rose will never make this technology available to them.”

   “Thank god he’s not an evil genius, or we’d all be slaves to his will,” you noted, and there was a hint of something fearful in your tone, as though you could vividly picture what such a world would look like, and it scared you.

   He kept studying the map closely, looking for anything that felt easily defendable, or just ‘right’ for holding captives, and he did see some places of potential interest.    But it wasn’t until the sensors reached a smaller chain of mountains that they discovered a bunker that Pero just knew was the spot. Everything about it was accurate for the kind of people that he imagined were responsible for this.

   “There. The bunker, this is where they are,” he announced, zooming in on it while AIVA ended the scan.

   It then preceded to assume that he’d want all the information that it had been able to accumulate about the structure, and promptly displayed it before him.    It was a lot bigger than he’d thought on first glance. The built structure of it had been expanded by excavations that weren’t on any building plans or official documents. There was a whole network of tunnels that led out through various parts of the mountains, acting as secret access-points for the organization that used this bunker as a home base.

   The sensors couldn’t track people in real time at this kind of distance, halfway into a mountain, but it had been able to count them: 109.    He closed his eyes for a minute and gripped the sides of the screen hard enough for his knuckles to whiten, which got your attention.

   “What is it, Pero?”

   He made an attempt to calm himself, so that he could explain. But this was so much worse than he’d anticipated and trying to keep you safe was rapidly becoming an impossibility.    Unless he could persuade you to stay on the plane, or at least away from the bunker.    He could quite easily infiltrate the facility on his own, he was quick and quiet enough, but not with you on his tail.

   “This is not some band of mercenaries trying to get rich, or a local warlord defending his turf. This is a big organization, with resources and manpower that we can’t defeat with just the two of us,” he said, before looking up to meet your eyes, knowing full well what he’d see in them.

   “So, what do we do? Do we have any allies, or back-up we can call?” you asked, and just as he’d expected, you showed no signs of feeling deterred.

   He kept meeting your eyes with a grim expression, and as was becoming your habit, you read his face like a book.

   “You… You’re the back-up…” you breathed, realizing the implications of that.

   He just nodded at first, then he tried to find the words to get you to stay out of the line of fire, even though he was already certain that you wouldn’t.

   “I can get him out. I have infiltrated worse places than this before, I’m quiet and fast enough to find him and get him out, before they realize it. But-…”

   “What about the others? The team?” you cut him off, clearly not happy that he hadn’t included them. “You can’t possibly find and get them all out on your own. Not even you are quick enough for that.”

   “Probably not,” he admitted, treading carefully in the hopes that you’d at least hear him out. “But how could you help me here, mi amor?    I’m not trying to be a jerk, but look at this place… the guards, the complexity of the tunnels, the weaponry… What could you do against all that?”

   He could see the precise moment that your resolve began to falter. You didn’t move at all, it was just a tiny shift in your eyes, but it was doubt, and once it had found its way into your mind, it would only grow.    Still, your fears hadn’t lessened at all. Pero continued to be your utmost priority.

   “I jumped on this plane because I can’t just sit back and wait while you risk your life…”

   “You won’t just sit here,” he assured you, finally feeling like you might accept his plan, so he started detailing it. “We can’t bring the plane any closer, if it’s spotted, we’ll have lost the element of surprise. So, I will need you to come with me, but hide closer to one of the tunnels while I go in alone.    There’s technology on this plane that we can use once we’re closer, to help keep track of our enemy in real-time, and give me a better chance of success, but it requires a spotter.”

   He was encouraged by the mere fact that you weren’t already objecting. But you looked torn. Unwilling to let him go anywhere on his own, but also forced to recognize that this might really be too dangerous for you.    You took a good minute to think it over, and then nodded, somehow looking as though you’d been crushed.    It was still a better outcome than he’d dared to hope for.

   “I need you to promise me, Belleza, that you will stay outside. That you won’t become another person that I have to save from this place,” he demanded, and he could tell that you were struggling with how badly you wanted to keep him close, but in the end, you seemed to decide that he was right.

   “What kind of tech?” you asked, with defeat evident in your voice.

   He quickly kneeled and opened a large hatch in the floor, pulling out an equally large metal case, which he set down on the floor and opened.    Inside, there were three items, snugly tucked into a foamy material to protect them from bumps and vibrations.    He picked up the one in the middle first. It looked like the laser scanning devices used by the police to measure speed-violations, but bigger and made entirely of metal instead of plastic.

   “This is a handheld scanner of the same type as the ones on the estate, and on this plane. It has a shorter range and a more direct focus than those, but if you keep it aimed at the bunker, it’ll give me real-time locations on all hostiles inside.    It’s too big and heavy for me to carry myself, it would make me too slow and hinder my movements too much,” he explained, and then picked up the item on the right side in the case.

   It was a kind of vambrace, worn on the lower arm and with a digital display built into the upper side of it.

   “I will wear this. The scanner is linked to it automatically and will send me the data as it comes in. This will allow me to keep track of everyone moving in there and help me to avoid running into any surprises.”

   The third item was a helmet, where the display was in the visor, but that was a piece of technology that Pero just didn’t get along with, so he wasn’t going to use it. He preferred to see using his own eyes.

   “Have you tried using this equipment before?” you asked, probably trying to decide how comfortable you felt with all this, which he could understand.

   “Yes. Rose only managed to compact the scanner to this size a little over a year ago, but I have trained with it. I know that it works,” he assured you, and finally saw some confidence return to your frame.

   “Okay. I’m still happy about you going in alone, but I get it. I’ll do what I can to help, without putting myself in unnecessary danger.”

   He allowed himself to feel a little relieved at the prospect of knowing that you’d be safely outside while he infiltrated the bunker, but he had to keep his head in the game.    So, even though he may have wanted to jump up and down and tell you how grateful he was, he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in and kissed you on the cheek, before fitting the vambrace to his lower left arm and turning it on, to make sure all the functions were working.

   He then gave you some quick instructions on how to use the scanner, before he had you test it to make sure that the data got to him as it should, and to show you that it did, to help put your mind at ease. Which seemed to work.    Opening another hatch in the floor, he pulled out two camel-back backpacks which were already filled with enriched water, along with a utility belt for you, mostly just because it contained a comprehensive first aid kit.

   “Okay, let’s go,” he declared once he was satisfied that you were both suitably prepared. “AIVA, you know what to do.”

   “Affirmative,” the machine answered, and opened the side door for you.

   You both stepped out, and as it closed behind you again, you could hear a series of mechanical locks falling into place as the computer sealed the entire plane, making it virtually impenetrable.

   Pero took the lead, heading due west, towards the mountains. It would take at least two hours to get there on foot, so you had to keep up a good pace, especially if you wanted to make the most of the lingering darkness.    But the landscape was flat and consisted entirely of dirt, rocks and sand, along with just the occasional shrub or tree, making the trek relatively easy.

   He had a route mapped out in his head, that would lead you to your target while keeping you out of sight from it, for as long as possible.    However, the terrain on the last two kilometers towards the bunker was completely devoid of all vegetation or man-made structures to hide behind, forcing you to veer off to the side and come at the facility from the south.

   There was a tunnel-entrance over there that would work perfectly for Pero to get inside, if he could just get to it undetected.    He wasn’t surprised to find the entrance unguarded as you reached it. It was well camouflaged on its own and putting guards out there would just make it more visible. There were cameras, though, and those would have to be dealt with before he could enter.

   Fortunately, AIVA could infiltrate most systems if it just had an access point, and since the tech you were both wearing was automatically linked to the computer, all Pero had to do was get close enough to the entrance, to let AIVA’s wireless receivers reach the foreign system, and it would take care of the rest.    He found you a good hiding spot behind a rock, from where you could aim the sensor at the structure, and start scanning for hostiles.

   The data had just begun to start displaying on his vambrace, when something hit the side of his head.    He fell to the side and lost all coherence. The world around him went blank and just before he lost consciousness, he heard a strange metallic sound, followed by your screaming, but it wasn’t fear he heard in your voice.    It was rage.

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

   The first day as their captive was horrible. Primarily because you had no idea if it was even one day, or three.    Everything was chaos, not a word of English was spoken in your presence, and you couldn’t decide if being stripped of every item of clothing and then showered with a fire-hose, was worse than not knowing where they took Pero, or if he was even still alive.

   You were given a simple black jumpsuit to put on instead of your own clothes, before you were taken to a cell, where the guards idea of making you feel at home, was by whacking your hands with a ruler, to see which of them could make you scream the loudest.    Once they grew bored with their game, they left, and you were mostly just relieved that they hadn’t actually damaged your hands.

   After that, you were left alone for what had to be a very long time. You fell asleep on several occasions while waiting, without seeing a single person, or hearing anything you could identify.    The cell was the middle one in a row of five. Simple iron bars, like in old movies, with a regular old keyhole in the door, and each cell was about 6x8 feet.

   The door to the room was also of the low-tech variety, obviously newer than the cells, but still a simple handle, with a simple keyhole. And it was the jingling of those keys that let you know whenever someone was about to come in.    The door opened, and two guards dragged Pero inside, putting him in a cell one over from you, so that you couldn’t reach each other.

   He was unconscious, but he looked largely okay. No fresh wounds, other than the small gash on the side of his head where they’d knocked him out with the butt of a gun. It had stopped bleeding, though, and he seemed to have been given the same welcome as you, because he was clean, and dressed in an identical suit.    You were worried, though. If he was still unconscious from that blow to the head, then he might be seriously injured.

   But it was just as likely that he’d woken up some time after that, and then been interrogated by unknown means, until he lost consciousness again.    Either way, they had to have done something to him in all the time between the moment that you’d been locked into your cell, to now. So, it was probable that he had at the very least been questioned.

   You schooled your reaction to seeing him again, though. Because despite wanting to scream at the top of your lungs, you absolutely couldn’t let them know how much he mattered to you.    How easily you could be made to do or say anything, if they used him against you.    You quietly watched them lock him in, and then move over to your cell, to open it up and bring you with them.

   Forcing your eyes to stay on the floor as you were led from the room, you kept your expression as blank as you could while you were taken down a long, almost completely dark corridor, and then turned right, into a small room.    You knew right away that this was gonna be an interrogation. The room was completely sealed apart from the door, there were no vents, windows or other soft spots that could be used to escape, and there was a drain in the floor at the very center of the room.

   But there were no tools or instruments of torture in there, which you tried to take comfort in as you were brought inside and handcuffed at both your wrists and ankles, to a steel chair that was bolted to the floor.    There was a man already sitting in the chair opposite when you entered, and he patiently waited while you were strapped in and until the guards had left, before he started talking.

   He was a little older than you, maybe late forties or early fifties, black as night, though the poor lighting of the room might’ve amplified that. It certainly made the handle of the machete he wore strapped to his back, look even more threatening.    First, he just stared at you for a minute, in that uncomfortable way that someone who’s trying to read everything about you from your body-language does. But you refused to be intimidated and kept looking into his eyes as he studied you.

   “You have know danger before, woman. You control your fear.”

   His African accent was heavy, but fully understandable. Although, you got the feeling that this man had not been educated in English, so much as learned it because he needed to. Because he had vision. A plan and a purpose.    This was a very dangerous man. You’d have to tread carefully.

   “Who are you?” he demanded, but you had no intention of handing him any answers on a platter.

   Your only hope of learning more about your own situation, was to get him to talk as much as possible, and the easiest way to do that, was to answer his questions in a way that forced him to ask more.

   “Just a woman,” you said with a small shrug, and he followed your hidden cue perfectly.

   “Hm. I think not. You are here for the Rose, are you not?” he asked, already confirming that he knew about Sam and that it was likely that he was there. “The man that hold all the world in his hand… You know him.”

   “Yes,” you answered truthfully, but deliberately short.

   “Tell me why a woman comes to this place, to find this Rose?”

   “Because he’s my friend,” you offered, again telling the truth, but giving no unnecessary details.

   “And the other? The one with the knives. Who is he?” the man continued, and this was where you’d have to be really careful with your answers, and above all, your reactions.

   “My colleague,” you said as plainly as you could manage.

   “What this mean?”

   “I work with him.”

   “Hm. You come to save the Rose from us. This will not happen. The Rose will not leave, ever,” he replied, and even through the accent, you could hear the thick layer of contempt which coated each word.

   Unfortunately, you couldn’t quite hide your reaction to those few sentences. You still hadn’t seen Sam, so you had no idea if he was even alive, and your captor’s words could easily be interpreted to say that he would never leave because he was already dead.    Except that he spoke about Sam in the present tense, and you didn’t think that his grammar was bad enough that he’d consistently make that mistake.

   “What do you want with him?” you asked, trying to tread carefully, but also needing answers, and he did seem like he wanted to talk.

   “Is of no matter to a woman,” he countered, but he didn’t sound irritated, so you decided to push him a little.

   “You said that he holds the whole world in his hand, so you must think that he’s very powerful. And you’re most certainly the kind of man that wants power for yourself.    So, either you’re planning on trying to force him to build something for you, or you’re looking to gain access to his money.”

   “You are good thinker, woman,” he actually smiled at you, before his face turned hard. “But we want no money. No technology.”

   If that was true, then why kidnap a tech-genius? Unless…    The way he’d said that word, technology.    Thinking back, you couldn’t remember seeing anything more advanced than short-wave radio, since you’d been brought here. There was camera surveillance, but only at the entrances, as far as you’d been able to make out, and even that was seriously outdated.

   “Oh… so that’s why this place is so simplistic,” you said, letting him know what you were thinking, in the hopes that he’d feel like sharing. “You’re against technology, that’s why you took him. You wanna make an example out of him.”

   “Clever woman. Yes, he will become example. But not yet,” he answered, holding up one index finger towards you at those last words, and you took a moment to think.

   If it was just about making the world see their hatred for technology, they’d have killed him already and left him on display or something. Forced everyone to hear their message by seeing what happens to people who try to advance humanity in that way.    No, they wanted more from him.

   “You want access to his systems… You wanna destroy everything he’s created,” you pondered, and he rewarded your openness by giving you a straight and very revealing response.

   “What already is, cannot be destroyed. We want to stop more coming. What he plans to set loose upon the world.”

   “Oh my god… You have no idea how wrong you are about him,” you gently reproached, before admitting your own lack of power, something that was sure to make him feel superior. “But there’s nothing I can say to convince you of that, is there?”

   “The Devil has many tricks. I will not fall for them. My brothers will not fall for them,” he proudly announced, jutting his chin out.

   You just shook your head and let it fall against your own chest. Of all the people that might want Rose dead, he’d managed to get himself kidnapped by one of the few that wouldn’t be open to any form of bargaining.    Well, of course. Because why the fuck would anything ever be that easy?    This man was an idealist, and in this context, that was basically a death-sentence for you.

   “Now, woman. Your name?” he pressed, and this time you had an answer prepared.

   “Belleza,” you gave him, because why not?

   If you were gonna die in this mountain, with these misguided assholes, you might as well do it with some style.    Also, there was no way in hell you were gonna give them your actual name, and by using one of Pero’s regular nicknames for you, it would become more credible when they’d inevitably hear him call you that, since you couldn’t imagine that he’d be stupid enough to use your real name either.

   “Your turn,” you prompted, still looking to learn as much as you could. “What’s your name?”

   “I am Hondo, and this is my brotherhood.    But now, Belleza, the real questions,” he added, leaning forwards and pausing, for effect more than anything else, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him. “The man with the knives, he work for the Rose also, you have said this. But he is not like you.    He is trained. Skilled. Who is he really?”

   “Who do you think he is?” you countered. “You have Rose’s security already, what does this man matter?”

   “I do not know what he is, this is why I ask. You answer me, woman,” he demanded, and again, you chose truth, but only the barest minimum.

   “Fine. He takes care of Rose’s horses.”

   “Do not play with me. I may not look dangerous now, but I am,” he warned, and while you didn’t have a choice but to believe him, given that he had you at his mercy, you weren’t nearly as scared of him as you had been of Liam.

   “It’s the truth,” you persisted. “It may not be all he is, but I genuinely don’t know much more about what he does for Rose, than that.”

   It was far from a satisfactory answer, but he seemed to decide that your resolve was strong enough that he wouldn’t get anything more by repeating the same questions, so he refocused on you.

   “And what do you do for him?”

   “I’m just a driver. I help train the horses sometimes, but I’m just a driver,” you said, still being completely honest as that was literally your job-description.

   Hondo, predictably, was not convinced.

   “So, you know nothing about the work? The technology? You come all the way here, walk across desert, because you are simple driver. This is what you want me to believe,” he skeptically raised an eyebrow at you.

   And when he put it like that, you had to admit that it sounded dumb, but what the hell did he expect? He was your fucking enemy.

   “Which you obviously don’t. So, just stop beating around the bush and get to it already.”

   “As you wish,” he grumbled, and then leaned back again, keeping his raven-black eyes trained on yours, looking for weaknesses. “What is the Rose working on right now?”

   “I don’t know,” you answered, trying to mentally prepare for whatever pain you were about to endure, because obviously he wasn’t gonna believe that, even though you had yet to tell a single lie.

   To your utmost relief, but also surprise, it wasn’t the machete that he used to hurt you. Not yet anyway.    Instead, a quick but sharp kick to your left shin had you doubled over in pain a mere second later. The man was wearing army boots with tough rubber soles, and it hurt like a motherfucker.    You didn’t scream, but you growled loudly and gritted your teeth.

   “Again: what is he working on?” Hondo repeated, and there was more force to his voice now, even though he kept quite calm.

   “I don’t know,” you also repeated, and there was a lot more force behind your words too, but for entirely different reasons.

   “You forget, Belleza, you carried something when we find you. My expert cannot say what it is, but you will,” he said with a hint of smugness, as if one little piece of tech was the most damning evidence there had ever been.

   “It’s just a really trippy-looking temperature gauge, for long range assessments,” you said, finally resorting to dishonesty, because no way were you gonna tell him what it actually was.

   Another kick to the exact same spot made the pain double, and this time you did scream, which oddly enough only seemed to annoy your captor.

   “If this was truth, why did you try to destroy it?” he almost barked at you.

   Well shit… You hadn’t thought of that. You didn’t even remember it until he said it, because it had been a very impulsive move.

   “Because it’s still patent pending, and I thought you were thieves,” you improvised, which earned you a punch to the gut, hard enough to rearrange your intestines.

   Smooth, Peg. Real smooth.

   He’d flung his upper body forwards to reach you, but he stayed seated and rested his elbows against his knees, staring right at you while you tried to recover as quickly as your body would allow.

   “It was modern missiles that destroy my home. The whole village… gone in single second. Wife… son… daughter… all dead. In one second.    Not because we were soldiers. Just families lived there, all dead, for no reason.    What gives men like the Rose rights to create this?” he unexpectedly shared, helping you to understand his motives better, but you still had no sympathy for him, because he was so wrong.

   “What… makes you… think… that he is?” you posited, still gasping for air.

   Even though you knew nothing about what your employer actually had built or not, you struggled to even imagine that he’d ever build bombs or weapons of mass destruction.

   “Men with brain that big, lose their mind. Stop seeing risk, damage, hurt. They see only more power and money. They no longer see when the time comes to stop, so they must be forced to.”

   Fuck. There really wasn’t the slightest chance to negotiate with this guy. If any one of you was gonna make it out of here; you were gonna have to break out.    Hondo’s pose hadn’t shifted at all, and the intensity in his eyes only grew the longer he glared at you.

   “Again: what is the Rose working on?”

   “I… don’t… know.”

   He suddenly reached forwards and wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you see stars and feel loopy, while he pulled your face up close to his own.

   “You will tell me, woman. I have time,” he growled between tight jaws, squeezing harder until your vision darkened and you were about to pass out.

   Then he abruptly let go of you and left the room in one swift movement.    Everything was blurry and you felt oddly disconnected from your own body as you watched the guards enter behind him. It might’ve been seconds or minutes later, you couldn’t tell.    But they quickly unlocked your cuffs and dragged you out into the hallway, back to the prison area and your cell.

   You were still so groggy from the oxygen deprivation that you didn’t even realize it when Pero started talking to you, which meant that he was awake now.    The guards had already left when you started to turn on your side so that you could see your partner. He was sitting on his knees, holding onto the bars on the side of his cell that was closest to you.    And all you could think was that he was okay.

   “Belleza… what did they do?” he asked in a hushed, gentle voice, but you were fairly certain that it would be a mistake to detail anything to him while you were still captive.

   You were already highly aware that just knowing that you’d been harmed was enough to set his blood on fire, and details wouldn’t have anything positive to add to that.

   “Nothing… permanent. I’ll be okay,” you croaked, having to work quite hard to speak at all.

   For now, you could see only the fear in his eyes, the need to get to you, to touch you and know that you were intact. But just like you, he knew that showing too much emotion towards you would be unwise in here. So, he held himself back.    Still, you had no doubt that there was anger inside of him too, just kept in check for the moment, since there was nothing that he could do.

   “Have you seen anyone else?” he whispered while you felt yourself beginning to drift off, having to fight to stay awake to answer him.

   “No… just… the corridor… the interrogation room. The guards.”

   He just nodded. There were no cameras that you could see, but there might still be listening devices. Your captors might be against technology, but like all radicals, they were still willing to break their own rules, if it meant getting their way.    You suspected that it was no coincidence that the two of you were allowed to share a cellblock. But all you could do now was wait, rest and hope to gather more information from your next encounter with them.

   So, you allowed yourself to drift in and out of sleep for a while after that, and each time you woke up, you instinctively looked around to make sure that Pero was still there.    You had no idea how much time had passed when there was a loud noise somewhere in another part of the building, followed by powerful tremors and what seemed like the remnants of a shockwave passing through the hallway.

   An explosion?    You looked at Pero, but he just quietly and discreetly shook his head to indicate that whatever this was, he knew something about it, but you’d do best to just play along.    And sure enough, some 15 minutes later, your captor appeared.    Not the guards, but Hondo himself, looking from you to Pero and back again before apparently deciding to start with you.

   “What have you done? Eh? You bring bomb to my house?!” he was fully screaming now, clearly very unnerved about whatever had just happened.

   “What are you talking about? What bomb?” you countered, honestly wondering about it yourself.

   But this man was not hearing you.

   “It was your technology! Blow up my men! This is why you have come?! To kill the Rose before he can tell me secrets, yes?”

   “No… I-…” you tried to answer him, but your head got stuck on the fact that he had just confirmed that Sam was still alive.

   “DON’T LIE TO ME!!” Hondo practically exploded himself, throwing his fists against the bars, making them sing while he paced back and forth like a tiger, screaming in African and spitting at the ground.

   Finally, he called to someone outside the door, and the guards appeared, carrying the fucking fire-hose again.    You weren’t gonna beg or plead for them not to do it, but you took the precaution of stepping back until your body was pressed against the one solid concrete wall. Because while the icy water against your skin was painful, the force of it was the real danger.    It could easily hurl you headfirst into that wall and crack your skull open.

   But just as they’d positioned themselves and were about to start spraying, your captor suddenly stilled and then raised his hand to stop them, with his eyes fixed on Pero.    You’d been so focused on what was in front of you that you hadn’t even glanced at him, but now that you did, you saw the darkness in his eyes returned.    The very deepest and most terrifying levels of it on full display, and it changed him so much that you barely even recognized him.

   You knew that it was the threat to your safety that had provoked the reaction, but that now meant that your captor understood the depth of your connection, to some extent, and could use it against you.    Pero hadn’t meant to reveal anything, it was an instinctive and involuntary reaction, but because he had, things then rapidly spiraled into a much more sinister chain of events.

   Hondo moved to the side while he said something to the guards, and they smiled at him, which was a bad sign. Then sure enough, they dropped the hose, unlocked your cell-door and stepped inside, but made no move to bring you out.    Instead, they crowded you, keeping you backed up against the wall, grabbing one arm each to keep you from resisting as they began to grope you.

   Pero went absolutely still, staring at the men with nothing but death in his eyes.    No matter what happened to him, these men would die at his hands before he left this life. That was a fact. A truth. An inevitability.    But he didn’t know how many hours you’d spent training to be able to defend yourself specifically in a scenario such as this.

   You had never trained actual fighting, but there were so many tricks that a person could use to keep an upper hand against an attacker. Simple things that could save lives, and you’d had every reason to learn them.    In the end, though, it was the mindset that you had really been helped by. Learning not to freeze or sit back and allow things to happen.

   The guards had no idea what a fighter you could be when you set your mind to it. They thought that you were just a feeble woman, too scared or weak to even try and stop them from having their way with you.    They stupidly believed that their hands would be strong enough to hold your arms in place.    But they weren’t.

   Twisting your right arm hard and fast just once was enough to free it, and then you quickly jabbed it up, with your palm open, and thrusted the heel of your hand into the nose of the guard on your right as hard as you could, shattering the nasal bone.    He screamed and staggered backwards as the blood first sprayed and then gushed out of his face.

   Taking advantage of the general shock of the room, you then turned to the guard on your left, wasting no time in twisting that arm free too, before punching him hard, right in the solar plexus.    And as he doubled over, you helped him along by putting your hands on the back of his head, and kicking your knee up into his face.

   It was beyond disturbing, feeling the bones in his head break against your leg, but it was also extremely satisfying after feeling his hands on your breasts and thighs.    Both men were on their knees by the far corners of the cell by the time that Hondo realized what you’d done, because he’d amused himself by turning in a circle and whistling while the men had approached you. And the actual fight had been surprisingly quiet.

   Your captor was abruptly furious, however, and came charging into the cell, grabbing you by your throat again and pushing you right back up against that wall.    He had a thing for choking, it would seem, and this time it felt as though he was trying to crush your larynx with his bare hands.    The immediate inability to breathe, on top of your already racing pulse, made you panic.    From one second to the next, you no longer knew how to defend yourself at all, you just tried to get his hands to loosen their grip, that was all you could think about.

   “You tell me who you are, NOW! You both trained! You fighters! Tell the truth – you are here to destroy us! The Rose is bait, is he not?! WHO ARE YOU?!” he screamed at full volume, right in your face, and his eyes stayed locked on yours throughout every word, and every droplet of spit that landed on your face.

   But that sudden rage was also exactly what blinded him to everything else in the room.    He hadn’t seen you slip a keychain from the second guard as you incapacitated him, or heard you slide it along the floor between the bars, towards your partner.

   “She is a flying horse,” a low, menacing growl sounded from behind the African, hidden from your view.

   Hondo flinched with the realization of where Pero’s absolutely haunting voice was coming from, and then turned slowly, keeping one hand still mercilessly tightly wrapped around your throat, to find the Spaniard standing right behind him.

   “And I am a dragon,” the growl continued.

   You noticed that the machete was missing from your captor’s holster, as he turned his back to you in order to engage his enemy.    But it was too late.    With one powerful strike, Pero literally cut the man in half along his waist, sparing just a couple of seconds to watch him crash to the floor in a pile of meat and bone.

   Then he turned to the side, and quickly cut off both hands on both of the guards, ensuring that they’d bleed to death long before any help reached them.    Their screams had to be audible all the way to the top of the mountain, but they died out quickly as the shock took over.

   “Do not touch what does not belong to you, pendejos,” he spat at them where they squirmed on the floor.

   The deep timbre of his voice sent chills through you, as it reminded your reptile brain of the predators of the wild. Especially because of how deceptively calm he sounded.    He turned to you again, covered in bloodstains and every bit as drenched in darkness as before, while the two guards whimpered and cried, curled up on the floor on either side of him. He looked fearsome. Formidable. Deadly.

   He came towards you, letting the machete fall to his side, but not letting it go, and raised his other hand to carefully caress your cheek. As if he was afraid that touching you would transfer that darkness to you and corrupt you, but needing to touch you all the same, to be certain that you really were undamaged.    Well, he might’ve been scared, but you weren’t.

   You threw your arms around his neck and felt him tense for a moment with surprise, before he softened and hugged you back, but only with the one arm, and only for a few seconds.    He didn’t need to say anything for you to understand why. You were in enemy territory, and you had a small window right now, when they were still confused by the explosion, to find your friends and get the hell out, and you had to take it.

   There were still around a hundred people in here. A hundred people with families of their own. A hundred people that would kill you on the spot.    Fucking perfect.

   Sam had better damn well give all of you a vacation after this.

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

Link to Chapter 26

Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging. I would dearly appreciate it <3

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[avastrasposts]

The Guard Dog

Written for @studioghibelli Writing Challenge themed around History and Art History.

Plot: Sent to your uncle's bleak castle in the north of England, you expect only a dreary existence until you meet his groundskeeper, a scarred, frightening Spaniard. But love in the Victorian era is not easy and life doesn't follow straight paths.

Groundskeeper!Pero x Reader

Warnings: this is mainly all fluff with a bit of angst. Some of that casual racism and predjucde of the period rears its ugly head though. I've tried to keep the reader as blank as possible, but it's Victorian England and she's a lady so I have to presume she doesn't speak Spanish and has fair skin. No use of y/n.

Word count: 18k (yeah, I know....)

The ancestral home of your uncle’s family, Yotes Castle, was not a place that made people feel comfortable or welcome. Built on the ruins of an old thirteenth century castle, some of the old rooms still part of the house, it cast a forlorn gloom on the surrounding landscape. The long drive up to the house, the ancient portcullis cutting visitors off from the outside world, and the dark granite stone, it all made the place look as bleak as something out of a penny dreadful. The one forgiving feature was the big park surrounding the house, sprawling and wild with endless pathways curving through the trees and shrubs to small hidden glens and meadows. This is where you’d often taken refuge when you were allowed, and it was where you’d first met him, the groundskeeper.  

You’d arrived at the house the previous autumn, just as the weather turned cold; heavy rains and thick fog rolling in from the nearby Irish Sea. Your father had passed away long before you could remember him, and for most of your life, your mother had raised you with the help of a governess and her maid in the London house. But your mother’s health was never what it should be, and when she too passed, her brother became your legal guardian. And rather than let you stay in London, he gave you a choice; to come and work as his children’s governess at Yotes, or stay in London and be cut off once your mother’s meagre fortune ran out. You had no choice but to pack your bags and make the long journey north.  

You’d never been to Yotes Castle, only heard your mother’s stories about it and how much she’d detested it growing up; dark, lonely, stifling. She’d married your father and left for London as soon as she could, and she’d never returned to the north.

Your own first impression of the castle was not promising either. The place had been shrouded by heavy mist, the whole place damp, inside as well as out. Long, dark corridors and staircases confused you as the butler led you to your uncle’s study when you first arrived, his nose turned up at your carpet bag luggage. Your uncle had greeted you like you were a new servant, not his departed sister’s daughter, and dismissed you after letting you know he expected you to take full responsibility for his two children. You were assigned a room next to the children, but at least you were allowed to eat with the family and not the servants. Although, after a few days, you thought it might be nicer to eat with the servants than suffer the stilted conversation and heavy silence in the family dining room. 

The housekeeper, Mrs Pluck, might think otherwise though. She viewed you as a servant, and would ignore any requests you made, sending up lunch only for the children, and not you, when your aunt and uncle were out. Making sure you weren’t served dinner in the dining room, instead making you go downstairs and explain to the cook why you hadn’t eaten. Until one day, Amelia, your ten year old cousin, told your aunt about this, and Mrs Pluck was told to make lunch for you too. After that, Mrs Pluck seemed to view you as her mortal enemy, doing anything she could to trip you up. 

Amelia, on her hand, had not told her mother out of the goodness of her heart, rather the opposite. She wanted you gone, as did her eight year old brother Albert. In the interim between their old governess leaving and you arriving to take her place, the children had run wild. Your attempt at making them learn at least the basics were met with protests and complaints. To say that your first winter was trying was an understatement. 

Spring was slow to arrive in these parts, but as the weather dried up, you could at least escape the house while the children had other lessons. The days were still chilly, you’d grown accustomed to breaking the ice on your wash basin in the mornings as your uncle refused to heat the house properly. But despite the cold, you wrapped yourself in layers of wool and escaped into the park, leaving the bleak house behind. 

You had a favourite spot, right at the end of the wooded area and well out of sight from the house. The path led through a thicket of rhododendrons and curved around a small lake, more like a pond really. On the far side of the pond sat a small cottage where no one seemed to live, covered in dark green ivy and climbing roses, all devoid of leaves this early in the spring. Where the path ended was a bench with a view across the lake and to the cottage. Even on the dreariest of days, the spot seemed bright, the weak sunlight of early spring reflecting in the lake’s mirrored surface. 

The first time you saw him, the sound of the cottage front door closing made you jump. The thump echoed across the small lake and you looked up, startled. On the other side a man had just come out of the cottage, a heavy looking axe in one hand. He stopped as he saw you, your eyes meeting briefly before he turned, a deep scowl on his dark face as he stalked away, disappearing from view behind the trees. You lifted your hand to shield your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his retreating back, but his long legs took him into the woods and he vanished in moments. Instead you looked at the cottage, it still seemed abandoned but now you saw the thin tendril of smoke rising from the chimney. Whomever he was, it seemed as if he was now living there.  

You returned to your book, but the man had disturbed your peace, his look at you had been so troubling. It was almost as if he disliked you on sight, while you didn’t even know who he was. What could have made him regard you with such aversion? 

With a sigh you closed your book and stood up, your favourite spot suddenly seemed less welcoming. 

It was a few days before you saw him again in the park. The weather had turned milder after two days of rain, and you’d left the children with their riding master. Slowly strolling through the copse of beeches at the far end of the park, reading your book, you didn’t notice the man leaning on his spade, or the ditch he’d dug. 

“Watch where you’re going!” 

The warning came too late as the ground disappeared from underneath your feet, and with a gasp you stumbled forward, just as a hand closed around your arm, pulling you back. 

“Cuidado!” he snapped, his fingers digging into your flesh as he all but shoved you back from the edge of the ditch, “Keep your eyes on where you are going, girl. I won’t explain a broken neck to your uncle.” 

You staggered back, his hand letting go of your arm as the book fell to the ground. 

“Th-thank you,” you stuttered, finding your balance again as the man shook his head with a scowl. 

“If you fall and break your neck or your leg, I’m without a job, so don’t get in my way,” he snarled, snatching the book from the ground and shoving it into your hands, “Now get away from here, go back to your books and keep them indoors.” 

Without a backwards glance he turned and grabbed the spade again and jumped into the ditch. You hesitated for a second, but the man stabbed the dirt with the spade with aggression, and began digging without another word. 

Holding tight to your book, you hurried away. The man’s fingers had left painful imprints on your upper arm, and you rubbed them as you made your way back towards the house, your heart still beating hard in your chest. He had scared you as much as almost falling into the ditch had. The scowl he’d given you had been amplified by dark eyes under his dishevelled mop of black hair and unkempt beard. It made him look foreboding and very dangerous. But what had really frightened you was the scar that marred his face, a wicked looking gash across his left eye. Even to your inexperienced eyes he looked like a man who had fought many battles and lived a hard life. What he did here, working for your uncle, you couldn’t even begin to imagine. His accent had been foreign, and he’d used a word you didn’t recognise when he first shouted at you. With a shudder you tried to calm yourself as you pulled open the heavy back door to the big house. 

The kitchen of the house was the only welcoming room in the place, much thanks to the elderly cook, Mrs Robertson, who ran it with a scullion to help her. Now Mrs Robertson greeted you with a smile, looking up from the dough she was kneading. 

“Hello, dear, you look frozen solid, is it still cold outside?” 

“Hello, Mrs Robertson. No, it’s not too bad, it’s just still cold in the shade,” you replied, unbuttoning your wool coat and hanging it over a chair in the corner. 

“Well, put the kettle on anyway, it’s time for some tea and you do look as if you could do with some warming up.”

She tucked the dough into a clean bowl and washed her hands while you filled the kettle and put it on the hob, stoking the coals to get it going. 

“I ran into a man in the park,” you said, taking down the teapot and cups from the cupboard, “did my uncle take on someone new?” 

“Tall, dark haired fellow with a nasty looking scar?” Mrs Robertson asked and you nodded. “That’s Mr Pero Tovar, he’s the groundskeeper. He’s been away for a bit, he usually is during the winter when there’s less to do. He must’ve returned recently, I haven’t seen him in a bit.” 

“I almost fell into a ditch he was digging but he caught me just in time, gave me a terrible fright.” 

“He will do that to you, poor man,” Mrs Robertson replied, “I met him once coming back late from the train, I was just coming up to the main gate, and he stepped out from the small path there. Nearly gave me a heart attack with the way he looked. But he apologised for scaring me and carried my luggage all the way up to the house,” she sat down at the table as you poured the boiling water into the teapot. 

“He’s not a wholly disagreeable man, even though he’s foreign,” she added as an afterthought, as she made sure you heated up the pot. 

“Do you know where he’s from?” you asked, “He had an accent I couldn’t place.” 

“Spain, I think. He mentioned it once when I asked why he didn’t drink tea. Apparently they prefer coffee there,” she shook her head as if the madness of not drinking tea was too much to imagine. 

You didn’t give the man any more thought, except to keep an eye out to avoid him when you were wandering the park, not wishing to be on the receiving end of one of his scowls again. The weather turned mild and soon daffodils and snowdrops were cropping up and you took the children outside to give them some lessons in botany. They were less than interested, and you soon gave up, letting them play in the stream flowing down towards the small lake while you brought out your sketchbook and began drawing the scene in front of you. The sun was warm, filtering down through the branches that were just starting to show the first hint of green again and you relished being out of doors, away from the house. The weather even felt warm, and you removed your heavy coat, before picking up the sketchbook again. 

The sound of footsteps crunching on last year’s dry leaves made you look up towards the path, only to be met by Mr Tovar’s dark eyes. He was all but marching towards you, a heavy looking tool bag in one hand and several long planks over his shoulder. Just as you thought he was about to scold you for some unknown trespass, he marched right by you with barely a nod, and made his way to the small wooden bridge crossing the stream. 

The bridge was really just a simple row of flat planks attached to logs long since hammered into the mud. The planks were beginning to rot and warp, and you’d kept the children away from it, it didn’t look safe. And Tovar proved you right when he knelt down and ripped the first plank away, the wood coming away in pieces in his hands. Soon he’d measured out the right length, and replaced the first plank with a fresh one, moving on to the next. 

You tried to return to your drawing or keep an eye on the children who were still playing further down the stream, but you kept glancing back at Tovar. Despite his intimidating appearance, or maybe because of it, you were drawn back to watching him as he worked. You weren’t unfamiliar with men, even though you’d grown up only with your mother. But this wasn’t the curious attraction you’d felt as a stable hand smiled at you. This was something else, something that made your eyes drift back to him, leaving your drawing unfinished as you watched him work. 

He had his back to you, a well worn black workman’s shirt stretching tight across his shoulders after he’d shed his jacket. It was mesmerising watching the broad back move and shift as he worked at the stubborn planks, the odd grunt reaching your ears. Hunched down as he was, he seemed to possess immense strength in his large hands, the planks groaning and protesting as he planted his feet wide and pulled. He always won the fight, tossing them behind himself in a careless pile. With an impatient movement he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve and straightened up. As you watched, he unbuttoned the cuff of his left hand and began rolling the shirt up over his forearms, exposing tanned skin dusted with dark hair. Done with one, he rolled up the other one before bending and grabbing the nearest loose plank, throwing it over his shoulder. 

As he turned he suddenly caught your eyes on him, and for a few seconds you were caught in his dark stare, unable to move. Slowly the scowl transformed into a smirk, and you dropped your gaze. From the corner of your eye you could see how he kept staring at you, his mouth pulled into a crooked grin as he seemed to study you in return. You felt your cheeks heat up and you turned away, looking down towards the children. From behind you, you heard him attack the planks again, another one tossed to the pile. 

Needing to remove yourself from the temptation to glance back at him again, you stood up and made your way down to the children. Albert was busy building a dam while Amelia threw rocks at it, he protested loudly while she laughed. 

“Amelia, don’t do that, let him build his dam,” you told her, knowing full well she would ignore you. She only sniggered and picked up another rock from the bottom of the stream, the hem of her dress soaked through. 

“Amelia! Stop that!” you snapped at her as she let the rock fly, narrowly missing her brother’s head as it went over him. 

“No!” she laughed, while Albert yelled at her, “I want to make him wet!”

“You’re ruining it! Albert hollered, as Amelia’s next rock hit the sticks and splintered his carefully constructed dam. With an angry roar he leaped for her but she easily jumped out of the way, laughing as she took off up the stream towards the bridge with Albert behind her. With a sigh you followed. You at least had to try to make them not kill each other. 

Pero stood up as the children came racing up the bank, Amelia laughing loudly as Albert yelled at her. When they spotted the tall man scowling at them, they both stumbled to a stop, looking up at him while you caught up behind them. Pero glanced over at you and then back at the children. 

“You should listen to your governess,” he said and gave Amelia a stern look, “And do not throw rocks at your brother.” 

But Amelia was not about to listen to the groundskeeper either. With an arrogant look on her face she put a hand on her hips and sniggered. 

“My father says you got that scar in prison. I think it makes you look like Quasimodo,” she smirked, pointing at Mr Tovar’s face as Albert started laughing. 

“Amelia!” you snapped, horrified at her behaviour. Mr Tovar’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline for a second before returning into a deep scowl. 

“Little girl,” he said, his voice low and serious, “you should not mock strangers.” 

“You’re not a stranger,” Amelia replied as Albert continued to giggle next to her, “you’re father’s groundskeeper, and you have to do as we say or he’ll send you back to prison with that ugly scar.” 

She was puffing her chest out as much as her scrawny ten year old frame would allow, and you could already see her mother’s haughty manners in the look she was giving Mr Tovar. He looked at her with a furrowed brow, his dark eyes almost hidden under his eyebrows, a dangerous sneer on his lips.  

“Amelia, that is enough,” you said, grabbing her arm and pulling her around, “you should be ashamed of yourself, apologise to Mr Tovar right now.” 

“No!” she yelled at you, struggling to pull free from your grip on her arm. 

“Amelia, you will apologise to Mr Tovar or I will tell your father how you have misbehaved.” 

“No!” she yelled again, and Albert joined in, yelling “No!” at the top of his lungs as Amelia continued to fight against your grip. Suddenly she lashed out and slapped you right across your cheek, and in shock you let go of her arm. The two children took off at a run, back towards the house, while you stood rooted to the spot, your left cheek stinging. 

Pero scoffed and came up to you, dropping the plank he’d been holding. 

“Delightful creatures,” he said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice as he looked down at you. With a surprisingly gentle touch, he took hold of your chin and tilted it to the light, examining the place where the slap had landed. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked and you nodded. 

“It stings,” you replied and he let go of your chin, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. 

“Come here,” he said, walking over to the stream and pointing at a flat rock just by the edge. He dipped the kerchief in the water and wrung it out as you sat down on the rock. His touch was gentle when he pressed the folded cloth to your cheek, the cool fabric soothing your skin. He held it to your face while he looked at you, and you realised his dark eyes weren’t really black, but a rich brown colour, much warmer than you’d first thought. And when he looked at you now, they even held some sympathy. 

“Why do you let them treat you like that?” he asked, the lilting accent in his voice less harsh now as he carefully refolded the kerchief, pressing another cool side to your skin.

“I have no power over them, and they know it. My aunt and uncle detest that I’m here, that they had to take me in. But I have nowhere else to go, so I put up with them until I can find some other family to work for.” 

“They will grow up into nasty adults,” he replied, “I hope you find a new family soon.” 

Pero dipped the kerchief in the water again and placed it back on your cheek, his hand still holding it in place and he was very close, closer than you’d ever been to any man that wasn’t in your family. You found you had to drop your eyes from his face, it was too intimidating to have him look at you like that. 

“Thank you, I can hold it myself,” you said, lifting your hand to take the kerchief. But he shook his head. 

“I’m keeping pressure on it so that it won’t swell up too much, although it will be tender for a few days.” 

He continued to keep his hand on your cheek, folding the cloth again and placing the cool side to your cheek. You glanced up at him, his face still close to yours, and found that he looked less scary now. The scar still added a grim element to his face, but despite the serious set of his mouth, his scowl had disappeared. 

“How do you know my name?” he asked, dipping the kerchief in the stream again. 

“Mrs Robertson told me, she told me you’ve recently returned as my uncle’s groundskeeper,” you replied, and his lips curled up in a small smile. 

“She is a good woman,” he said, “and she’s right. I returned a few weeks ago. I was away for the winter.” 

You wanted to ask where he’d been, if Amelia was right about him being in prison, but you didn’t want to break the spell of the moment. Instead you glanced down at your lap, unable to meet his eyes any longer. Tovar was crouched in front of you, and you saw how his trousers were worn and patched not only over the knees. His boots were mended and patched too, and the collar of his shirt was frayed. You realised as you took in the details of the man, that it looked as if he was living, or at least had lived, a hard and poor life. 

Pero dipped the cloth again, but this time he handed it to you. 

“Here, keep it pressed to your cheek while you go back to the house. And see if Mrs Robertson can give you some ice.” 

He stood up as you took the cloth, and then he held out his hand for you, to help you to your feet. You hesitated for a moment, looking up at him as he stood towering above you, with his hand out. He raised his eyebrows in question, and you found yourself again, putting your hand in his and letting him pull you up. He let go as soon as you were steady, but the warmth of his hand lingered in yours, the rough calluses of his palm imprinted on your skin and you realised it was not an unpleasant feeling. 

“Thank you, Mr Tovar,” you said, giving him a small smile, “I’ll make sure you get your kerchief back soon.” 

Tovar gave you a small nod, his dark eyes burning your cheeks as the corner of his mouth pulled up in smirk. 

“My pleasure, señorita.” 

You felt his hand in yours the whole way back to the house, it was a strange feeling. He was a coarse and angry man, he frightened you a little, although not as much as before. But yet the way his hand had felt on your chin, the way his eyes had been such a warm, brown colour up close, it seemed to linger in your mind. 

Mrs Robertson only rolled her eyes when you told her what had happened, giving you ice from the cold storage for your cheek. 

“And there’s no use telling your uncle about Miss Amelia’s behaviour,” she added, shaking her head, “She has him wrapped around her little finger.” 

You agreed with her, and said nothing to your aunt or uncle. But you didn’t take the children out into the garden any more. Instead you took refuge there yourself when you had time. More often than not, you went down to the bench by the small lake opposite his cottage. You hoped you’d see Mr Tovar, but he never seemed to be there. Instead you saw him from a distance as he went about various jobs in the park, always too far away to say something and he never looked in your direction. 

Until one day. 

Weeks had passed and summer had arrived and you had more time on your hands than what you knew what to do with. The family had left the house and travelled to the south of France for the summer. You had been told you would not be allowed to go, something that suited you well, even though your aunt expected you to be deeply upset by this. Both she and Amelia had hinted that you would be missing out on a world of amusements, but you didn’t have it in you to care. To be away from the family, to not have to deal with the children, that would be your holiday. 

Mrs Pluck had made it her mission to make your life in the house as miserable as possible and to escape her, you disappeared into the gardens for hours. On rainy days you asked Mrs Robinson to enlist you in the kitchen so that Mrs Pluck couldn’t accuse you of shying away from work. But it was a fine summer and most days you found a nook in the garden and read or drew. 

He found you down by the stream one day. The air was warm, especially for England, and you’d unlaced your boots and sat down on the bridge he’d repaired. With your feet in the cool, peaty, water you’d disappeared into your book, Mr Darcy declaring his love to Elisabeth for probably the twentieth time. 

Unbeknownst to you, Pero paused at the edge of the clearing as he spotted you, stopping in his stride to take in the peaceful scene you’d created in one of his favourite spots. The dappled sunlight danced across the stream, the gentle babble of the flowing water disguising the sound of his footsteps and he paused by the last tree of woods, the scene too tranquil to disturb. As he watched, you turned a page in the heavy book and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling at whatever you were reading. 

Pero would be the last person to admit it, even to himself, but he’d spent too much time thinking about your smile in the past few weeks. He was a man used to being on his own and didn’t pay much attention to the world around him unless it was threatening him or presenting an opportunity. The smiles of pretty women was not something he lingered on, mainly because the only women who smiled at him were the kind he had to pay to get. He knew his appearance, not just the scar, but his darker skin and guarded face, put off the women he met, and not just the women. So he’d arranged his features into a scowl that kept them all at bay, unless they needed him for a job. 

And this governess, he’d seen how you’d been frightened by him when you nearly stumbled into the ditch, and he’d dismissed you as one of the many women who took one look at him and baulked. But then he’d sensed your eyes on him as he worked on the bridge, seen your shy, awkward gaze when he caught you looking at him, no fear in your eyes. And the children were as cruel to you as to him, but you had to put up with them to keep your place in the house, to keep a roof over your head. You were a better person then he was, he would’ve struck the girl and thrown her into the stream. Instead, you’d stood there in shock as the children ran off, your hand on your stinging cheek. And he’d suddenly found himself pitying you, a creature too gentle to fit into the family of vipers that ruled the house. 

Before he’d even really considered it, he’d taken out his handkerchief and taken upon himself to soothe your swollen cheek. Your eyes had looked up at him with surprise and trepidation, but like the lamb, you’d followed him to the edge of the stream and sat down when he told you to. You really were too gentle and trusting for this world he thought, too innocent. He would’ve, should’ve, dismissed you easily, you were not his responsibility, not someone he needed to consider at all.  

But then you’d taken his hand and smiled as you thanked him, and he found, painfully, that you were not easy to dismiss, no matter how hard he tried. Instead your smile lingered in his mind, the spark it brought to your eyes, and how soft it made your features, matched only by the way your hand felt in his for the brief moment you held it. He’d never felt the urge to protect anyone else but himself before, but like a wolf turned guard dog, he suddenly felt the need to shield you, stay by your side and keep you safe. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and he’d pushed it aside, burying it deep inside. 

The next day he’d found his kerchief wrapped in a brown paper package on his doorstep. Clean and ironed, with a small sprig of lavender tucked between its folds. It was somehow now the prettiest thing he owned, and he couldn’t bring himself to use it again. Instead it stayed on his dresser, the lavender spreading its delicate scent around the room where it rested on the neatly folded fabric. Whenever he walked past the lavender shrubs in the garden, he thought of you, your smile seemed to live on at the forefront of his mind. 

He didn’t like how you made him feel, he didn’t want to feel like he needed to protect anyone but himself. If you were that weak and feeble, let you fend for yourself like he always had. It had made him strong and hard, he had no need for anyone and no one would treat him like those children had treated you. He avoided the lavender shrubs, and the spots where you often sat, making sure to never acknowledge you when he saw you in the distance. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from glancing across the pond every morning when he left the cottage, only to find the bench empty. You never seemed to return to that spot.  

But now he stood at the edge of the woods, watching you turn another page, and smile again. He didn’t want to disturb you, didn’t want to see you smile at him again, didn’t want to see the softness of your eyes as they locked on to him and made his heart rage against anyone who hurt you. And at the same time, he knew he wanted you to notice him, to turn your head and smile at him instead of that book, to bring him to his knees and make him feel needed by you. He would be your guard dog for the rest of his miserable life if you only smiled at him. 

He felt it all battle inside him as he stood by the sturdy tree, a hand on its rough bark, one foot twitching to move forward, the jerk of the other to turn back. And maybe he made a twig snap, loud enough to make you lift your head from the book and turn, meeting his eyes as he tried to decide what to do. 

“Mr Tovar,” you said, and you’d made the decision for him. He felt his feet move, towards the bridge, before he’d decide anything. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I left the kerchief by your door,” you said, looking at him as he stopped by the edge of the bridge. 

“I found it,” Pero replied, his large hands twitching by his side, “You didn’t need to clean it, but thank you.” 

He shifted his weight, testing the new planks he’d laid down, pretending to inspect them while you continued to look up at him. 

“How’s the-” he started just as you spoke. 

“Thank you again fo-” 

“Sorry,” you immediately apologised, “you first, Mr Tovar.” 

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied, “How is your cheek?” 

His voice was gruff, but his scowl was less this morning as he looked at your cheek. The skin had bruised but the swelling had disappeared after just a day. You put your hand on your cheek as if to feel the texture of the skin. 

“It’s fine, the bruise has disappeared and there is no pain, probably thanks to your quick thinking.” 

“I bet the little lady had no punishment for her actions,” he growled, bending his knees and dropping onto his haunches. He gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, just like had the day it happened, and tilted your head to the side, inspecting the flawless skin. 

“No, I never told her uncle anything,” you replied, “What would be the point? It would probably only get me into trouble instead.” 

Pero dropped his hand from your chin, your eyes weren’t on him anymore and he chided himself for acting on the impulse to touch you again. He could feel the guard dog in him bristle at your words, at the way you’d so easily let Miss Amelia get away with her actions. He would not have let her even speak to you the way she did, let alone strike you. 

You dropped your gaze back to the open book in your hands, your feet still dangling in the cool water. Pero knew he should stand up, go back to his cottage, and continue to stay away, to push any thought of you to the back of his mind. Tell the guard dog in his chest to ignore the woman in front of him, you were not his to protect. 

But instead he found his voice and spoke. 

“What are you reading, señorita?” 

You looked at him in surprise, why was he interested in your book? But the gaze that met yours was curious, despite the serious set his jaw still held. 

“Pride & Prejudice, by Jane Austen,” you replied, showing him the spine of the book. It was a well worn copy, a gift from your mother many years ago, “Have you read it?” 

“No,” came his swift reply, almost as if he was scoffing at the thought of reading such a book. 

“Well, it’s very good, it’s probably my favourite,” you said, looking back down at the book, stroking the front cover with a gentle touch, “I’ve read it many times."

“Why?” he asked and as you looked up at him, his eyebrows pulled together in a questioning look, incredulous even. 

“Why not?” you retorted, “It’s a good story, I enjoy the characters, and every time I read it I discover something new, a detail I hadn’t thought about. Have you never re-read a good book?” 

“Never,” he said, and this time he did scoff and you wrinkled your nose at him, looking back at your book and opening it up to the page you’d been on. 

“Well, maybe you should try it sometime, it’s a good experience to revisit things you like.” 

Pero could sense he’d offended you in some way, and yet again he was drawn in two directions by his mind, he should stand up, leave you to your book. 

“I never learnt how to read,” he said instead, regretting the words the second they came out of his treacherous mouth. He felt heat rise up his neck as he cursed himself. He’d never admitted to anyone that he couldn’t read, even though he’d learned a whole new language as an adult. Just repeat what others said, it was easy. Interpreting the little symbols on pages, whether in Spanish or in English, proved impossible in both languages. But so desperate was his mind to stay connected to you, that not even his deepest secrets seemed safe when he was in your presence. 

Now it was your turn to look surprised as you closed the book again. The scowl on his face was back, like he was expecting your mockery as his neck flushed a deep crimson. 

“That’s a shame,” you said, your voice small. You felt as if he would be very angry with you if you pitied him or accidentally made him feel inferior, his deep scowl still frightened you as he waited for your reaction to his confession. 

“Reading makes me very happy, and it opens up new worlds,” you continued carefully, “There are some great stories by incredible writers, they really make me see what they are describing and make me feel so much. I hope you can experience that some day, if you learn to read.” 

Pero dropped his gaze, down to his hands, and sank down onto the bridge, sitting down next to you as he shook his head. He saw the softness in you again, that gentleness that made the guard dog in him spring to life. He wanted to protect you, even against himself, didn’t want to frighten you. So he looked at his large hands, dirty from the soil and rough with callouses and tried to make his voice less harsh, his features less abrasive.

“I’m too old to learn how to read now, I was never able to do it in Spanish or English, what use is it to try now? Just tell me what your incredible book is about.” 

“I’m sure you could learn if you had a good teacher, Mr Tovar,” you said, but he just rubbed at the dirt on his hands and furrowed his brow as he shook his head in response. 

“Better you tell me what your book is about, then I don’t have to learn how to read,” he replied, keeping his voice low. What was he doing? He should not talk to you, he could already feel his heart pounding in an unfamiliar way, small tendrils reaching out towards you. 

“It’s…it’s about a woman called Elizabeth Bennet. Her family wants her to marry a man for his money, but she wants to marry only for love. But to her, all the men she meets are fools, none are worthy of her. Then she meets Mr Darcy, and she’s too prejudiced against men to see that he would be a good match for her. And he, on his end, is too proud to admit that a woman of a lower class than him could provide him with the kind of marriage that would make him happy. Both of them are bound by social expectations and restraints. But it has a happy ending,” you smiled at Mr Tovar who was watching you speak with curiosity, “I know it has a happy ending but I’m still nervous every time I read it.” 

“Do you wish to marry for love?” he asked, “Is that why it’s your favourite story?” 

His gaze made your cheeks heat up, it wasn’t the question you’d expected, and his deep brown eyes seemed to see through to your soul and see the true answer that lay there. 

You shrugged, looking down at the water rushing over your feet, to hide yourself from his eyes. 

“I very much doubt I’ll ever marry, for love or not. I’m a governess, I have no money and won’t inherit any either. If someone would want to marry me, they’d get nothing for it anyway. And what’s to say that he is someone I want to marry? Then I’d rather be like Lizzy and not marry at all, because I doubt there is a Mrd Darcy waiting for me.” 

Pero watched you, as you watched the water slip around your bare feet, the guard dog growling in his chest. 

“Any man would be fortunate to marry you, señorita,” he said, “just make sure you love him before you say yes to him.” 

He stood up suddenly, it almost made you jump it was so sudden, and was halfway across the small bridge before you had the sense to speak up. 

“Mr Tovar, will you let me teach you how to read?” 

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to you with a look that confused you and almost made you regret your spur of the moment question. His jaw ticked to the side, he glanced back down the path where he was heading, and his fingers twitched. But his eyes looked almost hopeful, like a light had been lit inside him. But then he sighed and closed his eyes, his head dropping down on his chest with a muttered string of words you didn’t understand, you knew he’d say no to your offer. 

“Señorita, if you want to waste your time on a hopeless case, who am I to say no?” 

“Really?” 

His reply surprised you so much that the book almost slipped from your hand, and you quickly placed it on the bridge behind you as he took a few steps back to you and nodded. 

“Who else is going to offer to teach me? I’d be a fool to turn you down, even though I doubt you can even teach this dog to read.” 

“Don’t say that about yourself, Mr Tovar,” you gently scolded him, “I’m sure we’ll get you reading in no time.” 

“Pero,” he said, a small smile softening his features as he held out his hand to you. “Don’t call me ‘Mr Tovar’ if you’re to teach me, señorita.” 

“Pero,” you replied, trying to roll the name around your tongue the way he did. It felt nice, unfamiliar in the way it sounded, but it suited him, and the way his harsh features changed when he smiled, was reward enough for your attempt. 

“Maybe I’ll teach you Spanish while you teach me to read,” he chuckled, a warm sound from him as you took his outstretched hand and shook it.

“Tomorrow at ten, at the bench by your cottage?” you asked and he nodded in agreement. 

“Tomorrow at ten.” 

Meeting Mr Tovar, no, Pero, you corrected yourself, quickly became the favourite part of your day. The summer was fine and most days dry, so you brought your books to the bench every morning at ten, and remained with him until you had to go back to the house for lunch and he had to take care of his groundskeeper duties. 

It quickly became clear to you that Pero’s biggest obstacle was his own belief that he wasn’t able to learn how to read. Once he’d cracked the code, he seemed to rehearse the alphabet every chance he got and soon he made his way through your easiest book. He read out loud, his finger following along in the text and he sounded out every letter before he put them into words, but he was reading for the first time. It was also the first time you saw him smile properly, a wide grin on his face as he correctly sounded out and deciphered his first word on the page without your help. 

Seeing Pero slowly gain confidence in his new found skill made you happy and satisfied and for a while you pretended that was the only reason you enjoyed your lessons with him. But you knew, because of the way your heart felt when you saw him, that that wasn’t the only reason you enjoyed teaching him. Far from it you had to admit. The lessons had been only an hour at first, you knew that it became hard for any pupil to focus after an hour. And at first you’d said your goodbyes and left when that hour was up. But then Pero offered to teach you some Spanish, and soon your hour had stretched into three while he asked you about your life, and he slowly told you about his. The man who had seemed so frightening at first, so angry and intimidating, was now the one thing that made your life at Yotes Castle bearable, even enjoyable. 

Little by little you saw more of the man behind the facade he’d held in place for so long. Carefully you asked questions about the things that seemed to shape the way he was now, and his eyes would go black, painful memories forcing themselves to the surface. But he always seemed to overcome it, choosing to share even the more grim parts of his life with you when it didn’t make you pull back from him in revulsion. 

“I was a good soldier,” he said, “but the only reward for a good soldier is to stay alive and be sent into battle again. I made as little money as the man driving carriages in the streets and less than the man who sold groceries to the army. So when I could, I left the army and sought work as a mercenary. There is no honour in it, but at least it kept my belly full and I could choose my own master and make a bit of money.” 

Pero shrugged, hunched over with his arms on his knees, his shoulders by his ears and looking out over the small lake in front of the bench, while you looked at his strong profile, the light hitting the scar across his face. It used to look nasty and mean to you, now it seemed to be a part of him as much as his dark brown eyes, just a mark of the hard life he’d lived before coming here. 

“I did things as a mercenary that I’m not proud of,” he said, his eyes still on the lake, “I’ve killed more men than I can remember. Most of them I just forget in the heat of the battle, others…they stay with me and I can see their faces sometimes. But I did it to stay alive, it was me or them, and someone was going to make that gold and it might as well be me. Better I kill the men who needed killing and let some poor boy from London keep his sanity and his life while I make the gold.” 

He turned his head and looked up at your face, half expecting you to be grimacing in distaste at his greed, but you just met his eyes with a concerned look. 

“You’ve seen so many terrible things, Pero. It makes me worry for you.” 

“Worry for how I sleep at night?” he asked, quirking his eyebrows at you with a slightly mocking tone. But you shook your head. 

“Maybe, but I worry about how you think the world always sees you. Those you meet here don’t know about your background, and don’t judge you for what they don’t know, yet you assume they do, and scowl at us all even when we-” 

“Even when you’re just a lonely governess trying to be polite?” Pero interrupted and you had to smile at him. 

“Yes, even when that. I was frightened of you after our first meeting, you looked so menacing and seemed very angry with me.” 

“Querida, I was never angry with you,” he said, his voice low and smiling as he sat up straight again and turned to you. 

“I know that now,” you smiled back at him, “but that’s what worries me about you. Maybe you are missing out on friendship when your past always makes you think that the world will judge you harshly.” 

“You became friends with me,” he replied, “maybe that’s all I need?” 

“You need only me as a friend? You’re settling for very little, Pero,” you scoffed, but still smiling at him. 

Pero shook his head, “Querida, you’re selling yourself for very little if you think that your friendship isn’t worth everything.” 

His words made your cheeks heat up, and for a few long moments you felt lost in the way he was still looking at you, his face serious and his dark eyes locked on yours. When you finally managed to pull yourself away, you looked down at your hands, rubbing at an ink stain on your thumb. Beside you Pero shifted, suddenly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your temple before he stood up. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, mi amorcita.” 

The kiss lingered long after he’d disappeared, your fingers finding the spot as you walked back to the house. You wished he’d continued, but you weren’t sure with what. 

“I was never in prison,” he told you one day, “well, not a real prison anyway,” he added with a smirk. “I was in China, working as a mercenary, and there was a misunderstanding. They put me in a cell but another mercenary got me out, he was good friends with the General, luckily.” 

“You’ve seen so much of the world, Pero, I’ve only ever been to London and here,” you replied, “What was China like?” 

“Interesting, and very different. Their language is very different from both English and Spanish. With English, I can recognise some of the words, with Chinese, nothing made sense,” he took the pencil from your hand and drew a strange symbol in the notebook. 

“That is the sign for gunpowder, I learnt it while I was there, important to know so that you don’t accidentally light a pipe next to it.” 

“That says ‘gunpowder’?” you asked incredulously as you looked at the seemingly disorganised lines he’d jotted on the page and Pero nodded. 

“They write words with pictures instead of letters, one of them explained it to me. And even I could tell the difference between our letters and their symbols. And my friend, who could read, couldn't interpret it at all, he said it looked nothing like anything he could read.” 

“I can see why,” you said, tracing the lines with your finger, “I see no similarity with our letters at all.” 

“I hope you get the opportunity to see more of the world one day, señorita, there is a lot more to it than just London and this miserable castle,” Pero huffed. The more you’d told him about your life, the more his anger had grown at the way your uncle was treating you, and letting his children and wife treat you. It made no difference of course, Pero was just the groundskeeper, and a foreigner at that. But it was nice to have someone on your side, someone as strong and intimidating looking as Pero, to tell you that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

“Maybe you can show me some day, Pero,” you said, the words slipping out before you’d fully considered them and you felt your cheeks heat up in a flash. Pero gave you a quick grin. 

“You wish to travel with the ill-famed Spaniard, a mercenary and dirty foreigner?” he laughed, “What would your uncle say?” 

“To hell with my uncle,” you giggled, it felt deliciously reckless to say it out loud, “To hell with him!”

Pero smiled at your glee, it was good to see you happy and dreaming of something other than your life at Yotes Castle. 

Two fat drops of water suddenly splashed down onto the page and you both looked up at the sky. Dark clouds had gathered above and now it was starting to come down hard, the first two drops quickly joined by many others. With a groan you realised you’d be soaked by the time you got back to the house, you had no umbrella with you, and your thin summer coat would not withstand this downpour. But Pero had already sprung into action with other plans, with a few quick movements he gathered up the books and notes from your lesson and held his hand out to you. 

“Come, quickly, we’ll run to my cottage until this is over.”

Without thinking, you took his warm hand and it closed around yours as he pulled you along at a brisk pace around the small lake. He kicked the door open and ushered you inside just as the downpour really started. Standing together at the entrance of his cottage, you watched the world turn liquid and grey in seconds. 

“Well, I guess that’s the end of summer then,” you said, peering into the gloom. 

“It will clear soon,” Pero replied, “but it will be wet for a while. Let me hang your coat up to dry, querida.” 

You’d told Pero your name, but he rarely used it, instead he’d continued to call you ‘señorita’ and explained what it meant. But as your lessons continued, he’d slipped into calling you ‘querida’ instead and you hadn’t yet had the bravery to ask him what it meant. It felt more intimate than miss, his choice to use it seemed to correlate with the deepening of your friendship, when reading lessons turned into longer conversations about your lives. Just giving him lessons, spending time alone with an unmarried man in secluded corners of the park, felt exhilaratingly dangerous. You hadn’t even told Mrs Robertson about it. But to acknowledge that you had more than just cordial feelings towards him, or that he might even have them too, that was an even more frightening thought that you shoved to the back of your mind and refused to entertain. It was an impossible scenario, your uncle would never allow his groundskeeper to court his niece.  

It was hard to keep that thought at bay here though. When he helped you shrug out of your coat, his fingertips brushed over the back of your neck as he took your scarf too, the gentle touch burning your skin. His touch seemed to linger a few more moments than needed, but you thought you’d happily stand still in his small hallway for days, if it meant you could continue to feel the warmth from his hands on your skin.

And Pero felt it too, the velvety smoothness of your skin, the warmth of your body as he stood just a little bit too close for just a little bit too long. He inhaled quietly, catching the scent of your soap, and took a reluctant step back, taking the coat with him. 

He hadn’t lit the fire this morning, but now he hung your coat over a rack and busied himself with the kindling while you looked around the modest house. The cottage was old, the stone walls thick, and you could tell not many of the items here belonged to Pero. You moved among the few items as the fire came to life, its crackling filling the room. You let your fingers brush over the sprig of lavender that lay on top of the still neatly folded handkerchief, a comb lying next to it along with a small sharp knife that you guessed he used to trim his hair and beard. 

A photograph caught your attention and you moved to stand in front of it. It stood propped up against the wall on the dresser, a simple portrait of two men. They were dressed in uniforms and looked with serious faces into the camera. You recognised a much younger Pero, his face smooth but still covered by his patchy beard, and no scar across his eye. The other man looked older and was light haired and as tall as Pero. 

“My friend William,” Pero said, coming up behind you and seeing what had caught your attention, “We were friends and mercenaries together, he’s the one who saved me in China.” 

“Where is he now?” you asked, picking up the photograph and studying the fair haired man.

“He met a woman and settled down, took a job with her father, helping them run the farm,” Pero replied, and yet again he was standing so close behind you that you felt the heat from his body through the layers of your own clothes. 

“It’s a good job for an old mercenary, he seemed very happy when I last saw him.” 

“Would you rather be a farmer than a groundskeeper?” you asked and Pero nodded. 

“Yes, if I found a woman who had a farm I could help run. But like your Elizabeth Bennett, I wouldn’t want to marry just for convenience.” 

“You want to marry for love?” you turned around surprised, looking up at him. He’d never struck you as a romantic. His demeanour towards you may have softened slightly, but his outer layer was still very much that of the scowling, dark minded man who’d rather the world just left him alone. Seeing him as someone who wished to marry a woman for love made you see him in a new light, maybe another crack in the facade he was slowly letting you through. 

Pero gave you a shrug and shook his head. 

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’d ever be fortunate to marry for love so I never considered marrying at all.” 

“But if you fell in love, you’d want to marry?” you asked and Pero gave you a humourless laugh. 

“Señorita, does it even matter if I’d want to marry at all? For love or for convenience, no one will marry an old mercenary, a piss poor old soldier, who thoroughly dislikes and distrusts the world.”

His face pulled up in a twisted grimace of a smile as he turned away from you and picked up the kettle on the clean scrubbed table. 

“Do you dislike me too?” you asked, placing the photo of Pero and his friend back on the dresser and moving over to the fire, “And distrust me?”

“Querida, no, of course not,” he replied, his eyebrows shooting up in concern, “I didn’t mean you, I’m sorry if you thought that.” 

He came to stand next to you by the fire, his dark eyes suddenly more concerned than you’d seen them before, searching yours to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently made you regret the friendship that the two of you had built up over the past few weeks. 

“I’d hate for you to think that I don’t trust you,” he said, “I’m glad you’re my friend and I hope you don’t regret the time you’ve spent teaching this old soldier to read.” 

You shook your head and without thinking, put your hand out and took his, stroking your thumb over the rough knuckles. 

“I don’t regret it at all, and I’m glad you trust me. You’re the first friend I’ve made since I came here and you’ve made this summer much better than I could ever have hoped. How could I regret the time I’ve spent with you?” 

Relief seemed to flood his features, his dark eyes turning warm in the glow of the fire light as he smiled and wrapped his fingers around yours. 

“I’m pleased to hear it, querida, our lessons are the best part of my day.” 

You smiled back at him, his hand, calloused and rough as it was, sent a delighted shiver through your limbs, fighting back the urge to step closer to him, to envelop more of yourself in the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. 

“Can I confess something, Pero?” you asked with a small smile and Pero nodded in reply, one eyebrow lifted in question, “My favourite part isn’t the lesson, but the time we spend talking about everything else afterwards. All your stories make me feel like I’ve seen more of the world because of you.” 

“I wish I could show you all of it,” he smiled in response, “maybe one day I’ll come back with a fortune and be able to take you with me on my travels,” he was smiling and he didn’t let go of your hand, still holding on, and now he was the one stroking your fingers, letting his thumb trace your knuckles, gliding up so that he felt the faint thrum of your pulse under the thin skin of your wrist. 

But you felt your heart twist at his words, you hadn’t even considered that he would leave. 

“You’re leaving?” you asked, the small moment of standing close to him, alone in his cottage shattered, and you pulled your hand from his. He had no obligation to you, no commitment, but it suddenly felt like he was breaking a promise. 

“After the summer, yes,” he said, the smile falling from his face when you let go of his hand, he reached out for yours for a split second, as if he wanted to stop you from pulling away, but thought better of it, “There’s not enough work for me through the winter so your uncle won’t pay to keep me on. I go south and find what work I can.” 

“Do you always come back in the spring?” you asked, the very thought of spending winter here without Pero making your heart sink into the pit of your stomach. Last winter had been torturous, the only thing making you not dread the coming winter was the thought of Pero and continuing to meet him. 

“I come back if I have to,” Pero replied, regret lacing his voice, “If I can’t find better work over the warm season, I come up here. Your uncle prefers hiring someone he already knows, and he’s prepared to pay a bit extra for it, so the wage is decent.” 

“But you might not come back next spring? And you’ll be away all winter?” 

Pero felt his treasonous heart clench when he saw the disappointment in your eyes. He’d tried very hard to see you as the teacher, a teacher who’d become his friend. Convincing himself that the guard dog that growled in his chest was only raising its hackles because a friend was being treated badly by the family that employed you both. Not because he had any deeper feelings for you, any feeling of love, he did not fall in love he told himself, he kept his heart from feeling anything more than friendship. 

But now his heart ached at the dismay he saw in your eyes, and he clenched his fists, digging his broken, dirty, nails in to his palms to stop himself from pulling you back to him, pulling you into his arms and telling you he wouldn’t leave, not without taking you with him. 

“Querida…” he mumbled, “I simply don’t know if I’ll be back next spring. But I promise, if you’re still here, I will do my best to return.” 

“I’ll miss you,” you said quietly as Pero carefully reached out and took your hand in his again, a small gesture of consolation, “Last winter was dreary and miserable but it will be worse now when this summer has been so nice.” 

You looked down at your hand in his, his golden, tanned fingers wrapping around yours, the back of his hand criss crossed by small scars. You’d seen them before and asked him about them, he’d let you trace your fingertips over them, seeing the evidence of the hard life he’d lived as a mercenary, while he’d kept his eyes on you. Now you did the same again, memorising each line, committing to memory how his skin felt under your fingers, the warmth, the sparse dark hairs that made his hands look so different to your own. 

Pero watched how you caressed his rough hands, hands he knew had been covered by more blood and grime that he wished to remember. So many lives ended by the movements they could perform. You knew about it all, you’d made him speak openly about the darkest memories his mind held, you knew these hands were capable of unimaginable violence. Yet you ran your soft fingers over the scars again, not pulling back from the man he was, no longer frightened by his violence, his scowl, the facade he knew he kept between himself and everyone. The way you looked at him, open, smiling, it made his heart do things he didn’t think were possible, feel light and buoyant, a small crack opening up. 

His hand moved without his consent, carefully coming up to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing across it as you lifted your head and looked at him. 

“I’ll miss you too,” he whispered, barely recognising his own voice, his hand still softly caressing your cheek as you leaned your head against his palm, your eyes closing with a soft exhale. 

His heart soared in his chest.  

He thinks he moved first, but the warmth of your body was pressed against him before the thought had crossed his mind, your mouth so close and turned up towards him. When his lips touched yours, a small sigh escaped you, the warm air brushing over his bristly moustache. Your hand closed tight around his, holding onto him as if to stop him from leaving, but Pero knew nothing could make him step back now. He pulled you closer instead and pressed himself to you, a low, satisfied growl coming from deep inside his tight chest.

His lips were warm and tender against yours, the sensation so much softer than you’d ever imagined. He gently caressed your cheek, moving his lips against yours as you took in the sensation of being pressed so close to him. With your eyes closed, every movement and sound seemed heightened to your senses; the light scratch of Pero’s moustache, the calluses on his hand rough against your cheek, his other hand moving, wrapping around your waist, warm and firm against the small of your back as he held you close, the small gasp of breath from you when he left your lips for a moment to angle his head and capture them again, deepening the kiss.

You’d never been kissed like this, only experiencing chaste, dry kisses pressed to your cheek by your mother. Now Pero moved his lips against yours, gentle and firm, in ways you’d never felt before. He held you close, your whole body pressed against him as he took your bottom lip between his, giving it a gentle tug. It pulled a whimper from you, heat shooting through your body, and you felt your knees buckle as the sensation overwhelmed your senses. Pero tightened his grip on you, but pulled back a little, looking down at your closed eyes, your lips parted as you caught your breath. 

“Mi vida…” he breathed softly, “open your eyes.” 

You looked up at him, his dark brown gaze so permissive, more tender and open than you’d ever seen him before. 

“The rain has stopped,” he said, his voice still low, “you should go before they send someone to find you.” He didn’t think anyone would come looking for you for hours yet, but his grip on propriety was weakening.

You nodded, but neither of you made a move to break apart, Pero’s arm was still holding you firmly pressed to his solid body, his hand on your cheek. Your hands had entwined in his shirt, holding it as if it kept you from falling. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” you murmured, your eyes slipping to his lips, wanting to feel him on you again. 

“I’m not leaving for many weeks yet, querida,” he  replied, his hand leaving your cheek to push a strand of hair away from your face, “And many things can happen between now and next spring.” 

“Please kiss me again,” you asked, “Just in case,” and your cheeks heated up at your boldness, as he smiled at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a grin. 

“Anytime, mi amorcita.” 

He sent you on your way after another long, lingering kiss. He’d parted his lips, let his tongue come out to carefully taste you, his hand on your jaw prompting you to slowly open your mouth and taste him in return. The sensation was strange, almost too intimate, your already burning cheeks heated up even more and it made you shy, stilling your kiss. Pero had pulled back, pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth and smiled at you again. 

“Your kisses are like the sweetest wine, querida,” he said, slowly letting you go, “and a hundred times more addictive.”  

Your heart beat a new rhythm as you walked back to the house, thrumming in your chest, as your lips felt hot and tender, still imprinted by Pero’s kisses. Whatever measures you’d taken to protect your heart had proven worthless, the man who only a few weeks ago had seemed so intimidating and frightening, had become your friend through the lessons. After the afternoon’s events...your heart seemed to both ache and soar when you thought of him. This was an impossible situation, an impossible man to fall for, yet you knew it was too late to pretend, to hide the truth from yourself. 

You were hopelessly in love with Pero. 

But Pero felt fear grip his heart as he watched you walk away from his cottage. The guard dog in his chest growled and clawed at his innards, making them sting with guilt and dread. This was foolish, the most foolish idea, why had he let it go this far? Why had he kissed you, not once, but twice? Why had he not tempered his heart to this weeks ago? But your presence in his cottage, your upset when realised he’d be leaving and may not return, confessing that you’d miss him, it had broken down all of his carefully laid plans to only be your friend. It was reckless to kiss you, a severe lapse in judgement. To let himself taste your lips, feel you so close to him, the softness under his hands, to feel for just a few minutes how it would be if you were his. But he had nothing to offer, and even if he did, you were impossibly out of his reach. This would only end with heartbreak if he let it continue. And he knew his heart would recover and harden when told you it couldn’t continue, but he might break yours for good. 

Pero was already by the bench when you came there the next day, but he wasn’t sitting on it as he usually did. Instead he stood next to it, his large hands twitching with nerves as they hung by his thighs. 

You smiled at him, but it faded when you saw the serious set of his face, and he didn’t return your smile. 

“Señorita,” he said, his voice low and heavy as he nodded to you, “I apologise for my behaviour yesterday, I shouldn’t have kissed you. I wish to remain your friend and continue our lessons, but no more, I will not let myself go any further.” 

Your heart plummeted into the pit of your stomach, the fantasy you’d been nursing since yesterday afternoon shattering as Pero kept his eyes off you, looking at a spot on the ground between the two of you. You knew it was a silly dream, imagining a life where you and Pero could marry, be together and create a life for the two of you. But you’d held on to it, bolstered by Pero’s words that a lot could happen between now and next spring. 

But now here he stood, not meeting your eyes, his hands seemingly trying to keep something at bay with the way they kept moving, never stilling. He must know what he was doing to you, the pain his words caused, and you could see the struggle in him. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark under his deeply furrowed brows and you felt yourself breaking. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and quickly you turned and sat down on the bench, opening your bag to take out the books while you shook your head. 

“It was nothing, Mr Tovar, and you’re right, we shouldn’t have done it. Let’s continue our lessons as friends.” 

You didn’t look at him, but you felt the bench shift as he sat down at the other end, and you handed him the book he’d been reading from. 

“From page ten, Mr Tovar, please.” 

“Señorita…” he replied, his voice doing a bad job at hiding the pain he felt at your cold demeanour, even though he’d been the one to break your heart, he knows it, he can see it in the way your eyes are filled to the brim with tears, “please call me Pero, you are still my friend.” 

“I think it might be best if we continue with titles, Mr Tovar. Please, page ten if you wish to continue our lessons.” 

He opened the book to the page, biting back all the things he would rather say, but he’s made a decision. He knew he’d hurt you, he knew this would hurt, but what he was foolish enough to start yesterday, has to end as quickly as possible. So he focused on the first word of the page, and tried to remember how to interpret the illegible markings that face him. 

He read from the book, you corrected him and helped him when he got stuck, just as you’ve done through all the lessons. But you don’t smile at him, and you don’t sit close to him. When the hour is up, you told him to practise a passage tonight, and then gathered your things and stood up. 

“Same time tomorrow, Mr Tovar,” you said, a statement rather than a question, and he can only nod in agreement. You gave him a short nod too, and walked away, quickly disappearing into the woods. 

The tears began to flow as soon as your back was turned to him, silently, holding back the sob that had been lodged in your throat for the past hour. You rushed through the small woods, not towards the house, but towards the winding maze of rhododendrons that offered a thicket of sheltered pathways under their heavy boughs. There, in the centre of the labyrinth, you sank down on the worn stone bench under the thickest trunks. Their season was long gone, a reminder how late the summer was getting, their bright petals turning brown on the forest floor. Covering your face with your hands, you gave into the grief that was squeezing your heart, whimpering as tears began to flow in earnest. It was so much worse than if he simply didn’t love you in return, you know he does, he couldn’t hide the pain on his own face as he told you it could go no further. But he pushed you away anyway because he realised it was a hopeless dream and it crushed you under the weight of how bleak it was. 

“I wish I’d never met him,” you whimpered, gripping the cool stone, digging your nails into the unyielding surface, “I wish I’d never met him.” 

Pero held onto the branch of the rhododendron bush so hard it might break under his iron grip. The guard dog in his chest was threatening to spring forward, to wrap itself around your broken form on the stone bench, to hold you, tell you it would all be fine, he’d find a way, protect you from everything, even himself. It was a mistake to follow you when you left, but his determination to not let the love between you go any further did not stand a chance against the urge in his chest to protect you from the world. Even if he would not let himself come close to you again, the guard dog still pushed him to follow you, the despondent shape of your shoulders, the quiet sobs pulling him just as much. 

When you whimpered, your wish to never have met him, he felt as if you’d slid a blade into his heart, and he only deserved it. He deserved as much pain as what he could hear in your voice, more even, he’d take it all from you if it wasn’t for the fact that he was the one causing it. 

You didn’t hear the careful crunch of his boots as he turned and walked away. 

Even though your heart was breaking, and sat in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight every morning when you woke up, you still continued to see Pero almost every day. You both knew it probably would’ve been wisest to not continue the lessons, that it would make it all that much harder, keeping the pain fresh every day. But it wasn’t something either of you were prepared to give up, so you met on the bench by his cottage and you kept Pero at a distance, and he did the same with you. Always sitting at the far end of the bench, reading the passage you assigned him diligently, but never moving closer. 

Your one concession, the thing you found you couldn’t be without, was to extend the hour and stay even though the lesson was over. Listening to Pero’s stories of his life before he came to England, his childhood in Spain, his adventures as he travelled the world as a mercenary. But he kept his facade up, never letting it fall the way it had before, never letting you in again like he had.

He does teach you some Spanish though, teaching you how to pronounce his name the way he does and smiling when you greet him in Spanish every morning, telling him what a beautiful day it is, no matter how dreary the weather is. He tells himself he can live like this, have you as a friend in this place, someone who will make him come back next spring. He might even believe it. 

You count down the days to the end of the summer with growing dread, the ache in your heart doesn’t lessen. Rather it grows, rips through you when he smiles at your successful attempt at asking him how old he is. The Spanish he’s teaching you becomes your link to him, the one thing you’ll have left when he leaves, and you hoard the words in your mind, asking him to translate every word you can think of. 

But he never calls you mi amorcita again, and you never ask what it means. 

No summer is endless, and one day you returned from the lesson to find the house in uproar. Rooms being opened up, aired out, sheets pulled from the furniture as Yotes Castle was prepared for the return of the family. 

You saw their carriage coming up the drive as you left the house the next morning, and you hurried away, ducking out of sight. The horrid day of the children returning to their lessons is already here, and you wish to keep it at bay as long as possible. 

When you arrived at the bench by the cottage, Pero wasn't there yet. He’s usually first, he only walks over from his cottage, but now you sit and wait for him for what feels like an age. Finally he arrived, coming down the path from the big house, not his cottage.

“Buenas días, Señor Tovar, qué lindo día,” you greeted him and he nodded but didn’t smile. 

“The family is back at the house,” he said, stopping by the bench, but didn't sit down as usual. 

“I know, the house was turned upside down for their return yesterday and I saw their carriage as I walked down here,” you replied, taking in his face, a deep scowl pulling at his eyebrows, “Did something happen?” 

“I spoke with your uncle, my contract will run out in four weeks, I’m to leave at the end of the month.” 

“Oh.” 

It was all you could say, a small puff of air escaping you as you looked at each other, so much unspoken over the past few weeks, the events of the afternoon in the cottage suddenly sitting between you as if it had just happened.  

“I…I’ll miss you,” Pero said eventually, the silence stretching out for too long, “I’ll come back next spring, I promise.” 

You didn't reply, dropping your gaze to your hands, a lump in your throat had formed at his words. The very thought of him leaving, of spending the long dark winter without him…it clawed at your heart, forced tears into your eyes as the reality that you’d been trying to push back made itself known. 

“Querida…” he said, his voice low, pleading, “I’ll come back. But we still can’t…” he trailed off as you inhaled deeply, your shoulders shaking as you bit your lip. 

“Querida…” he tried again, stepping closer to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but pulling back before his hand reached you, “If things were different, but a man like me shouldn’t court a woman like you, it’s not right. I’m…I’m not….” 

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead he just stood next to you, his fingers trembling as he watched your shoulders heave in another deep inhale. 

“Pero…” you mumbled, your voice watery and his heart ached, you hadn’t called him Pero since the day you kissed and he’d never gotten used to you calling him Mr Tovar again. 

“Don’t come back next year if that’s all you see for us,” you forced out, your jaw clenched tight to hold back tears, “Don’t tell me who I should let court me. If I didn’t want it to be you, do you think I would’ve continued our lessons?” 

You looked up at him, your lashes heavy with tears and Pero sighed, dropping his head rather than to see the pain so clear on your face. 

“Querida…” he breathed out, a third time, and you let out a hollow laugh, a wretched snort with no mirth at all. 

“Is that all you have to say, Pero? ‘Querida’? What does that even mean, just an empty word when you’re too much of a coward to actually mean it?” 

You didn’t see the frustration that flashed across Pero’s face as you stood up, rubbing your hands over your face to wipe at the hot, angry tears that were slipping over your cheeks, turning to leave him. But Pero growled, a low noise coming from him as his hand shot out to grab your arm, closing tight around the fabric of your coat. When you looked back at him, his face was set in hard lines, his dark eyes boring into you under the sharp demarcation of his eyebrows pulled tight together.

“I’m no coward, I mean it when I call you ‘querida”, he scowled,  “But I know what I am, and that I have nothing to offer you but a life fighting to keep poverty at bay as I drift from job to job. Don’t call me a coward when you have seen nothing of the life outside of this house and your mother’s household. I’ve slept in hedgerows, I’ve gone hungry for days, walked my shoes to threads. It is not the life I want for you.” 

“I didn’t realise we were already married,” you spat out, your eyes as dark as his, as anger coursed through you at his presumption, “You’re not my husband, you do not decide over my life. Unfortunately, that privilege still lies with my uncle. And I never thought you and him would like to lock me up in the same cage.” 

“I don’t want you locked up, I hate seeing the way you’re treated by them!” Pero raised his voice, stepping closer to you, his hand tight around your arm as he pulled you in, “I would pull down every brick in this place to set you free if I could. Do you really think I don’t know how painful it will be to spend this winter apart? Away from you? All I want is to take you away from here and protect you from them, from anyone who’s not as good to you as you deserve. Hay un puto perro guardián dentro de mí! Carajo, cómo te amo!”

He shouted the last words, rage flaring up inside him as frustration burned through his body, your eyes wide as he gripped both your arms and almost pushed you away from him, but not letting go. 

“Don’t you understand? If I loved you less, I might be able to speak about it more, but I love you too much and I can’t let you live the way I do!”  

His face suddenly fell, the air seeming to escape him as he deflated, his fingers digging into your flesh loosened their grip and he sighed deeply as the rage that had flared in him died down.

“I…We…have no choice. Stay here this winter, only one winter, and I will come for you next spring and we’ll leave together,” he moved his hand, cupping your cheek gently, his face pleading, begging you to understand. It was ripping his heart in two, the very thought of leaving you here to suffer through another winter of the children’s abuse, your uncle’s neglect and your aunt’s disdain. But the option was to risk everything if he couldn’t find a job for the winter down south, “Please, mi querida, I promise I’ll come back and I’ll have money for us to leave and be together.” 

His face was pained as he looked at you, waiting for your answer, his hand still cupping your cheek as his thumb softly wiped at the tears that still trickled down from your eyes. 

“I…I love you too, Pero…” you stammered, the words sinking in as his tirade of words ebbed out, “I was scared you didn’t.” 

“Mi amorcita,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, “my little love, I tried not to, but it’s impossible not to love you.” 

You closed the last small gap between you, kissing him without hesitation, his warm mouth opening in surprise as you pressed your lips to his. His hand left your arm and wrapped around your back as you moved together, your body pressed against his, his strong arm holding you very close to him just like he had the last time. A whimper escaped you as you felt him deepen the kiss, curling himself around you, caressing your cheek as all the pieces seemed to slot into place. Your hips against his, your arms around his body, the tickle of his moustache against your lips and his fingers tugging on the back of your coat, lifting you to your toes as he pulled you impossibly closer. 

The lack of oxygen at length made you both pull back just a little, Pero mumbling softly under his breath as he caressed your cheeks, cupping your face in both his hands and kissing your lips, the tip of your nose, and then your forehead before he looked down at you. 

“I promise, just one winter, mi vida. Can we survive that if we spend the next four weeks just like this?” 

“You’ll really come back?” you whispered into his neck, the steady thrum of his pulse just under your lips as he gently caressed the back of your neck, you could feel his fingers in the strands of hair that had slipped from your bun. 

“I promise, I promise,” he assured you, his lips pressing against your head between each word, ”I was always going to come back, no matter what you said.” 

“I should’ve taught you how to write too,” you said, “a whole winter with no word from you will be torture, but if I know you’re coming back, I can bear it. But I’ll miss you every minute.” 

“We have four weeks, teach me how to write too, la maestra,” he chuckled, leaning back a little so that he could see your face, still tear streaked and red eyed, his thumbs coming back to stroke your cheeks, “Mi amorcita, don’t cry any more. It won’t be easy, but if you really want this old soldier with no prospects, you can have him.” 

“I really do, Pero,” you said, closing the short distance between you again and finding his warm lips.

There wasn’t much of a lesson that day, Pero pulled you down onto his lap, sitting on the bench, making up for lost weeks. Your lips were swollen and red by the time you had to pull yourself away and return to the house, Pero to the duties he still had left as groundskeeper. Your heart was still heavy with the knowledge that he would soon leave, but you held on to the light that was his love, his promise to return so that you could leave together next spring. 

So wrapped up in your thoughts of Pero were you, that you didn’t notice the smug smile of Mrs Pluck, the housekeeper, as you approached the kitchen door. 

“There you are,” she greeted you, her self satisfied smirk stretching her jowls as she grinned like a cat that had caught a particularly juicy mouse. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs Pluck,” you replied, moving to the side to pass her, but she held up her hand and grabbed your jaw, pinching it painfully as she pulled your face around to peer at your lips. You yelped in surprise at her harsh treatment.

“Enjoyed your time with the groundskeeper did you?” she asked, malice dripping from her question, “I can see he did his best to bruise those rosy lips, making you look like a whore with a lip stain on.” 

Nausea forced its way up through your throat, almost making you choke as you tried to pull away from her sharp grip, panic gripping your heart as you saw her glee. The fear in your eyes was showing and her face pulled into an even wider grin as she let go of your jaw, only to grip your arm, her fingers closing like a vice around you. 

“You think you’re so clever, sneaking around with him every day, thinking no one would notice? Well, you’re a fool, girl. I’ve known for weeks and now I’m going to tell your uncle and have you thrown out. I’ve been waiting for this day, I only hope that swarthy tinkerer got you up the pole while he was at it, would serve you just right.”   

“Please, Mrs Pluck, don’t tell my uncle, we haven’t done anything, we’ve just kissed!” you pleaded, “He’s leaving in four weeks either way.” 

“And have a hussy like you stay on and teach Miss Amelia?” the housekeeper spat out, now dragging you past Mrs Robinson’s kitchen. She poked her head out from the pantry and watched in concern as the two of you passed. “You’re a fool if you think I would allow that while I’m housekeeper here, maybe that’s the kind of behaviour your mother allowed you to get away with, the Lord alone knows what goes on in those London houses.” 

Your heart was beating out of your chest as Mrs Pluck continued to pull you up the stairs towards your uncle's study. You could feel your legs shaking as the panic at what was about to happen to you, and to Pero, when your uncle found out. Pero would lose his job, there was no doubt about it. You might too, or he would lock you up, keep you from ever seeing Pero again. The very thought forced a sob up through your tight throat, the sound making Mrs Pluck snort again and dig her bony fingers deeper into your arm. 

The rap of Mrs Pluck’s knuckles on the study door felt like the bells of doom to your reeling mind. You had no excuse, no explanation, no way to plead for his mercy, and you stumbled as the doors opened and the housekeeper pushed you through them. 

“M’lord, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have discovered something that needs your immediate attention,” Mrs Pluck simpered, her countenance suddenly all meek and apologetic. The change would be laughable to you if not for the panic that’s still coursed through you. 

“What is it?” your uncle asked, looking up from his large dark wood desk. 

“Your niece and the groundskeeper, Mr Tovar. I’ve discovered that they’ve been having an affair. It seems they’ve been meeting in secret all summer. And only just this morning I saw them together, they were very…intimate.” 

Mrs Pluck clasped her hands in front of her and looked the very image of piety as she pursed her lips in disapproval. 

“Is this true?” your uncle directed the question to you, but he didn’t seem to feel the need to meet your eye. Instead his gaze dropped back down to the letter he was composing, continuing to scrape his pen over the paper. 

“Yes, but we only-” you replied, your voice unsteady with nerves and panic, and your uncle cut you off. 

“Mrs Pluck, you saw them being intimate? How?” 

“I saw her sneak away from the house most mornings, so I followed. They met by the bench down by the groundskeeper’s cottage. I couldn’t tell you how many times they met but this morning they were kissing, and I saw her sitting on his lap for quite some time.” 

“This is unacceptable behaviour for anyone living under my roof, I do not care that you are my sister’s daughter. I know she raised you to be a lady but she clearly failed,” your uncle said, looking up at you and placing his pen next to the inkwell, “You are dismissed immediately, I cannot have you tarnish the reputation of this family with this kind of loose behaviour. You will pack your bags and leave first thing in the morning, you will have no reference. You’ll be paid what you’re owed.” 

It felt as if the ground opened up underneath you, your breath caught in your throat, and from the corner of your eye you saw Mrs Pluck smirk while she studied your reaction. Without a reference you would not be able to find a new position as a governess, not even as a house maid, finding any kind of work would be all but impossible. 

“Please, uncle, I accept that I have to leave, but at least give me a reference, we did nothing wrong, I just love him. And I’m not with child!”

Your uncle sneered as he returned to his letter, “Love? Foolish child, what other nonsense has he filled your brain with? No, this harsh lesson will be good for you. I'm sure you can find some occupation once you’re back in London where you can’t corrupt any young ladies, and certainly not my daughter.” 

“And the groundskeeper, sir?” Mrs Pluck asked, clearly keen to make sure he wasn’t forgotten. 

“Send one of the footmen for him, I’ll dismiss him immediately. He’s broken my trust and defiled my family, he cannot stay on another day.” 

He looked up at you and Mrs Pluck and waved his hand. 

“That will be all, and make sure she is confined to her room, Mrs Pluck. We don’t want her running off to that Spaniard.” 

Mrs Pluck had a lot to say as she escorted you to your room, her fingers once again digging into your arm. It seemed to be a steady stream of gleeful insults that buzzed in your ears like wasps, your mind too numb to take in what she was saying. The door of your room snapped shut and you heard the key turn as the lock clicked, leaving you standing frozen just inside. Your insides felt like hot lead, the buzzing in your ears was still deafening and it was starting to cloud your brain. Stumbling to the bed, you sank to your knees, grabbing the bed frame before you toppled over onto the scratchy rug. 

You weren’t sure how long you remained on the floor, your head reeling. It felt like you fainted, but you could still see the lurid Persian pattern on the rug in front of your eyes when you pried them open. The room was dark though, hours must’ve passed and you hadn’t even noticed. The buzzing had subsided, replaced by a tight knot of fear and worry in your stomach, your heart still racing. Pushing yourself up, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed, you managed to light the candle on the bedside table, casting a faint light around the room. There was a tray just inside the door, and the two carpet bags you’d arrived with. Someone, probably Mrs Pluck, had left dinner on the floor, but clearly not cared enough to make sure your still form on the floor was alright. The sight of the congealed stew made your stomach turn and you scrambled for the chamber pot. 

On shaky legs, moving slowly, you made your way around the room to light the rest of the candles, coming to a stop in front of the small closet that held your clothes. You had no way of contacting Pero until morning, your only hope was that once you’d left the house, you could make your way to the cottage and find him, if he was still there. Your uncle seemed intent on throwing him out immediately, what if he had already left? 

The thought made panic rise in you again, bile forcing its way up, making you bend double with a whimper. A few hours ago the prospect of spending the winter here without Pero seemed like torture, now you wished that was all you had to face. At least he’d promised to come back next spring. Now he’d been forced to leave and you had no way of finding him if he wasn’t at the cottage. And you’d soon be out in the world on your own with no means and no other plan than getting back to London. How you’d survive, you had no idea. 

The next morning, after a night of very little sleep, you waited sitting on the bed with your two packed bags. You refused to be sad about leaving this house, but you were trembling with nerves at the prospect of soon being outed from the only family you’d known and left to your own devices. Pero was right, you knew nothing of the world outside of this house and your mother’s household. When the lock in the door clicked, you forced your head up high, at least you wouldn’t give Mrs Pluck the satisfaction of seeing you broken. 

The smug smile on the housekeeper’s face made you grit your teeth and straighten your back even more, gripping the handles of your two bags tightly. 

“Time to go,” Mrs Pluck smirked, opening the door wide and ushering you out. She didn’t grab your arm this time, but she followed close behind you, making sure to lead you through the crowded servant’s hall downstairs so that all could see you leave in disgrace. Mrs Robinson gave you a sympathetic smile, and you gave her a weak one in return. 

Out in the courtyard one of the stable hands was waiting with the wagon. Not looking back, you climbed onto the seat next to him and put your bags in the back. You had no intention of saying goodbye to Mrs Pluck, so you turned your back on her while she instructed the driver. 

“Drop her at the station, and make sure the groundskeeper isn’t anywhere around. He’s not allowed back here, do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mrs Pluck,” he replied, gathering the reins and preparing to leave. 

“He was sent off yesterday afternoon, he’s halfway to London by now, good riddance,” she huffed. You could hear the contempt in her voice and you were glad you couldn’t see her face, evil, vicious woman. 

With a jerk the wagon began moving, the driver clicking his tongue at the horse. You held on to the side of the seat as the wagon left the big house behind, rolling out onto the long drive down towards the main gate. The young stable hand said nothing as you stared straight ahead, but from the corner of your eye you could see him cast curious glances at you. 

“Whatcha do?” he asked eventually, “Get knocked up?” 

“No,” you said between tight lips, “Not at all.” 

“Steal summit then?” 

“Absolutely not!” you exclaimed and he shook his head. 

“No, you don’t look like the thieving kind, too fancy for that.” 

The wagon rolled down between the trees of the drive in silence for a while before he spoke up again, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“So what did you do?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but you might as well tell the rest of the servants as they’ll be gossiping either way; I fell in love with the groundskeeper, we kissed, and Mrs Pluck saw us and ratted us out to the lord.” 

“You kissed?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise, “That’s it and you got booted? Mean ol’ bitch,” he shook his head, “Only ‘cause she’s an ugly old bat who no one wanted to marry. She’s always making life miserable for the housemaids, she had one of ‘em dismissed for just looking at the delivery boy from the village. Said she knew they’d been sneaking off together when everyone knew Jenny never would never do anything like that. And believe me, I tried with her and got nuttin’!” 

He suddenly went beet red and cleared his throat, “Sorry, probably shouldn’t have said that.” 

The end of the drive was near and you could see grand pillars on either side of the open gate. 

“Do you think you could drop me just outside the gate? I’ll walk the rest of the way, you can have a bit of free time before you go back to the house,” you said, Pero’s cottage was near the wall of the estate and not far from the gate. 

“You sure? It’s a fair way down to the station, take you an hour to walk with those bags,” the stable hand said, but you could see he was already eager at the prospect of some free time. 

“I’m certain, I’d rather be on my own for a bit too, got a lot of thinking to do,” you said and he pulled on the reins, the horse coming to a halt just outside the gate. 

“Alright, this is your stop then.” 

You thanked him and climbed down, retrieving your bags from the back, and then watched him disappear down the road. There was a pub in the nearby village and odds were he’d head there for a pint before returning to the house. As soon as he was out of sight, you doubled back, finding the small path that followed the wall towards the groundskeeper's cottage. Tucking your bags out of sight behind a shrub, you hurried down the small lane. After a few minutes, you came to the cottage from the back, the small lake on the other side. 

There was no smoke coming from the chimney and the shutters were closed, making your heart sink. The cottage looked closed and empty without any sign of life. As you stepped into the small garden at the front, you knew he was already gone and a sob forced its way up your throat as you saw what he’d left on the doorstep. Weighed down by a rock, was Pero’s handkerchief, the one he’d used to soothe your stinging cheek after Miss Amelia slapped you. Slowly you walked up to the door and picked it up, the soft fabric smelling of soap and faintly of lavender. The sight of the carefully folded kerchief in your hands brought tears to your eyes, welling up and falling down your cheeks as you realised Pero was gone, and with no means to leave you a message except the kerchief on the doorstep. You never had the time to teach him how to write, and now he’d been forced to leave while you were locked up in your room. Where would he have gone? He only ever said he went south, and found whatever work he could over the winter, but where? You had no idea, and even if he went to London, how would you find him there? The city was made to get lost and hide in. But you had to try, somehow you had to try and find him. 

Squaring your shoulders you wiped your cheeks and tucked Pero’s kerchief into your coat pocket. The cottage held nothing for you now, and you didn’t look back as you retraced your steps back to your bags, and then out through the big gate. You’d take the train to London, find a cheap, but respectable place to live, maybe you’d be able to find the housekeeper who had worked in your mother’s household, you knew where she’d moved to and she was always nice. 

With the big house behind you, you set out to walk the long road down to the station. Pero had said you knew nothing of the world, but you’d need to be a quick learner if you were to survive so that you could find him again. 

After what felt like an age, your feet swollen and aching, you reached the small town that was serviced by the train to London. It was a relief to put down the bags on a bench inside the station house and stretch your back. The station clerk regarded you with curiosity but was friendly enough when you brought out your small purse and counted the coins needed to purchase a one way ticket. 

“The next train to London is in forty minutes, miss,” he told you, “and there are no delays on the line.” 

“Thank you, I’ll wait on the platform,” you replied, turning to pick up your bags. 

“I’d wait in here if I were you, miss,” he said, a concerned look on his face, “there’s a vagrant hanging around the station house. He’s been here since yesterday evening and I think he’s sleeping on the benches. I was just about to send my boy for the constable so you best wait here until he’s gone.” 

“A vagrant?” you asked, a small burst of hope going off in your chest, “What does he look like?” 

“Frightful! Nasty scar right across his face,” the station clerk said, “Dark too and - miss!” 

The clerk called after you but you didn’t hear, you were out through the door in a flash, turning on the spot, searching up and down the platform. 

“Pero!” you called, spotting the sleeping man on a bench at one end, “Pero!” 

He jerked awake, on his feet in an instance before he’d even spotted you. You were already running towards him as his eyes widened, and with a few long strides, he was scooping you up, crushing you to him. 

“Mi amorcita,” he mumbled as you threw your arms around his neck, finding his lips, giving no thought to who might see. 

His arms were lifting you up, one hand cupping the back of your head, holding you tight to his warm mouth and you felt tears begin to stream down your cheeks. You sobbed against him and he pulled back, mumbling a stream of soft words in Spanish that you didn’t understand, his hand coming to wipe away the tears, caressing your cheek between kisses. 

“Don’t cry, mi vida, don’t cry,” he mumbled, placing another soft kiss on your mouth, “You found me, you found me.” 

“I-I went to the cottage, I found your handkerchief,” you stuttered, “I was going to look for you in London but I was so scared I wouldn’t find you.” 

“I’ve been waiting, I was hoping they’d put you on the train, I couldn’t leave without being sure,” he said, loosening his grip on your waist so that he could cup your face with both his hands, his brown eyes dark as he stroked your cheeks and pressed another long kiss to your lips. 

“Being sure of what?” you asked as the kiss ended and Pero shook his head. 

“Another plan of Mrs Pluck to ruin things for us,” he scowled, rage flashing across his face, “She told me she was the one that found us out and that she’d taken you to your uncle. She said you were locked up in your room and that you’d been allowed to stay at Yotes because you’d sworn to your uncle that you didn’t love me. That it had only been a foolish crush, that’s what she called it.” 

“Oh, Pero….” you breathed out, fear gripping your heart as you realised how Mrs Pluck had tried to make Pero leave you behind, “You know that was never true!”

“I know, amor, I know, of course. You’d only just left with my heart in your hands, I knew she was a lying witch,” he pressed another kiss to your lips, a soft moan escaping you as you felt his strong body wrap around you. 

“But what do we do now, Pero?” you asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking up at him, “We’re both out of work and I guess you got no reference from my uncle either?” 

“No, he didn’t, but I have plenty of references from the work I’ve done over the winters, I’ll find work there. But…” he hesitated as he frowned, lines of worry across his forehead, “I had a plan for next summer, when I came back for you. A plan for how we would start a life away from your uncle and Yotes Castle, but now…I might ask you already even though it is soon.” 

“What did you plan,” you asked as he let his hands slip from your cheeks, down to hold your hands in his. He paused, looking at his fingers as he entwined them with yours, so large and rough compared to your soft, ink stained ones, before he looked up at you, a small, nervous smile, a rare thing from him, on his face.  

“To ask you to marry me, to go to that place in Scotland, and jus-”

“Yes!” you cried, louder than you intended, “Yes, yes, yes, Pero!” 

You pulled your hands from his and wound them around his neck, making him stumble back as you kissed him hard. A surprised grunt came from him as he grabbed your waist to stop you from knocking him to the ground. The grunt soon turned to laughter as he tried to speak between your kisses, you hugged him tight, your body filling with light as you pressed your lips to his. 

“Cálmaté, mi amor,” he chuckled, taking your hands from around his neck and holding them between his own again, “It won’t be easy, we don’t even belong to the same church, but if you’ll have me, that is my plan.” 

“Yes, Pero,” you said, your voice suddenly unsteady as you felt tears starting to run down your cheeks, your emotions overflowing as you looked into the eyes of the man you thought you’d lost until only a few minutes ago, “I want to marry you, everything else, we’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t even have a ring for you, mi amorcita,” he said, leaning forward to kiss first one tear stained cheek, and then the other, “I want to promise you everything, but I can’t give you anything.” 

“Pero, you’ve given me hope,” you whispered, “and love. That’s all I ever wanted, to marry for love. And then everything else will be easier.” 

“I can give you that at least, and I will keep you safe, no one will ever treat you the way they did again,” he said, his brow furrowing, the scowl creeping back onto his face as he shook his head, “Never again, amor.” 

You let your fingers caress his forehead, smoothing out the frown and tracing the line of the scar across his eye. You touched your lips to it as he closed his eyes, a feather light kiss to the feature so many feared him for. 

“My guard dog,” you smiled, “ ‘mi perro guardián’, wasn’t that what you called yourself yesterday?” 

He nodded, his eyes still closed as you continued to kiss his face, touching your lips to every mark as if to map it with your mouth. 

“Tú perro guardián,” he mumbled, “I will protect you, amor.” 

[lotusbxtch]

Preciosa

A #happypedrohours Valentine’s special

Prompt: Pero Tovar + lingerie Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!wife!Reader Word count: 4.9k

Summary: You would have never predicted that such a delicate thing would be Pero Tovar’s undoing. Rating: Explicit - 18+ only, MDNI

Warnings/tags: heavy use of Spanish phrases and nicknames, probably not period-accurate depictions of undergarments and lingerie but I tried okay?, smut - fingering (f receiving), oral (m and f receiving), Pero is a MUNCH and eats it from the back, unprotected PIV (this is the olden days and they are married, but wrap it up, folks!), prone bone, squirting, creampie, v brief cum eating, mentions of rough sex, Pero being a grump, but also soft!Pero, aftercare, reader is described as Pero's "wife" and having breasts and female genitalia but otherwise is not described it's you boo

a/n: Apologies for the tardy publishing, but work has been craaaaaazy so I’m just getting to posting this now! Thank you @happypedrohours for putting on such a fun Valentine’s Day event, and thank you to my darling @for-a-longlongtime for beta-ing for me and helping shape the story. This is my first time writing Pero as the MMC so I hope it delivers on his character! Graphic by me (for vibes only), dividers/banners by @saradika-graphics.

MASTERLIST

When your husband, Pero, known by many as ‘The Spanish Mercenary’, returns to you after his long travels, there often is a gift for you carefully tucked into his pack - especially on missions where the stakes were relatively low. Not one for verbal extollations of devotion in public, he lets his actions speak for him, bringing you exotic treasures from far flung markets in places you’ve never even heard of. Curious spices, little handmade trinkets, dried floral specimens - they never cease to amaze you, and you knew that you were often the envy of many of the other women in your village.

This latest campaign was a grueling and dangerous one, not business like usual. Trips like these usually meant there weren’t presents in tow, but you didn’t mind; Pero’s safe return afterwards was a far better gift to you. The money he brought home was something that had a growing impact, as you put every bit of it to good use on your home and farm.

A cacophony of exclamations of your neighbors alerts you to your grumpy Spaniard’s return, and you gather your skirts up to run and welcome him home after many weeks. Pero swaggers into the village on the back of his trusty steed, his armor covered in grime, as are his clothes and hair. The exhaustion is lined clearly on his face, but pure relief peeks through his hardened expression when he spots you coming towards him.

“Amor,” he calls out, dismounting his horse as you reach him. You press your body into his, claiming his lips in a sweet kiss, before he gently pushes you away.

“I will not sully you with the filth of my travels,” Pero gruffs, as if this wasn’t what happened every time he returns home. You roll your eyes at his theatrics but relent, falling into step beside him. 

“Nonsense, mi esposo. I’ll always have you alive and well, filth and all,” you tut at him, giving the horse a kiss on the muzzle. She blows out air, relaxing into the familiar surroundings. When the three of you arrive at your home, Pero busies himself with grooming his mount and unpacking his bags, while you heat up water for his bath and to clean his armor. He enters your shared abode a short while later, eyeing the steaming wash water and homemade soap you’d set out for him with relief.

“Tell me about your travels, my love,” you ask as he shucks off his heavy armor with a clunk. Pero grunts in response, peeling the dirty clothing from his strong body and revealing tan skin. Once bare, he takes the wash cloth from you, soaking it with water and using it to wipe the majority of the filth off of his strong frame. 

“Long, far too long,” he replies finally, a man of few words. It’s a quality you love about him; Pero is never a man of flowery prose nor insincerity. He says only what he means, and as little as is necessary to convey it. Even still, with you, he is chattier than with anyone else. He dips the cloth into the tub again, wringing out the dirty water into a smaller bucket. “Missed you, hermosa.”

“Mmm, I missed you too,” you muse, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and handing him the soap. He begins to lather the cleansing suds, washing himself in a perfunctory, efficient manner. 

“How were things while I was away?” he asks, hands still soaping limbs. You fill him in on the village gossip (which he swears he doesn’t care about, but is absolutely enthralled whenever you reveal some new secret) while he cleans himself. He much prefers to listen to you chatter away, the soft lilt of your voice a balm to his soul after many days apart. Sometimes, you stumble on your words, getting distracted by the nakedness of his body, the lean muscle and broad expanse of his shoulders. When he starts sudsing his soft cock, you lose your words completely. 

Pero smirks, knowing full well what the sudden silence means. “See something you like, mi amor?” he teases, stepping into a shallow basin before using the rest of the warm water to rinse the soap from his body. You simultaneously giggle and rub your thighs together, arousal beginning to simmer in your body. 

“Yes,” you purr mischievously, noticing his rapidly-hardening length. “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

After sating yourselves with each other’s bodies, you and Pero lay intertwined in your shared bed. “I’m glad you’re back,” you murmur, hand tracing the paths of scars along his battle-battered skin. 

Pero presses a kiss to your forehead. “I am as well. Oh, that reminds me.” He climbs out of bed, padding towards his belongings unpacked from the saddlebags. Pulling out a carefully-wrapped parcel, he walks back to you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Open it,” he commands softly, placing the package in your hands.

“Pero,” you tut, “you didn’t need to get me anything. It’s enough that you returned in one piece.” Pero grunts but the corner of his mouth tips up, happy to indulge his wife. You gently unfold the outer packaging. When it unfurls, you gasp, turning your face to your smirking husband wordlessly.

“You always ask me about what unique things I have seen in the East,” Pero explains. “Many of them I cannot divulge, or are unable to make it back with me. But this was a gift from the wife of one of the men who hired William and I during this last job.” His eyes meet yours, softening. “I spoke of my love for you during a meal one night, and she wanted you to have something from her as a token of her gratitude. She knows what it is like to have a spouse afar.” You’re surprised he had spoken of you; most people could never get a single word out of him on a good day.

You look down at the bundle of sumptuous fabric, light as air and softer than a newborn kitten. It shimmers slightly in the light of your fireplace, a pale golden hue with the warmth of sunshine. As it runs over your hands, you notice a slight chill run across your skin. It’s unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

“It is the finest Chinese silk,” Pero continues, “made from the cocoons of special grubs. The fabric created from the strands has a cooling effect. She thought that an extraordinary woman deserves a rare gift.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, kissing his hand. Suddenly, a thought occurs. You cock your head to the side curiously. “How does she know that I am an extraordinary woman?” you ask.

Pero begins to turn beet red, and you start to giggle. “I… may have indulged a bit too much in their rice wine,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You bark a laugh.

“Mi amor,” you chuckle, “if the worst thing that happens when you’re drunk is that you profess your love for your wife, I’ve clearly married the right man.” You pepper his face with kisses as he grouses, but you feel his hand caress your arm lovingly. 

“I’ll make something beautiful from it,” you tell him, folding it back up into the packaging carefully and storing it with your sewing items.

“May I see it when you finish?” Pero asks, curling his body around yours once more and pulling you flush with him.

You nod. “Of course,” you promise, an idea already beginning to form.

Pero leaves the following week for another job, and you begin working on your surprise for him. As you observe the qualities of the fine silk, you realize it should be turned into a special occasion garment, something worn when you want to feel luxurious. Pero told you before about the beautiful flowing dresses and robes that Eastern ladies wore, which were markedly different from the heavier gowns typical in your homeland. As your dear husband wasn’t the most descriptive with words, you had to take a guess at how they looked and were constructed. Luckily, a traveling merchant struck up a conversation with you and, as it turned out, he had visited the East as well and helped to fill in the design details you were missing. 

Every spare minute outside of tending to the farm, selling your produce and flowers at the market, and tidying your home is used to painstakingly cut, sew, and embroider your silken treasure. It is a silver lining, then, that it takes Pero three weeks to return home to you. 

As usual, you greet him upon his entry to the village, walking home beside Pero and his mare while he recounts his latest completed job. This time, however, when he arrives inside to bathe, you move to slip away to the bedroom. Pero grabs your arm gently.

“Am I truly so ripe that you must leave while I wash?” he jokes, a smirk painting his lips but confusion lingering in his eyes. 

You smile demurely, looking up through your lashes. “I have completed my silk project and thought you’d like to see it,” you explain. “Come to the bedroom when you’re clean.” Pero’s smirk widens more, and he visibly relaxes at the reassurance.

“Ah, well, by all means, do not let me stop you,” he responds, watching you as you retreat and shoot him another smile over your shoulder. Huffing a small chuckle, he hastily scrubs his body clean.

Entering the bedroom, you pull the finished pieces from the chest in the corner of the room. Pero likes seeing you in anything or nothing, so you’re not worried about his approval. But there is a part of you that hopes seeing you in your new outfit unleashes the feral lust that sometimes simmers just under the surface of his contained demeanor. Your hands slide along the silk, caressing your own body, slick beginning to gather between your thighs with the thought of him taking you roughly. 

Just as you finish adjusting everything to your liking, Pero walks into the room, wearing his simple sleeping pants, forgoing a shirt. His reaction catches you completely off guard.

Your husband - the broad, intimidating warrior, feared by many men across the continents - stands frozen in place as he scans your adorned body with wide eyes. He takes in the long, elegant robe, its open style fluttering slightly with your movements. 

The gown, made from the same pale golden silk, flows beautifully over your frame, reaching the floor and ruffling gently at your feet. It tapers towards your bust in an empire waist, where you’ve meticulously stitched crimson tiger lily motifs across the chest - Pero’s favorite flower. Delicate straps hold it up on your shoulders, and both the dress and robe are gossamer thin, the sumptuous fabric leaving little to the imagination. The silk creates an ethereal glow across your curves from the reflection of the fireplace, as if you are encased in a sacred golden light.

Pero doesn’t move. His chest heaves, and his hands repeatedly twitch and clench at his sides. You’ve never seen him so tense in your life. 

“Pero?” you try, an edge of laughter lightening your concerned tone. “Is everything alright?” Your eyes flick downwards, picking at the hem of a billowing sleeve in confusion. You know it may not have been what he expected, but it’s a far cry from how you thought he’d react. 

You feel Pero’s fingertips gently grip your chin. “Look at me, querida,” he rasps, voice tight. You bring your eyes to his and are instantly hit with the intensity of his gaze upon yours. 

“You… I….” Desperation laces his face as he tries to explain his reaction. The sudden realization hits you.

You would have never predicted that such a delicate thing would be Pero Tovar’s undoing.

Pero inhales a shaky breath. “Mi vida…” he whispers. “My beautiful wife… you look so soft, so delicate.” He holds a hand out as if to touch you, but retreats. “These hands…” Pero swallows hard. “They are too rough for something so pure.” His eyes cast downwards, and you know he’s not only talking about his callouses. 

You slip both hands to the sides of his face, lifting his gaze back to you. You allow all of your desire, your love, your lust to suffuse into your face. With your heart aching with the weight of your devotion for this man - so gruff and harsh on the outside, but utter bone-melting softness inside - you search his eyes pleadingly.

“Touch me, Pero,” you beg, bringing his hands to your waist. “I need your hands, roughness and all.”

Pero’s body shudders as his palms make contact with the soft silk on your body. He gently smooths his thumbs across your hip bones, eliciting a whimper from your throat. They travel back up the curve of your waist, brushing the swell of your breasts, and your nipples pebble at his touch. Eyes focused on following the path of his fingers, he traces circles around the peaks, more soft, desperate sounds coming from your mouth. 

You stare into his eyes with unwavering love. “I missed you, mi amor,” you whisper. 

Pero slowly leans forward to press his forehead against yours. “I am here, mi esposa,” he murmurs back, his hands pressing more surely, feeling the slip of your gown beneath his fingers. You can feel the fabric catching slightly on the rougher parts of his hands. 

Leaning forward, you capture his lips in a slow, sensual kiss. You missed the way he tastes, the quiet grunts he makes as he claims your mouth with his. Biting his lip, you pull back and say breathlessly, “Show me how much you missed me.”

Pero presses his mouth to yours hungrily, his fear of sullying something so divine beginning to wane. As he walks you backwards towards your bed, he gathers the fabric of your robe and dress to your hips. Gently, he lays you down onto the bed, the gilded silk fanning out around you. Pero pushes the fabric further up, exposing your dripping core to the air. A rough groan rips from his throat. 

“Mmm, mi vida, you are so wet for me,” he grits, fingers tracing over your labia, making you whine in desire.

“Pero,” you moan. You spread your thighs open, inviting him in. Pero cages your body in with his, kissing you fiercely while slipping two of his fingers into you, your slick aiding him to slide in all the way to the last knuckle. You keen his name in pleasure, and he feels you clench down on him, hot and sticky. His kisses trail from the corner of your lips to your jaw, then down your neck, pumping in and out of you to build your pleasure. 

“You make me want to be anything but delicate with you,” Pero grunts, swirling his fingertips against the soft spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars. 

You curse and moan at his admission, your earlier desire for him to take you roughly coming back to the surface. “Do not be gentle,” you beg him. A wild look crosses his face, and he nips at your throat while his fingers thrust more rapidly inside you. Mewling, you spread even wider for him, driving his digits further inside the hot clutch of you.

“I want to feel you break for me, amorcita,” Pero growls, then thumbs your clit in tight circles.

Your orgasm surges up and crests, and Pero slaps his hand over your mouth just in time to quiet the shriek erupting from your throat. He pins you down and groans into your hair roughly. A rush of slick coats his already-drenched fingers inside of you while he guides you through the waves of your rapture. When your breathing begins to calm and your voice peters into tiny whimpers, Pero removes his hand from your mouth. You watch, entranced, as he sucks your essence from his other fingers. 

He curses. “I have traveled countless foreign lands, and still have tasted nothing sweeter than you,” Pero groans, then sweeps you into a deep kiss, feeding you your own flavor. His hard cock presses into your side, throbbing and insistent.

You reach down to caress his length. Pero shivers and bites your lip in return. “Let me return the favor,” you whisper, sliding your body down the bed. He pulls down his sleep pants, the thick swell of him springing to attention. You love Pero’s cock and never miss a chance to worship it.

His warrior hands gently grip your skull as you lave your tongue across the expanse of him, tasting the salty musk of his most intimate parts. It clouds your head with potent desire. 

“Fuck, amorcita,” Pero gasps, your wide, glassy eyes locked on his. “You have the face of an angel and the mouth of a fucking devil.” His words make you moan on his length and slide his shaft even further down your throat. His hands tense, his control slipping further away, and he gently pulls you off of him with a pop.

“I cannot have this end so soon. I need to be buried in you,” he grits. He gets off of the bed, coming to stand at the side. Excited shivers run down your spine, knowing exactly what he wants from you. He knows it’s your favorite way to take him.

You turn your body to face him, draping your garments off the mattress, and lay on your back, exposing the apex of your thighs to your husband once again. 

Pero’s gaze fixes on your slick pussy. “You are the most stunning goddess,” he croons while he takes himself in hand and rubs the swollen head through the evidence of your arousal. The heat in your cheeks flares hotter at his words. 

“Please, Pero,” you whine. “I crave you. My soul needs you.” Sweat dews up across your skin from your desperation.

In one slow, long, devastating thrust, Pero slides home.

You both cry out at the pure pleasure of flesh meeting flesh, of your bodies joining once more. It feels overwhelming, inevitable, not of this world. For you, no man could ever sew themselves as deeply into the fabric of your spirit than Pero. As your body adjusts and welcomes him in once more, you gaze deeply at each other, breaths syncing, an electric current running through your veins. He fills every iota of empty space within you. You feel everything.

When he bottoms out a few seconds later, the silken fabric of your robe brushes his shins, the unfamiliar feeling causing a shudder of pleasure to skitter across his body. Pero grips the backs of your thighs as if to tether him to this realm, awash in intense desire for you. A breathy moan snakes out of your throat when he pulls back and thrusts in once again. Every nerve alights in euphoria at his intrusion. His eyes roam across your body, drinking in the sight: every curve of your supple body writhing in pleasure; every freckle and mole; the way the thin sheen of sweat on your skin shimmers in the light of the fire; the way your brows pinch together and lips falls open as he hits that devastating spot inside of you; the shine of your slick and cream coating his rigid length as he works you relentlessly.

It’s both everything he could ever need and not nearly enough to sate him.

Pero reaches down between your thighs and thumbs your clit. You keen, back arching off the bed. “I can feel you tightening for me,” he rasps as his hips punch an unforgiving rhythm into you. “Shatter for me. Come on my cock, preciosa.”

At that favorite pet name - preciosa - your body obeys his command with a snap. A shockwave of climactic euphoria races through your veins. His name leaves your lips as a sob over and over again, your orgasm wringing you dry while Pero clenches his jaw and guides you through your peak. Blinking your eyes open, you’re met with Pero already staring deeply into them. Devotion and amazement gleam in his gaze.

“Tan bonita,” he praises. “You always look stunning when you come for me.” His thrusts have slowed down, gently maintaining a strong buzz of arousal between the two of you.

“Hold me close, mi esposo,” you demand, and Pero knows exactly what you want. “Mold your body to mine.”

Pero gently shushes you. “Si, amor; I shall give you what you want,” he responds and pulls out gently. Evidence of your orgasm soaks his shaft, dripping onto your thighs. 

As Pero gets into position, you roll yourself onto your belly, shifting your silk lingerie around to avoid tangles. You sweep the robe and dress off of your lower half and part your thighs. He crawls over you, caging your body once more while he nudges your legs open further. Back arched, your cunt glints invitingly; it is a potent sight and the only thing to ever break Pero to beg on his knees for it. 

He would worship at your altar for hours if you let him. Drowning between your thighs, eating his favorite meal in the world, sounds incredible to your husband. His insatiability for your carnal pleasures knows no bounds. You’ve never met a man who loved eating you out nearly as much as he does. If he could bathe in your essence, he would.

Pero is ruled by only two things: coin, and your pussy.

Before your mind drifts back from reflection on its own, it is yanked back to the current moment by a hot stripe licked up the seam of you. Gasping, you reach back, tangling your fingers in Pero’s hair as he spreads your folds open for him to devour. He pulls your hips up in the air to better reach your swollen pearl. His insistent tongue swirls around the nub, building you up to get another orgasm.

“Come again for me and I will give you my cock for as long as you can take it,” he barters, rocketing you rapidly towards another crest. The intense pressure tells you it will be messy. That only encourages your husband.

“There you are,” he says as your body pulls tight. Your limbs quake, everything hanging in precarious balance.

“Pero,” you wail, the intense pleasure at a knife’s edge. He says nothing, but takes that as his sign to suck your clit in between his lips and make you break.

And you do, stunningly hard. Pero seals his lips around your pussy as you scream with your wet release, his throat bobbing with every swallow of your hallowed cum. A long, low moan rumbles in his broad chest from your sweet, deep flavor coating his tongue. Resting your head on the bed sheets, you pant softly, trying to recover. 

Soon after, you feel the bed shift as Pero hovers over your prone body. His mushroom tip swipes through your folds once more, and he kisses your bare shoulders while he notches at your entrance.

“Tell me how much you want me, preciosa,” he rumbles. “I need to hear it from your lips.”

“With everything in me, Pero,” you whimper, pressing up against his hardness. You feel him throb against your folds. “Please, please make love to me again.”

Pero obeys, sliding himself to the hilt swiftly. Your broken cry echoes around the bedroom. His forearms bracket either side of your body, his entire front pressed against your back as he thrusts deeply and slowly into you. The masculine, musky, undeniably Pero scent wraps around you. You’ve never felt more protected and safe with your strong, brave husband completely surrounding you.

Delirious whimpers and gasps swirl in the air, intermixed with the wet shlick of Pero’s length filling you up again and again. Accenting the symphony of explicit sounds is the constant caress of your silk lingerie on your skin; a cooling touch to bring your heated body back to Earth. It’s a heady concoction, a sensorial delight unlike anything you’ve experienced. You’re rendered almost speechless, only expressions of pleasure and your husband’s name escaping your lips. 

“I will never get enough of you,” Pero moans, slipping his hand under your hips to let you grind on his fingers. 

You keen sharply. “Oh god, so good,” you mewl, rolling your hips against his big paw. Slick rolls down from your dripping pussy and soaks his hand and the bed, slippery and hot. Pero runs his tongue up the length of your neck, sucking love bites into your flesh as his thrusts come harder and faster. 

“You are everything to me,” he hoarsely whispers, his voice breaking slightly at the end. “Gods above, I do not need anything but you. You beautiful, precious angel. Light of my life.” You sob in pure love and pleasure at his words as your orgasm rises higher in every cell in your body.

“Pero,” you cry out. “Fuck, I’m going to come.” Tremors begin to wrack your body as your cunt tightens around Pero’s cock like a vice, so close to your rapture. 

He chokes out a loud moan, now pounding into you with abandon. “Come for me, mi vida,” he begs, breaths exhaled harshly. Sweat drips from his broad frame onto your back and the lingerie, his muscled thighs tense with exertion. “Give it to me. Let go for me, and let me fill you with my seed.”

Pero hitches his hips just slightly, and the new angle hits that magical spot deep in you, flinging you right into your orgasm. A throttled, grunting squeal erupts from your throat, and you clamp down on his thick cock, your juices squirting onto his hand. Pero bellows, then shoves himself as deeply as he can, shooting his searing cum into you. He bites down on your shoulder, whimpering loudly with every spurt of his seed released.

It feels like the world explodes and caves in on itself, with nothing left but shivering desire and love in its place.

Tears stream down your heated cheeks, falling wetly onto the linens. You’re gasping for air, your husband collapsed on top of your back, your bodies melded as one while you catch your breath. Sniffling, then laughing wetly, you turn to kiss the forearm that you can reach.

“God, I love you so much, mi amor,” you profess with a watery hiccup, completely overwhelmed. Pero grunts and presses his lips against your shoulder, his chest pressed to your back.

“I love you more than you will ever understand,” he rumbles, trailing kisses across your salty, dewy skin, then tips your chin gently to the side as far as it will go so he can sweetly capture his lips with yours. Pero carefully lifts himself up, and then slides his softening cock gently from the hold of your cunt, a stream of his cum spilling out in its wake. You murmur happily when you feel the warm liquid roll down your clit, twitching and spent. He kisses each of your buttocks, slurping the escaped cum, and then rises to his feet to pad to your wash basin. Dampening a cloth, he returns to the bed and gently cleans your skin, eliciting a giggle from you.

Pero huffs a laugh. “What are you giggling about, little loon?” he teases, gently smacking your ass.

You muffle another giggle, then turn to him, smiling. “If only your enemies could see big, bad Pero Tovar, the feared warrior, cleaning up his wife’s pussy so gently.”

You didn’t even need to see Pero’s face; you could practically feel the eyeroll. He slaps your ass harder this time, ripping a gasp from you.

“Careful, preciosa,” Pero warns, but the threat is hollow. A smirk threatens to break out across his face. “Or next time I’ll be rougher.” 

He lays one more hard slap to your backside, and you moan quietly, another dribble of his cum pushed out from your cunt. He growls at the sight, then gently kisses the red handprint beginning to show on your soft skin - a veritable masterclass in contrasts.

Finishing his cleaning, he throws the cloth to the side, then rejoins you in bed, rolling you both to your side so you can face each other. Your eyes roam his face, smiling serenely at him.

Suddenly your face lights up. “Oh, I almost forgot! I made you something too!” You leap off of the bed, quickly pressing your fingers to your core to stem the flow of him from inside you. Rummaging through your chest, you exclaim, “Ah-HAH! Found it!” You toss it onto the bed.

A pile of that same silk fabric lands by Pero’s hands. He picks it up gingerly, unfolding it as his brows knit together quizzically.

“Is this…?” he starts, confused, while the shape of the item is slowly revealed to him.

“I made you something too,” you titter, as it dawns on him that what you’ve made is a small pair of flowy shorts, just big enough to contain his manhood and pert ass. 

He raises his scarred eyebrow at you. “This is… for me?” he asks incredulously. You erupt into giggles, slapping your hand over your mouth. Pero’s signature scowl etches over his face.

“Yes,” you laugh. “I thought it would be nice for both of us to have something made from the silk. Do you like it?” More giggles erupt from you as you imagine your gruff, tough husband sporting the tiny, sheer shorts. Pero’s frown continues to deepen.

“Oh, you are in so much trouble,” he grouses, a playful lilt to his tone, and he lunges for you, pulling you down to tickle and kiss you.

LOTUSBXTCH MASTERLIST

Notification tags: @mountainsandmayhem @alltheirdamn @perotovar @sin-djarin @syd-djarin @mermaidgirl30 @yxtkiwiyxt @almostfoxglove @almostempty @whocaresstillthelouvre @baronessvonglitter @qveerthe0ry @sp00kymulderr @guiltyasdave @pedropeach @murder-wife @burntheedges @goodwithcheese @penvisions @evolnoomym @joelmillerisapunk @joelstummy @arcanefox207 @qunariagenda @milla-frenchy @avastrasposts @luxurychristmaspudding @reggiesfilthylittlesecret @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @jeewrites @kungfucapslock @itwasntimethatdidit40 @swankyorange @chippedowlmug @reallyrallyauthor

[ak-vintage]

Sins of the Flesh

Pairing: Incubus!Pero Tovar x f!Reader

Summary: After multiple chance encounters with a mysterious stranger, you begin having the most unsettling dreams.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! PLEASE read the warnings! Spooky, potentially disturbing or triggering for some readers. Inspired by gothic horror. Pero is a literal demon – not a good guy and a certified creep. Stalking behaviors, intimidation, manipulation, the conflation of fear and arousal, implications of somnophilia, masturbation (f), choking in a sexual context, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected P in V sex.

Word Count: 8.3K

Written for Monster (S)Mash hosted by @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes

Huge thank-you to @kilamonster for her expert beta reading and Spanish translation skills! Love you so much, babe!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Incubus – derived from the Latin incubus (“nightmare”) and incubare (“to lie upon, weigh upon, brood”); a demon in male form that seeks to have sexual intercourse with sleeping women

The first time you notice him, the sun is shining. The haze of late summer still lingers in the air, and the afternoon heat makes sweat bloom in the small of your back, making your blouse cling to your skin as you wait in line at your favorite coffee shop. You had given up on your hair hours ago, piling it up onto the top of your head, and as you stare down at your phone, killing time, you feel a prickle of awareness skate across the bare skin on the back of your neck.

It’s almost like a caress – a real, physical thing – but when you whip around to give whoever had touched you so intimately a piece of your mind, you find…no one. You’re the last person in line at this particular register. There is no one behind you.

Except for him.

Several feet away – much too far to reach you – stands a man, tall and broad-shouldered with long, powerful limbs and dressed head-to-toe in black in spite of the heat. He is leaning heavily back against the far wall, right next to the entrance to the café, and he has his arms crossed over his chest in a gesture that somehow reads as both nonchalant and intimidating. The thought strikes you that he looks almost like a bouncer outside a club, a persona that doesn’t quite fit with the glaring afternoon sun streaming through the windows in this lively, crowded coffee shop.

You feel your brow knit together as you take him in. He’s absurdly handsome, in a rakish, almost dangerous sort of way – all dark hair, dark eyes, dark moustache. He has a scar over his left eye, faintly pink and puckered in a way that splits his eyebrow in two and tugs a bit at the golden tanned skin of his cheekbone, and on his full, slightly downturned mouth plays a knowing little smirk.

He’s too far away to have touched you. You are certain of it. And yet…

Something in his dark eyes flashes as he meets your gaze – like the strike of flint, like the spark of a match. His smirk widens, and you barely notice yourself taking a step toward him.

“Miss. MISS.”

The sound of the harried barista’s voice snaps you out of whatever reverie the strange man had inspired in you, and you spin around to find her staring at you with poorly-disguised exasperation.

The line in front of you has dwindled. You’re next, and you’re so far away from the counter, you might as well not even be in line anymore.

Embarrassment darkening your cheeks, you quickly approach the register with an effusive apology on your tongue, and the mysterious man behind you is forgotten.

That night, a pair of midnight-dark eyes follows you in your dreams – always watching, unblinking, just on the edge of your vision. They disappear when you try to seek them out, and when you gasp yourself awake before the sun rises, you swear you can feel the lingering heat of a broad, thick-fingered hand cupped around the base of your throat.

The clock on your bedside table reads 3:00 AM.

The next time you see him, the sky is a pale gray, overcast and dreary as autumn solidifies its grip on the atmosphere. You’re laden with shopping bags, having spent most of the day galivanting around the city with a friend who is visiting you from out of town, and the two of you decide to make one final stop on the way back to your apartment – a cramped little hidden gem of a used bookshop. Your differing tastes lead you to split up almost immediately upon entering, your friend heading straight for the lit fic while you dive into the fantasy section, and before you know it, you’re several densely-packed aisles away from your companion, tucked into the back corner of the dusty shop and surrounded on all sides by ceiling-high shelves.

It's dim here and almost completely silent, the classical music pumped through a speaker at the front of the store not loud enough to penetrate this far back, but you hardly notice – you’re surrounded by books, and you can’t imagine any place more comfortable. Shuffling your bags from arm to arm, lower lip between your teeth, you thumb through the endless volumes contentedly, happy to browse until something catches your eye.

So absorbed are you in your task that in spite of the quiet, you don’t hear him approach until a low, accented voice brushes your ears from mere inches behind you.

“Might I recommend…this one?”

You startle at the sound and turn to find the same man from the coffee shop – the one with the dangerous smirk and the scar over his eye – hovering just behind you, a well-worn book bound in oxblood leather in his hand. He offers it to you with an arch of his brow, and you find yourself backing into the nearest bookshelf in a futile attempt to put a bit of space between you. The moment you recognize him, it must show on your face, as his smirk morphs into a sharp, white smile that doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Dulzura,” he murmurs, and you feel goosebumps bloom across your skin at the unexpected endearment. “I already have a copy, and I know you’ll enjoy it. Por favor.”

Glancing between his dark, shadowed eyes and the anonymous book in his hand, you reluctantly reach out and take it. The leather is oddly warm beneath your fingers, the thing weightier than it looks, and as you bring it closer to examine it, the faint overhead light glints off the golden, embossed title pressed into the front cover.

Sins of the Flesh.

A lurid flush rises in your cheeks as you glance back up at the strange man, his broad form still lingering a bit too close to you to be polite, and you notice for the first time that he is wearing the exact same outfit he was wearing the last time you saw him in the coffee shop.

“I, uh,” you stammer, your throat suddenly dry. “I haven’t heard of this one.”

He shrugs, tucking his large hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “This does not surprise me, dulzura – it is very old. But you would be astonished at how well it holds up to a more…modern palate.”

Your eyes narrow, and you pray he cannot hear the way your heart has begun to throb against your ribcage, the way your breath has picked up in your chest. Your body cannot decide how it feels about this man, whether it is uneasy or aroused. He’s so close you can smell his cologne, something smokey and metallic and almost aggressively masculine, and you aren’t sure whether you want to tuck your face into his neck and inhale or flee the shop and pray he doesn’t follow.

Instead, you do neither and ask, “W-What’s it about?”

Just like in the coffee shop all those weeks ago, his obsidian eyes flash, and you watch as the tip of his tongue flicks out to wet his plush bottom lip. “Ancient things,” he replies after a moment of tense silence. His accent, warm and gruff, wraps around the words like crushed velvet, and you suppress a shiver. “Magic. Strange creatures. The eternal battle between good – ” He drags his gaze from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and back again, settling on your flushed face with a look that is almost predatory. “ – and evil.”

You swallow thickly and clear your throat. Tearing your eyes away from his feels nearly impossible, but you do it, choosing instead to stare at your feet. “I’ll, uh. I’ll have to check it out,” you say noncommittally, praying that your voice doesn’t tremble, praying that he cannot hear the way he has affected you as plainly as you can.

You’re on edge. Deeply uncomfortable. Not quite afraid, but nearly.

And you’re wet.

“As I said, my dear. I know you will enjoy it.”

Your deepest muscles clench, and with a tight, polite smile, you nod. “Thanks for the suggestion. Have a good night.”

His teeth gleam in the dim lighting at that. “I certainly plan to, dulzura,” he murmurs silkily, and every instinct that has been telling you to run from the moment you laid eyes on him is suddenly screaming at you, too loud and intrusive to ignore. You retreat down the aisle as quickly as you can manage, arms still heavy with your many shopping bags that knock clumsily into the shelves as you escape, but you do not let it deter you. You swear you can feel his gaze burning the skin on the back of your neck as you go.

It isn’t until you arrive back at your apartment nearly an hour later that you realize – when you left the shop, you took the book with you.

That night, those coal-black eyes once again haunt your dreams, though this time, they are accompanied by a voice. Low, warm, and lilting with an accent you can’t place, the voice whispers to you. You can’t make out the exact words, but you know they make your heart race and your blood run hot. They sound…possessive. Intimate. Knowing, as though the owner of the voice had reached behind your sternum and cracked open your chest, peaking and prying and assessing every delicate, fragile piece of you.

You feel hands on your throat again, not squeezing, not choking, just holding.

You feel soft lips brushing the underside of your breasts, hot breath dampening your thighs.

You feel a slick, soft tongue tracing the vulnerable crease behind your knees and the throbbing pulse point of your wrists.

When your visiting friend practically yanks you from your sleep, shaking your shoulders and calling your name, you catapult into consciousness drenched in sweat and more aroused than you have ever been in your life. Your hard nipples drag painfully against the soft cotton of your oversized T-shirt, and your panties cling wetly to your pussy lips like a second skin, utterly ruined.

It takes several minutes for you to finally convince your friend that you’re fine, that it was just a nightmare, that it’s okay for her to go back to sleep. She retreats back into your living room with one last concerned glance over her shoulder, and you stifle a sigh of relief as the door shuts behind her.

Alone again, the clock on your nightstand reads 3:08 AM as you shove your hand beneath the waistband of your panties. By 3:10, you are muffling your whines in your pillow as you bring yourself over the edge.

The third time you notice him, you’re lingering under the awning outside your favorite wine bar, hugging the coarse brick of the exterior in an attempt to keep out of the late-night rain as you wait for your ride share. You had planned to meet a date here, a man you had discovered while swiping through your app of choice one night a week or so ago when the weight of your seemingly eternal singlehood had felt particularly poignant. He had been nice enough over text, if a bit bland, but when you had asked him if he had any interest in meeting in person, he had agreed readily.

You had sat at the bar alone for well over an hour, draining one too many glasses of malbec, before you received a single text.

not gonna make it tonite sry

You had promptly unmatched with him and blocked his number. You didn’t have time for that kind of shit.

Now, the ride share app on your phone tells you that your driver is 10 minutes away, and you wish you had thought to wait to give up your seat at the bar until he was a bit closer. As it is, the place is packed. There is nowhere for you to be if you go back inside, so braving the autumnal rain seems to be your only option.

Hair and skin damp, nose running with the chill of the late October night, you wrap your arms protectively around your body as a dark, mysterious figure comes into view down the street. Taking up most of the unoccupied sidewalk with his bulk, he carries a large black golf umbrella, the gunmetal handle gleaming in the watery light of the streetlamps, and he wears a black leather jacket zipped up tight against the cold. The moment he spots you, his handsome features break into a leonine grin, and you feel that familiar pull deep in your gut. The fear laced with desire, the unease stifled by want.

By the time he reaches you, the rain has picked up, and you are no longer protected by the shallow awning. An involuntary shiver wracks your frame, and you aren’t certain whether to blame your rapidly dampening jacket or the shrewd, dark eyes of the man before you.

“Come, dulzura. Join me,” he beckons with an arched brow. The scar over his eye tugs with the gesture, and you notice for the first time that he appears to be wearing eyeliner – a thin layer of kohl darkening his already enviable black lashes. On anyone else, you might find it a bit over-the-top, but on this dark stranger, it only adds to the air of danger surrounding him.

“You will surely melt in all this rain,” he adds when you do not respond. “Let me share my shelter with you.”

You almost obey, almost pull yourself away from the wall behind you and step into his open arms beneath the generous cover of his umbrella. But before you can succumb to the draw of him, a car drives by – too fast for the weather and the late hour – and flings a shower of rainwater up onto the sidewalk, soaking the backs of his calves and drenching your feet. The icy deluge pulls you out of his thrall, and you resist the urge to dig the tips of your fingers into the brick at your back to anchor you there.

“Who are you?” you ask, feeling a brief surge of victory at the steadiness of your voice, the way you manage not to stammer. “What do you want with me?”

This surprises a laugh out of him, the sound dry and low and deep in his chest. “What a question,” he rasps. “Cariño, have you considered that perhaps it is you who wants something from me?”

For the first time in weeks, you recall the dream you had after that day at the bookshop. The dark eyes, the strong hands, the tempting, maddening voice, the way they all had seeped into your pores and flushed through your bloodstream like a drug. You feel your cunt bottom out at the memory, thighs squeezing together in an unconscious search for friction, and you think you ought to be embarrassed by your body’s entirely disproportionate reaction to him. But you aren’t, and that fact alone is enough to have your heart speeding up.

The strange man’s eyes instantly drop from your face to watch your squirm, and his gaze darkens with something akin to hunger.

Swallowing thickly, you reply, “What could I want from you? I don’t even know your name.”

“This is true. But names…names are powerful things.” He shrugs, his full mouth twisting into a knowing smirk as he glances back up at you. “I’m not certain that knowing mine would do much to change the way that your heart is racing right now.”

“My heart isn’t racing.” Your defiant words ring hollow even to your own ears.

He smirks, lip curling his dark, trim mustache, and rumbles, “No? Then why can I hear it from all the way over here, dulzura?” He takes a step forward then, narrowing the distance between you enough that you do reach back and grip the wall, if only to keep your knees steady beneath you. Leaning in close, the wide barrier of his umbrella swallowing you both as it blocks out the night, he whispers, “Why is the scent of you so strong I can practically taste it?

You grit your jaw as a flush finally makes it way to your cheeks. Wetness has begun to gather at the apex of your thighs; you can feel it pooling in your panties, slicking the place that has begun to pulse and throb for him. This man has never touched you while you are conscious, and yet you feel as though your cursed dreams have Pavlov-ed you so thoroughly that all it has taken for you to begin to ache for him is the mere implication of contact.

“Get away from me,” you demand through clenched teeth. The scent of him fills your nostrils – smoke and metal and man. And beneath it all, something unpleasant, something…off.

Is that…sulfur?

“You don’t want me to do that.” His accent colors his words, making them lilt and catch in the damp air as he looms over you. His closeness casts deep shadows across your skin, his broad shoulders and that fucking umbrella smothering the light from the streetlamps, from the nearby intersection, from the entrance to the bar. “In fact, I think you would rather I be much, much closer.”

No, you realize. It’s not sulfur that you smell on his skin, in his hair, on his clothes.

It’s brimstone.

“Please,” you whimper, eyes falling shut as if not being able to see his dark, hypnotic eyes would allow you to hide from them. You don’t know what you’re pleading for anymore. For him to leave you alone? For him to touch you? For him to save you from the torment that was his proximity, his voice, his scent? You think that you might accept any of those things right now; all you know for certain is that you cannot bear this battle of fear and desire he inspires within you for another minute.

You need him to get it over with – to stop with the threats and just hurt you already. Or fuck you and end your suffering. Whichever he chooses, as long as it’s soon.

The man tuts quietly to himself, and for the first time, you feel the touch of a startlingly hot, dry hand brush across the apple of your cheek. You bite back a whimper at the sensation, goosebumps breaking out all across your body, and you fight the insane urge to lean your head into his touch.

“Shh,” he soothes, voice low and gentle. You feel the warmth of his breath on your forehead then across the shell of your ear and down your neck. “There’s no need to beg, sweet thing. I’ll give you what you want.”

You gulp audibly at the promise, and then his hand drops from your cheek to your throat. You can feel your pulse racing against his fingertips, under the pad of his thumb. Just like in your dream, there’s no pressure, no force behind the touch. Just heat, breadth, weight. You feel your jaw drop open, your mouth slacken, your head tilt back like an offering.

You aren’t afraid anymore. You are calm. Obedient. Pliant beneath his hand.

He's so close to you now; you can feel him, the length and the width of him pressing you back against the exterior of the bar. Your knees are weak, your pussy dripping, quivering, begging. Have you ever needed someone as badly as you need him in this moment? It’s like the sensation is too big for your body, too great for your nerve endings to process. You feel weak with it, helpless. If he would just –

A sudden buzzing sensation travels up your arm, and a moment of clarity snaps through your body like a whip. Your eyes fly open, and you gasp like a swimmer emerging from a great depth after a struggle. You have been white-knuckle gripping your phone in your hand this entire time, and your ride share app is now lighting up your screen, filling the dark, narrow space created by the man’s umbrella with piercing light.

Your driver is here. He is waiting for you at the curb.

The dark-haired man smiles at you wryly and takes a step back. “I will, though not now,” he says with a sigh. “Run along now, dulzura. We will see each other again.”

“When?” The question passes your lips before you can reel it back in, and you’re mortified to hear that it sounds whiny and almost petulant. If you had been a small child, such a tone might have been accompanied by a stamp of your foot and a pair of crossed arms.

The man simply leers at you and offers you a rakish wink. “I think you know.”

That night, your dreams lose that blurry, soft-focus lens that has plagued you since the first day you encountered him at the coffee shop. Everything is perfectly clear, almost a little too real, and every sensation is heightened. You’re in your bed, white sheets downy-soft against your skin, the breeze from your ceiling fan tightening your nipples, pulling goosebumps to the surface. The collar of your T-shirt scratches against your throat, and your limbs are restless, tense, eager to move.

And you can feel eyes on you.

You sit up amongst your disheveled bedding, blankets pooling around your waist, and there – standing at the bottom of your bed, big hands wrapped around the rungs of your footboard – is the scarred man. Watching you silently.

“You,” you gasp, hands gripping your sheets, and the man smiles sharply. He looks…different somehow through the eyes of your dreams. A bit wrong.

He’s taller, bigger, bulkier, the shadows around his eyes deeper, his heavy brow more prominent. His teeth look sharp behind his smile, and he wears different clothing than what you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him in, the palette still all black but distinctly older in style. His shirt is billowy and loose and frayed at the edges, the collar untied and gaping open to reveal a generous glimpse of his strong, tanned neck and muscular chest. His black jeans have been traded for soft-looking black breeches, and you try not to let your eyes linger as you take in the way they pull revealingly over his bulge, leaving nothing to the imagination. He’s not hard (you don’t think), but that fact offers little comfort. He’s huge even without the added swell of blood.

“Me,” he replies. His white canines flash in the low light, his eyes black and hazy. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“I…didn’t know what to expect.”

“Mmm.” He brings one of his hands up to his mouth, brushing his thumb over his lip, tracing his mustache. “How unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” you echo with a frown.

“I had thought you might have figured me out by now,” he says, disappointment coloring his words. “Your attempts to get me to tell you my name earlier had me thinking you had finally put it together.”

You shake your head. “I don’t understand.”

With a pensive hum, the man rounds the foot of your bed and comes to loom over you at your bedside. You can feel the heat radiating off of him in waves, the smoke and metal and brimstone scent of him nearly overwhelming in this heightened state of awareness. It’s a heady combination, and although you incline your chin to hold his gaze, you can feel your eyelids growing heavy.

“Tell me, dulzura,” he coaxes, his tone sweet, soft, encouraging. “Did you read the book I gave you?”

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you break his gaze, staring down at your hands as they fist the sheets puddled around you.

He reads your reticence so easily; you aren’t sure why you even attempted to be coy. Chuckling low and sinister in his chest, he reaches down and cups your chin in his big, warm fingers and tilts your face back up to look at him. “Oh, you did, didn’t you?”

Your skin burns where he touches you, his hand like a brand on your face. “I…started it, but I couldn’t finish it,” you confess.

“No? Did you not enjoy it?” The mysterious man frowns, eyes roving over your features, reading every flutter of your lashes, every quirk of your lips. It’s deeply unsettling, nearly unnatural, the way he looks at you with such directness, and again, you are hit with the sensation of being examined so deeply and so intimately, it feels almost wrong.

“Oh, I see,” he continues after a long, tense silence. “You enjoyed it too much, didn’t you? Filthy girl. And you wonder why I am so drawn to you. And you to me.”

Mortification rips through you like a lightning strike, and you jerk your chin out of his hold as you gather your blankets up around your chest in a belated gesture of modesty. Of course, the paltry layers of cotton do nothing to shield you from the heat of his stare. Because he’s right, damn him. You had enjoyed the book – a sordid collection of short stories that had to have been written several hundred years ago, judging by the vocabulary and style of prose. Each tale had been more macabre than the last, interspersed with chapters so debauched and decadent that you had found yourself needing to slip your hand into your panties more than once just to be able to go about your day.

Much like the man who had gifted it to you, the book had plagued you. You had found yourself thinking about it constantly, distractedly wishing for your next opportunity to pick it up and lose yourself in whatever grotesque, salacious, bone-chilling story it had for you next. Such an obsession hadn’t been good for you. You hadn’t been able to bring yourself to finish it.

If this man is implying that this book was some sort of clue, that the way he affects you is somehow connected to it… Ice slips down your spine at the thought, and you suppress a shiver.

“What are you?” you ask in a trembling voice. “What are you going to do to me?”

The man’s smirk softens into a smile – still just as heated, though not as provoking. You swear you can feel the scorching path of his eyes across your face, down your neck, to your clenched fists and limp sheets. He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, anticipation building in your gut, and then he growls, “I’m going to give you what you want. And, in doing so, take what I need.”

And then the bubble of anticipation bursts, and he is on you – bearing you back into the pillows, rucking up your T-shirt to grip your bare waist with searing hot palms, and sealing his mouth over yours.

His touch is like a balm to your frayed nerves, his kiss a drug. Just like outside the bar, you feel yourself going soft under his hands, your muscles lax, your bones limp. The drag of his fingers up your sides has you arching your back and smushing your aching breasts against his hard, broad chest. Your hands sink into his dark brown curls, keeping his mouth on yours, and it isn’t long before his tongue is prying open your lips and sliding out to meet yours. He tastes like smoke, like musk, and you are overcome with the distinct desire to draw him into you – to inhale him, to drag him down into your lungs and trap his essence inside your chest. Unbidden, your legs begin to twitch and kick, pushing your blanket down around your feet. You need to have your legs around his waist, need to drag him closer. You need it like you need oxygen, and though you know somewhere in the back of your mind that the depth of your desire should frighten you, nothing has ever felt more right.

This moment was inevitable – you know this now. From the moment you locked eyes with him in the coffee shop, you have been on a collision course with this man, this creature that always seems to know how to find you, that stalks your dreams, that corrupts your mind and your body so perfectly you cannot help but welcome it. Resistance is pointless, unthinkable.

Wrenching your lips from his with a whine, you pant into his open mouth, “It’s yours. You can have whatever you want. Please.”

The man above you makes a low noise, something bestial like a snarl, and the sound vibrates through your body at all the points where he touches you. “That’s my girl,” he groans, grinding his hips down into yours. You buck up into the friction as the thick, hard line of his cock makes itself apparent. Firmly, assertively, he drags himself across the soaked gusset of your panties, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing. “Don’t worry – I’m going to make it feel so good for you, dulzura. By the time the sun rises, both of our needs will be sated.”

His mouth moves down to your neck, nuzzling into the soft, sensitive skin beneath your ear. He licks you there, slow and hot, before drawing a bundle of sinew and skin between his lips and sucking. The sensation shoots straight to your core, and you feel your clit throb in time with the pulses of his sucks in a way that has you bowing up into him. You need more – more of his hot hands, more of his slick tongue, more of his rock-hard dick. You need it all, and if he doesn’t give it to you, you are absolutely certain that you will go mad.

Everything goes a bit hazy after that. Soft around the edges, dim, tinged with red and soundtracked by the thunderous pounding of your own heart in your ears. You feel him peel your shirt off your body, the worn cotton threatening to cling to places where you have begun to sweat with your need for him. You feel his lips return to yours briefly before dropping to your breasts, suckling your tight, pebbled nipples into his mouth, dragging his teeth along the tender place where your tits meet your ribcage. You feel his tongue dip into the soft bowl of your navel, making you squirm. And then your panties, long ruined and positively drenched in your slick, pull tight against your hips, and the distant sound of ripping fabric reaches your ears.

He has torn the offending garment clean off your body.

You try to give as good as you are getting, try to meet him touch for touch, but if you are honest with yourself, you are mostly a passive recipient of his passion. No matter how hard you try, you cannot seem to keep your eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, and every time you attempt to take control of the encounter, to pull off his shirt or to guide his mouth with your grip on his head, you find yourself falling back against the mattress, too weak and overcome with pleasure to do anything but allow it to wash over you. You feel as though you are under a spell, utterly in this thrall, your body a slave to the wet of his mouth, the heat of his hands.

You cannot compete with him. You can only surrender.

When his tongue delves into the wet, soft warmth of your sex, you simply moan and spread your thighs as wide as you can manage. When he slicks his tongue over your swollen, puffy clit, you dig your nails into his scalp and wrap your fingers around the short locks of his hair. When he groans your name into your flesh, you do not wonder how he knows it. You just hitch your hips against his face, dragging your cunt across his prominent nose in long, hard thrusts until you fall apart on his face.

It is then – the first time that you come for him – that a part of your mind begins to understand exactly what is happening. The moment your climax floods your body, the most curious feeling tugs at the edge of your awareness. It is as though your pleasure is not confined to your own body. As molten fire races down your spine, as your muscles spasm and your limbs lock and your head falls back on your neck, you get the distinct sensation of all of that energy flushing through your nerves and then slowly, steadily leaking from your pores. You can feel it curl around you, holding you, caressing you, then leaving you, flowing smoothly, easily…into him.

And fuck, does he like it. You watch through bleary, heavy-lidded eyes as his black eyes roll back in his head, as his grip on your thighs tightens almost unbearably, as his shoulders knot and strain with every pulse of your orgasm. He isn’t coming, but it is clear that he feels your ecstasy as if it is his own, and it seems to strengthen and fortify him in a way that you wouldn’t have believed unless you had seen it with your own eyes.

As you come down from your high, you look down between your legs to see him staring back at you. Watching him lick his swollen, pouty lips clean of your glistening slick, you notice that his tongue seems abnormally long – almost too big for his mouth – and shockingly agile. The whites of his eyes have disappeared entirely, leaving only smooth, glossy black behind.

“Have you figured it out yet, dulzura?” he rumbles, and with a chill, you realize that his voice has changed. Whereas before it was rough and rasping, now it is akin to the sound of steel grinding against rock – sharp, multi-tonal, and resonant in a way that has you feeling the vibration of it down to your bones. “Do you know what I am?”

A single word rises through the dense fog of lust clouding your mind, a word you had first learned in a mythology class ages ago but had encountered again recently in that god-forsaken book gifted to you by this very man. It had been your favorite of the short stories you had read, and even though you are still recovering from your climax, your cunt twitches and quivers at the memory of how hard you had come against your own fingers after finishing it.

Incubus.

You can see the moment you put the pieces together in the way his smile widens, and something prideful has him puffing out his chest, drawing himself up to his full height between your spread legs.

“Muy bien, cariño,” he purrs, and damn you if the sound of his praise in that cursed voice from the deep doesn’t have you reaching for him pathetically, trying to pull his body back down onto yours. Your weak, limp flailing has him laughing, and although you know that the sound ought to have frightened you, the chill that wracks your frame is one of arousal, not terror.

“I knew you would get there eventually, you clever thing,” he continues. Reaching one hand behind his neck, he grips the collar of his worn black poet’s shirt and pulls it over his head, leaving him bare-chested.

You can hardly bear to look at him, he is so beautiful – miles and miles of muscle, golden tan skin, and the finest dusting of dark hair trailing from his bellybutton down into the waistband of his breeches. There is nothing sharp or defined about him, not like the male models you are accustomed to seeing on billboards or the fashion brand fliers you get unsolicited in your mailbox. He is built like a warrior of old, like a figure out of a fairytale – thick, strong, powerful. You could easily see him in a shirt of chainmail, wielding a sword in battle, returning slicked in the blood of the enemy, crowing with victory.

You wonder, for the first time, whether this is his true form or if he has tailored his appearance to specifically appeal to your sensibilities. Does he know the way you have always swooned over the heroic figures of your story books? Has he fashioned himself to look like he just walked out of one? You should not find the idea touching, and yet…

And you were right in your earlier assessment – he is bigger here in this place that is not quite consciousness and not quite sleep. His size would be striking in the real world; heads would turn as he strolled down the sidewalk; you were sure of it. The thought has your throat going dry. You didn’t often have the opportunity to feel small or delicate in your daily life, but with his imposing form looming over you in the dark, you feel fragile in a way that has you blushing from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes.

The burn of your flush only intensifies as his hands drop to his breeches, and with quick, dexterous fingers, he undoes the line of silver buttons that hold them shut.

“Are you ready for me, dulzura?” he asks. His cock springs forward as he tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pushes them down off his hips. The sight has saliva pooling in your mouth, and you lick your lips unconsciously as you take him in – dense, dark curls, thick shaft, swollen, red tip glistening with his own arousal. He’s big – almost too big, bigger than you’ve ever taken – and you find yourself sending a quick prayer to whoever will listen that the…logistics of what is about to happen are more forgiving in this dream world than they would be in reality.

It's as though he can hear your thoughts. The moment the silent prayer passes through your mind, he looses a wicked snarl and wraps his fingers tightly around your knees. He drags you bodily across the bed, pulling you so close to him that your ass presses to the front of his thighs, and when you are close enough, he drops onto his palms above you to stare directly into your eyes.

“Silence!” he hisses, and for the first time since his lips collided with yours, you feel a bolt of fear zip down your spine. The scent of brimstone thickens in the air around you, and between your legs, the slick, blunt tip of his cock presses insistently against your throbbing entrance.  He notches himself into you with a swift dip of his hips, and you cannot silence the moan that rips its way out of your chest at the stretch.

“You will find no gods here, nena. Here, there is only me. And I am not finished wringing every – ” He thrusts deeper into you, feeding his cock to you inch by agonizing inch. “ – last – ” Deeper still, you feel your walls parting, softening, spreading for him, making room for his length inside your aching cunt. “ – ounce of pleasure from your sweet little body. Ahora. Dámelo.”

And then the haze returns, and you are overcome.

He is relentless, unforgiving, almost animalistic in the way he fucks you. Distantly, you register the sound of your own rhythmic whines and whimpers – ah! ah! ah! – every time he bottoms out inside you, but you cannot bring yourself to feel self-conscious. With every thrust, he overwhelms your senses. You have never felt so full, so stretched. You have never experienced anything like the way his cock drags against your walls, the way he presses and kneads on every sensitive spot as though you had given him a map to them all. That combined with his low grunts, his filthy words, and his lips sucking dark, tender bruises all across your neck and chest have you capitulating embarrassingly fast. All you seem to be able to do is grip his wrists on either side of your head and hold on while he fucks the life from you.

“Eso es, dulzura,” he growls. “Know you want it. Know you need it. Needed it for so long – weeks and weeks, huh, nena? S’okay. Es tuyo. Sólo tómalo.”

Deep within your abdomen, you can feel it growing. It burns – like lava, like lightning, and shit, it’s so fucking tight. Like a spring, it coils, winding around and around as he pounds you into the mattress. It won’t be long now; you can already tell. He is going to make you come, and it’s going to happen pathetically quickly.

Again, as though he registers your thoughts, the incubus chuckles sinisterly to himself and gives you a cheeky wink. He leans down and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucking hard and then trapping it between his teeth, and the sharpness of the sensation bolts straight to your clit.

“Fuck!” you gasp, arching into him, grinding your clit against his pubic bone as he continues to thrust inside you. “God, please – ”

One of his hands flies to your throat, and before you can react, you feel firm pressure on either side of your neck, squeezing your pulse points, making your brain go soft and fuzzy almost instantly. “What did I say, dulzura?” the creature snaps, and you think you see the angles on his face get sharper, his mouth get wider, his brow get more deeper and heavier. “God isn’t here. He can’t save you now.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, your fingers wrapping instinctually around his wrist. You think you want him to let you go, but at the same time, it feels so good – floaty and hot and almost euphoric as he continues fucking you.  “I won’t say it again, I swear!”

“Good,” he snarls. His hand lets up from around your neck, and the rush of blood to your head has you sucking in oxygen and moaning long and loud. “The only thing I want to hear coming out of your mouth while I fuck you is ‘yes’ and ‘more.’ Understand?”

You nod hard, eyes rolling back in your head as he switches up the angle of his thrusts, this one somehow even better than the last. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Good girl. Ahora, déjame sentirte.” Dropping one of his hands down to where you are joined, he swirls your dripping wetness in firm, steady circles around your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Come for me.”

As though your body is his to command, you do exactly as he says. Hands flying to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin, knees hitching up around his hips to drag him closer, you careen over the edge with a shout.

Just like the first time, the energy of your pleasure leaving your body is a physical thing. It lingers long enough for you to feel it, for you to luxuriate in it, and then it passes through your skin into his, and this time, you feel him receive it. His body ripples under your grip, his muscles spasming, his skin trembling, his cock somehow swelling even more inside the warm, wet clutch of your cunt. That is all it takes for him to join you in your rapture. With a few final, frenzied thrusts, you feel him twitch and seize inside you, and a hot rush of cum fills you so thoroughly that you can feel it leaking out around him, dripping down your ass to pool beneath you on the sheets.

“Dulzura,” he murmurs into your collarbone, the tip of his hooked nose tracing delicately across your skin as he comes down from his high. “Eres tan perfecta. You did so well. You knew exactly what I needed, didn’t you? Tan buena.”

The two of you lay like that for some time, you smothered against the mattress with his body weighing heavily on top of yours, his slowly softening cock still wedged inside you, his face buried against your neck. Absently, you run your fingers through his hair, and you notice that in spite of the exertion, he has not sweat at all. Perhaps not the most bizarre thing you have learned about him tonight, but you make note of it, nonetheless.

“The ecstasy you have gifted me tonight will keep me nourished for a long while,” he says after a time. He drops a wet, sloppy kiss onto the underside of your jaw. “You have my gratitude.”

The sentiment has you snapping to awareness, the fog of sex suddenly clearing almost instantly. Pulling back to meet his gaze, you find a warped version of the face you have come to know staring back at you. Had you not already figured out that he was a demon, his appearance now would have given it away – flat, black eyes, prominent brow, sharp cheekbones, large, pointed ears, a wider mouth, sharp, vicious teeth. He is the same man you met in the coffee shop all those weeks ago, and yet he is also very much not. You think, perhaps, that that ought to frighten you, but you feel no fear. Instead, you are struck with the realization he seems to have gotten what he wants from you.

You may never see him again.

“So,” you whisper, throat dry, voice hoarse from overuse, “that’s it, then?”

The incubus frowns. “Does that displease you?”

…Does it?

“…I suppose it does.”

His frown dissolves then, and he draws himself back up onto his knees, hovering over you with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t tell me my dulzura is going to miss me,” he taunts, and your cheeks burn.

“I’m not going to miss you,” you reply quickly, careful to keep your tone indifferent. “I’m just saying, maybe the next time you need to…feed, you could…” You shrug, your flush deepening. “You could find me again. Now that I know what you need, you know.”

The wicked smirk on his face eases as he takes in the sincerity in your words and instead melts into something that looks suspiciously like fondness. “Bold little thing,” he purrs. “I like that. Perhaps I shall. But until then…” He reaches out and brushes the tips of his fingers across your eyelids, closing them with a delicate touch. “Rest. Sleep. You have earned it, sweet girl.”

Just as with your orgasm, it is as though his words have command over your body. The moment your eyes flutter closed, the world around you falls away, his touch dissolves on your skin, and you slip into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When you wake, the sun is streaming through the gaps in your curtains, casting soft, warm columns of light across your sheets. You glance over at the clock on your bedside table and find that you have slept in much later than usual, though where normally you might feel guilt for this, instead you simply feel sated. You cannot say when you have last had a more restful night of sleep. You feel entirely refreshed.

Stretching luxuriously against your pillows, you take stock of your body. You’re surprised to find that your T-shirt has made its way back onto your body, and with a frown, you notice that you are still wearing the cotton panties you had gone to sleep in the night before. They cling to your body wetly, the sensation cold and a bit unpleasant, but as you run your fingers over the fabric, you confirm that they appear to never have been ripped – they are just as whole as when you had pulled them on.

You find no soreness between your legs, no sign of the vigorous, almost violent activities of the night before. Peeling back your blankets, you lift up your shirt to scan your skin, and you find no trace of the dark purple marks the creature had left behind with his mouth. Your body is entirely unmarred. It is as though nothing had even happened, and you would be lying if you said you were not a little disappointed by this turn of events. A part of you had been looking forward to feeling the ache of him today, to seeing the evidence of his touch on your skin. You feel as though you have been denied any souvenirs of your encounter, and you aren’t sure what to make of the hollowness that echoes in your chest at the realization.

However, before you have the opportunity to feel too melancholy about it, a dark shape lurking at the edge of your vision catches your eye.

You immediately roll over to face it, thinking for a wild moment that it might have been him, that he might have already come back for you. But instead, all you find is that leather-bound book, Sins of the Flesh, resting conspicuously on the other pillow next to you.

You certainly did not leave it there when you went to bed. It had been tucked away in the bottom drawer of your bedside table for weeks.

Reaching out with tentative fingers, you run your hand over the soft, worn cover of the book, and once again, you are struck by the sensation of warmth emanating from the oxblood leather. You feel a tug deep in your abdomen, an urge you can’t quite name, but suddenly you know that you are meant to open it. With a frown, you pick up the book and flip open the cover before you can consider it further.

There, on the cover page, directly below the gothic typeset of the title, you notice a detail that you have never seen before. A name written in an archaic-looking script, inked in watery black as though from the tip of a quill.

Pero Tovar

A rush of satisfaction passes over you even as the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The demon had given you his name.

[mothandpidgeon]

Embers Undying (Pero Tovar x wife!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: Pero Tovar x wife!reader

rating: T

summary: Pero returns from the Great Wall with a dazzling gift for you.

contents: fluff, soft!Pero, yearning, kissing, allusions to masturbation and sex moth never uses y/n.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: In my Pero Tovar brain rot era. I wish I'd thought of this idea before the fourth of July. I did about 5 minutes of research into early Chinese fireworks so if you see any historical inaccuracies, no you didn't. Thank you to @lowlights and @ezrasbirdie for beta.

Someone’s coming. Hooves fall hard and fast in the night, their sound growing closer. Your heart stutters in your chest. You’re alone and your little cottage is quite out of the way. If this is trouble, no one will hear you scream. 

You reach for the scabbard that rests beside the front door. You’re not confident with a weapon but your husband refused to leave you by yourself for so many months without protection. The presence of a sword alone may be enough to deter an unsavory character. 

A shadowy figure on horseback nears and you unsheath the blade. 

“Who is there?” you ask into the darkness. 

He slows, the weak candle light from the cottage catching his silhouette and you nearly fall to your knees. You’d recognize those features anywhere though it’s been countless months since you saw them last. 

“Such a warm welcome, mi esposa,” Pero says with a grin. 

The sword slips from your grip, clattering on the ground, but you’re already racing towards him. He jumps out of the saddle just in time to catch you in a tight embrace. Big arms lock around you, squeezing you to his chest.  His heartbeat pounds so furiously you can practically feel it through his leather armor. His scent surrounds you and you breathe it in deeply. Beneath the smell of horse and sweat is a familiar musk that immediately makes you feel at home though you never left. It hasn’t been home without him. 

You pull back to look at him, your eyes brimming with joyful tears. He is unchanged— still rugged and beautiful, still scarred and square— and he looks at you with the same eager delight. His dark eyes flit between your own, a rough thumb brushing over your cheek. You stare at each other, as if making up for all of the hours you wished you could see one another during his absence. 

Finally, you can’t hold back any longer. You kiss him and kiss him, your lips eager to be reunited with his. He’s been gone such a long time, you’re afraid this might be a dream, but the bite of his stubble against your face and the grip of his fingers on your upper arms tells you that this is no phantom. 

His kiss is always commanding, insistent. He cradles your face in his hands, tongue pressing into your mouth. You tangle your fingers into his hair and it grounds you. He’s here again. Finally. 

When you come up for air, your lips swollen from his mustache and the rake of his teeth, you’re staring at him again. You break away just far enough that you can admire him, his features nearly out of focus as you hold him close. 

“I didn’t know when you would return,” you say, breathless. 

His eyes don’t match his gruff exterior. They’re warm and twinkling like melting stars as he watches his thumb trace your bottom lip. He smiles lazily, enjoying the details of you. 

“It would’ve been sooner but I stopped at an inn last night to clean myself up. I wanted to be presentable to you,” he admits. 

“You know I wouldn’t care”, you say. 

“You would not have recognized me. I might’ve met the sharp side of that sword,” he chuckles. 

You playfully swat his chest and he’s kissing you again, the tremble of his laughter on his lips. He guides your hands up to his neck again. His mouth travels to your ear, tracing the shell and nipping at your lobe. Shivers of pleasure burn across your skin, a familiar throbbing between your legs doubling in his presence. 

You moan. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve ached for him, imagining his tongue stroking you instead of your fingers. Dreaming about those nights when you were both so young— sneaking away to meet him, your back pressed against a barn, skirts hoisted around your waist. 

He pulls your hips into him and desire overwhelms you. You feel his muscular thigh through the thin fabric of your night dress and a  whimper escapes you. 

“I missed that sound, querida,” he growls, his mouth on your neck. 

“Take me to bed and I’ll make it again,” you pant. 

He hums hungrily but says, “Soon, hermosa. You must wait.”

“I cannot. Wait. Even a second. Longer,” you say between kisses. 

He smiles against your lips. 

“I have a gift for you,” he says. 

“It can wait until morning,” you say but he’s already stepping away.

At least, he tries to. You refuse to let go of his hand as he retrieves something from behind his saddle. There’s nothing in the world you could want more than him right now. Especially not a cylinder made of paper, marked with symbols you don’t understand.

“Mi amor,” you complain. 

“Needy,” he teases with another kiss. “You missed me, eh?”

You huff. 

“Wait right here,” he says and he goes deep into the garden, taking your strange gift with him. 

Usually when he returns from his travels, Pero is the one tearing at your clothing. He’ll delay a meal to slake his lust. He’s been on the other side of the world and now just a few yards between you feels unbearable. 

He kneels in the field, setting the thing upright. 

“This is a gift from the Chinos,” he explains as he unspools a long string across the distance between you and the tube. “For our heroism. We saw some action.”

You gasp. 

“You worried about me, querida?” he asks. 

“Of course.”

The amusement playing on his features quickly melts into affection. All these years and he’s still touched when he’s reminded you love him. 

He quickly recovers himself. 

“Fetch me a candle,” he urges. 

“Pero,” you groan. 

“Rápida, hermosa.” He taps at your behind. 

You’ve missed your husband but not his stubborn nature. Once you’ve done as you’re told, cupping your hand around the flickering flame, Pero crouches down. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

Before you can answer, he’s touching the fire to the cord and it lights with a hiss. You yelp with delight as a small flame begins to travel down the length of the fuse. Pero laughs and pulls you into him, this time his big palms cover your ears. 

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Watch,” he says, his eyes glimmering with the reflection of fire. 

The noise it makes might be the loudest you’ve ever heard, a boom like the thunder of a hundred storm clouds. You scream and bury your face into Pero’s front, heart pounding like a frightened rabbit. 

“No. Look,” he urges, turning you back around. “You’ll miss it.” His voice is all exhilaration. 

You peek up to see something unlike anything before it. 

It’s dazzling, exploding in the sky above you like the sparks off a blacksmith’s anvil. They glow against the darkness and then shimmer towards the earth. Falling, almost floating like snowflakes made of fire. Each ember twinkles out somewhere over your head. 

Your breath catches. What you’re witnessing is nothing short of magic. It’s beautiful, like bottled stars raining above you. What other fantastical things Pero saw in that far away place, you can’t begin to imagine, but you doubt anything could be as astounding as this. 

You turn to Pero and find that he’s not looking at this miracle. His gaze is fixed on you, enjoying the wonder on your face. The warm glow illuminates his features, the strong line of his nose and the tanned cords of his neck. This handsome man, obstinate yet attentive, protective, all yours. 

You’re overcome with a sense of gratitude— thankful that he’s returned home time and again. There were so many nights when you had no idea whether he was alive or dead and how would you even hear if the worst had happened? How would you go on without him? But he’s here and he’s safe. 

And this time he’s brought you a true rarity, something, perhaps no one in the world you know has ever seen. He could have sold it to a king for a wagon full of gold but, instead, it’s just for you to share.  

You want to thank him but you can’t find the words to say it all. The warm look on his face tells you there's no need, that he’s just as grateful you waited. You’re both so lucky to be in this moment. Reunited. He slips his hands around your waist, drawing you close. 

“Now, hermosa, let me show you how I’ve missed you,” he purrs. 

--

thanks for reading! comments and reblogs always appreciated!

[flightlessangelwings]

While we’re in Latino Heritage Month, let’s stop assuming your reader doesn’t know/speak Spanish in your reader insert fics. Especially if you’re writing for Pedro’s, Oscar’s or other Latino characters please.

EDIT: After some criticism of how this was originally phrased, let me change it into a question/request instead- Can we as writers please try to be more inclusive with our reader insert fics so poc and others can feel represented and see themselves too? Including taking out a quick throwaway line about reader not understanding Spanish. (Keeping the original phrasing above so anyone who missed the post to begin with can still see how I originally phrased it)

If you have a throwaway line of “he said in Spanish that you didn’t understand” or something similar, just take it out. Have something like “you didn’t hear” instead and let the reader interpret how they want. Or use italics to indicate Spanish. Or have the translation right there without mention of anyone translating for them. Simple. Or if you don’t want to/feel you cannot change it, then please have something in with your warnings so Latinos/poc can skip it if they choose.

And let me tell you why this is so frustrating (even for me as someone who is not a fluent speaker). It’s because Latinos look to these characters and actors for representation. We see ourselves in them. And when you clearly do not have a Latino person in mind when writing, you’re saying we don’t belong here. In a space where we should feel welcomed and celebrated. Representation matters. Inclusivity matters. Please try to be more inclusive with reader fics so we can all enjoy and immerse ourselves in your writing.

ALSO EDITING TO ADD MORE FROM A REBLOG SO EVERYONE CAN SEE MY CLARIFICATION: (under a cut for length)

This is nothing new, poc have been asking for years now to be inclusive in fics and yet it’s still a battle. We’re not asking for a lot, and certainly not asking anyone to change their style or creativity or anything like that. Literally simple edits: take out the word “blush” don’t mention hair, don’t mention not understanding Spanish, not making reader blood related to a white character, etc. Literally tiny things that would not change the story at all but make a world of difference.

Here’s an example too: a few years ago it was not common for writers to label the gender of their reader as it was usually assumed the reader would be a woman. But, people advocated to label readers as f/m/gn/whatever to be more inclusive and asked writers to strive for gender neutral readers when possible so that more readers felt seen and welcome. Now it’s a common thing to do. Why is making the readers race ambiguous any different?

Yes sometimes posts like this come across harsh, but know that they’re not meant to be. Poc aren’t trying to demand anything, we just ask to broaden your langauge when writing reader insert so more can see themselves in your work. It’s incredibly frustrating to ask for inclusivity and be met with hostility and rudeness in return and a refusal to think about poc so yes sometimes the wording gets harsh out of that frustration. But I encourage y’all to focus on the message more and maybe think about why poc in fandom get snippy like this. We do need to have an open conversation, yes. Just look in the comments at the Latinos and poc who are upset by the exclusion and feel hurt by it. How you you white fans feel if roles were reversed and none of the fics included you? Not fun, right?

And to those who say write it yourself: I do. I’ve been a x reader writer for years now and I do strive for inclusivity in my work. But I’m only one person and this is bigger than any one person. This isn’t about what I personally find acceptable or what I personally what. It should be a collective effort among writers as a whole to strive to include as many as possible in their works and not white code your readers. It’s not about demanding writers write it a certain way, it’s about asking writers to consider others who don’t look like them who also want the immersion and the escape that your fic brings.

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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story (complete)

Series Summary: Three part mini-series that follows our dear reader making a delayed debut for her first social season, not expecting to run into her childhood best friend, the Barón, on the marriage mart. (Fluff throughout, Angst = ⚓, Smut= 🍬).

Each part is named for a sonata movement:

First Movement (Adagio sostenuto)

Second Movement (Allegretto) (⚓)

Third Movement (Presto agitato) (⚓,🍬)

One-shots (same AU): Scherzo (Flora & Fauna Challenge)

Art:

@floballestra Little Heads Art Commission new!

A/N for the series: The story is written as a reader insert, with no physical description other than having hair and she wears dresses in the style of the time. I'm ever grateful for Bridgerton being cast the way it is because many years ago, I wouldn't have been able to write a story like this without feeling like there wasn't a place for me in them, but now more things than not feel possible. The reader, however, will have a backstory, and I think that sort of makes sense since none of us lived in Regency times so our imaginations in this respect can be stretched 🥰

I also ran a poll wondering if the SAG Award pics could serve as inspo for a childhood best friend to lovers story where there is no large age gap; for the record, the age gap is 8 years - reader is 23 and Pero is 31. But we all know that 23 today and 23 during the Regency Era is very different so feel free to imagine reader’s mental age/maturity to be whatever you like 😊 (in other words, she's you! 😘)